Things are not good again. I saw my psychiatrist on Tuesday. I ran him through how I was feeling lately: I am more flattened out and I dont have manic crying episodes like I used to, but I’m struggling to feel GOOD. He suggested upping my dosage of effexor yet again. I paused and then said, “I would be open to that but its not like its going to make me HAPPY so why keep upping the dosage?” And he explained that he wants to just make absolute sure that my mood is even enough that I am not tempted to go back to pain killers. He cant prescribe anything to make me happy except for illicit drugs (painkillers) and that isnt even real happiness but a chemical euphoria that nothing else can match. Which is why they are so addictive. Its weird because of course I know all this already but to hear it relating to the context of your life is kind of strange. He asked me if I had been taking any lortab, codeine, percocet or vicodin and I said no. I think he knew I was lying immediately. He changed subjects to his normal checklist: how is work? I am very irritable with people and I feel like I am coming off as a bitch. how is your jaw? My jaw feels great and I attribute it 100% to taking muscle relaxers everynight and when I go back to Seattle in November I plan on asking for a refill. Are you dating? No. I am not opposed to dating but I probably wont meet anyone for another few years unless I did online dating again and I dont feel well enough to put myself through that right now.
I honestly think he asks me about dating because he knows I am lonely without me even saying it and that I obviously desire companionship and human connection…. It’s just not something that I see happening anytime soon. Who would I date? My 52 year old boss Cole who adores me senseless? My mother vetoed that one right off the bat. So who would I date? Who?
Today was awful at work. I am hormonal on top of all this anxiety/depression/heartbreak bullshit. I had a meeting in the morning with the Macys.com image production team which was really cool and interesting because they are a WELL OILED MACHINE. Even their offices have special dim lighting to help the retouchers see color more accurately! But it ran over the allotted time and instantly made me stressed and annoyed about rushing through the rest of my meetings that day. Ughhhhhh. And my team couldnt understand why I was so antsy and stressed. Its becoming clear to me that one of my other biggest challenges in my current role is that I would much rather take action and DO the process as opposed to spending hours talking in circles about ways to tweak the process. Its something I need to work on. In addition to my impatience with petty, melodramatic hissy fits about things that barely impact the total business. Everyone could tell I was upset all day. I tried to speak as little as possible because everything I said was hostile. I left early because even after two kpinz I still felt like I was going to start crying.
Tonight I had plans to go see all of the Delias assistants and have a big reunion with champagne and laughter and at the last minute I flaked out and said I couldnt go. The idea of trying to socialize in my current condition is unbearable to me right now, especially regarding six girls who are looking to get DRUNK. I just need to take care of myself the best way I know how. I am home now. Shannon baked cookies. I took a painkiller and I am going to isolate myself in my room with a candle and my sadness until I fall asleep. Tomorrow is a new day. I hope I didnt make everyone hate me at work. Aside from Cole they dont really know what a difficult time I am having right now. It makes me even more upset to think that everyone is going to dislike me as a result of the person I have become. One of the lessons I’ve learned this year is beauty and physical attractiveness really means very little. I might look pretty and put together but on the inside I am struggling to find the old Miya again. Josh was easily one of the most attractive guys I have ever been with (with that super soft beard I still think about stroking)……but once I tried to talk to him about my anxiety and I said, “I’ve just been having a really tough year….” and his response was, “I guess.” Thats when I realized that even though he is incredibly handsome and sexy, it really means nothing when it comes down to what matters to me in a man. I asked him to step up to the plate and he couldn’t.
Wore contacts for the first time yesterday. Made it to around 6pm. Hoping to get back into contacts in 2015.
I did another craft night at the Fox house womens shelter. All the kids and moms were carving pumpkins while I got to watch little Sophie. I stroked her leg and watched her nurse that bottle until she just passed out. Harlem babies <3 But get this: Sophie's mother is only thirteen years old. I hung out with some of the other pregnant women and young moms in the living room. Initially, they were not an easy crowd to socialize with because they were bitching about how noisy the pumpkin carving was and how rude the staff at Fox house is and blah blah blah blah. If i was eight months pregnant and on my feet working all day and I had to come back to a womens shelter, I probably wouldnt be feeling very friendly either. But by the end of it I think I managed to win them over joking about the movie they were watching on TV, 300. And as I was leaving for the evening I told them, “Alright ladies, enjoy your half naked men!!” and they all chorused, “Thanks!! Have a good night now!! Get home safe.” In the end only kindess matters. Volunteering at Fox House is really important to me. I’m getting practical baby skills and its a good reality check about what matters in life.
When I feel my shittiest I always try to look my cutest. But even that didnt save me from my shit shit shit day. :(
I’m also striving to reconcile my feelings regarding those who read this blog. I just don’t understand it and I probably never will. A year ago I thought it meant something different. And now I am at a total loss for why the people who have hurt me the most continue to haunt me. What does this ghost want from me? :(
But I’ve got a blank space, baby
And I’ll write your name
Sorry boys but only those worthy get a pseudonym on my blog :) your special requests have been heard and ignored.
Ballet inspired tops for my barre class. Compared to everyone else, I look like I am trying way too hard but I dont care because it makes me happy and I cant afford lululemon at this stage in my life. This past week, there was a super hot guy in my class. I think he was an actual dancer judging from his perfect ass. Which means he could be my new gay bff. I hope he keeps coming on Sunday.
Mondays I am going to this yoga class at the 50th street gym that is amazing. The teacher is all about getting into the shoulders and holy shit you can feel it the next day.
Miya’s little booty is starting to pop! I was gifted with the flat ass genetics that my grandmother says “looks good in a kimono!” but I refuse to settle for flat. Hard work pays off.
Speaking of gay BFF’s: look at Charlie!!! Partying with Solange in NOLA!!! Ughhhh so jelly. Later he went to Solange’s benefit and was on a bus with Beyonce. Carol Ann told me he called her in a panic and said, “I am five feet away from Beyonce!” Lololololz. I was telling Shannon and Sarah about this weird thing that happened in middle school where we were all brought to the gym randomly on a wednesday and we had an impromptu concert featuring Solange and a disney girl group called Play. It was so sudden that there wasnt even a stage set up. Shannon said the same thing happened at her middle school!!!! I’ve tried googling it because I still do not know what the hell they were promoting. All I remember is that all the black kids got up and started doing the harlem shake with Solange and I was super jealous that I didnt know the dance. Little 12 year old Miya raised on Phinney Ridge (upper middle class white neighborhood in Seattle). hahahahah. Bizarre ass memories.
I have a very love/hate relationship with Taylor Swift. When she first came out with country sad sweet songs of heartbreak I was 17 years old and even though it still felt juvenile to me at the time, I totally fell for Teardrops on my Guitar and Tim McGraw. With her next few albums, my wifey’s obsession intensified while my irritation grew. I felt as though she was an extremely talented songwriter but it annoyed me that she wasn’t progressing musically or lyrically. And the subject matter of her music seemed stuck in adolescence while I was moving on to more adult themes in my life. There is only so much I can take about kissing and telling to the same old tune. That being said, her latest album, 1989 which is our shared birth year, has totally surprised me. Its pure pop endorphins. She’s always straddled the line between country and top40 but on this album its full blown Max Martin geniosity. Without a doubt my favorite track on the album is Style. I find it the most catchy song ever and it makes me that hair flicking chick, stomping through Manhattan and forever dancing on her own. I am listening to this on repeat all day at work:
You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye
And I got that red lip, classic thing that you like
And then we go crashing down, we come back every time
Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style
You’ve got that long hair slick back, white t-shirt
And I got that good girl fate and a tight little skirt
And when we go crashing down, we come back every time
We never go out of style, we never go out of style
In typical Miya fashion I became fixated on the producers behind each song. Its interesting to see her working with Jack Antonoff and Imogen Heap but I think what makes this album incredible is my legendary love Max Martin. However while looking at the writing credits I realized I didnt know much about his co producer named Shellback…..
hahahahahah this photo makes me laugh. They are so effing swedish looking.
According to Wikipedia Shellback met Martin through a mutual friend and started sending him indierock/deathmetal demos he made. Intrigued, Martin decided to hire him on to his production company and made him write pop music. Bahahahah. I love it. And I love his hair. hmmmmm this story makes me smile and makes me feel sentimental. What a very very talented team.
And I’m not sorry (I’m not sorry)
It’s human nature (it’s human nature)
And I’m not sorry (I’m not sorry)
I’m not your bitch don’t hang your shit on me (it’s human nature)
You wouldn’t let me say the words I longed to say
You didn’t want to see life through my eyes
(Express yourself, don’t repress yourself)
You tried to shove me back inside your narrow room
And silence me with bitterness and lies
(Express yourself, don’t repress yourself)
There is no point in hiding. I know its you. Maybe you should be asking yourself “Why?”
Absolutely no regrets
I was dozing on my bed with a vanilla candle melting on the heater, watching Vogue interviews with Marc Jacobs when my new therapist called me. And caught me extremely off guard. Its a he. I had a pleasant, polite, short but charged conversation with him about how I am doing this week and scheduling details for our first appointment, but as soon as I got off the phone with him I felt myself dissolving into tears. My mother said she thinks it might be a good idea to see a male therapist because women can sometimes be very judgmental. Annsley and I were not so far apart in age and there were times when I could tell what I was saying struck a chord with her and there were twitches of bias in her expression that she would have to carefully tuck away before saying anything; so I understand what my mother is saying. I think it will be interesting to see what some guy with a heavy New York accent will make of Miya and her sadness and pill popping ways, but I am not going to lie: I am terrified. Therapy leaves you extremely vulnerable and of course I am more aware then ever of my social anxieties with straight men. I think this is going to be a real test of my strength and character to see him. And I will make my reservations clear from the onset so if I feel uncomfortable in any way it wont come as a surprise if I have to request someone new.
My psychiatrist is a very nice man of course but our appointments are usually 15 minutes of reviewing drug dosages and him offhandedly suggesting I start dating and having fun again. Therapy is completely different. I think the idea of explaining everything thats happened and all the sadness all over again is just too much for me right now. Which is why I’m suddenly seized with tears. I cant help but doubt the ability of this rando ‘psychotherapist’ guy to empathize with what I am going through. I know he is a professional and all but I mean how could he? Really, all of my negative experiences with men have been leading me up to this. So lets hope he can prove me wrong.
Carol Ann and her team went to drinks last week and Chad (whom I resolutely ignore every time he walks by my desk) told her he thinks I have a “hard exterior” Hah. Carol Ann and her quick wit responded, “What makes you think she doesnt have a hard interior as well?” Everyone at the table laughed at Carol Ann’s excellent comeback. But the truth is I am extremely sensitive behind all that girl power/independent/bad bitch energy I project to everyone. I don’t think any of these boys I have been with even realize how much they have hurt me. I am very nervous and anxious about my first appointment.
The only time I wish I didnt have roommates is when I cant leave my room without them seeing my cryface. Although I think they are both used to it by now.
She rested her head against his and felt, for the first time, what she would often feel with him: a self-affection. He made her like herself. With him, she was at ease; her skin felt as though it was her right size. She told him how she very much wanted God to exist but feared he did not, how she worried that she should know what she wanted to do with her life but did not even know what she wanted to study at university. It seemed so natural, to talk to him about odd things. She had never done that before. The trust, so sudden and yet so complete, and the intimacy, frightened her. They had known nothing of each other only hours ago, and yet, there had been a knowledge shared between them in those moments before they danced, and now she could think only of all the things she yet wanted to tell him, wanted to do with him.
I finished Americanah a few days ago and it has become one of my favorite books I have ever read. The Amazon.com summary says this: Ifemelu and Obinze are young and in love when they depart military-ruled Nigeria for the West. Beautiful, self-assured Ifemelu heads for America, where despite her academic success, she is forced to grapple with what it means to be black for the first time. Quiet, thoughtful Obinze had hoped to join her, but with post-9/11 America closed to him, he instead plunges into a dangerous, undocumented life in London. Fifteen years later, they reunite in a newly democratic Nigeria, and reignite their passion—for each other and for their homeland. Its subjects include everything that I find important to me now: race, gender, feminism and love. I read that lupita nyong’o plans on producing and starring in a film adaptation and I cannot wait to find out who they cast as Obinze. And Curt and Blaine (Ifemelu’s American love interests) for that matter. I am trying to get everyone I know to read it because it was so good. Steff says she is going to buy it this weekend! Chillee and I are swapping fangirl moments. I am reblogging quotes on tumblr. Ahhhhhhhhh <3
I called my mom in the middle of the night to read her this passage because it was just so #relevant :
Obinze checked his BlackBerry often, too often, even when he got up at night to go to the toilet, and although he mocked himself, he could not stop checking. Four days, four whole days, passed before she replied. This dampened him. She was never coy, and she would have ordinarily replied much sooner. She might be busy, he told himself, although he knew very well how convenient and unconvincing a reason “busy” was. Or she might have changed and become the kind of woman who waited four whole days so that she would not seem too eager, a thought that dampened him even more. Her email was warm, but too short, telling him she was excited and nervous about leaving her life and moving back home, but there were no specifics. When was she moving back exactly? And what was it that was so difficult to leave behind? He Googled the black American again, hoping perhaps to find a blog post about a breakup, but the blog only had links to academic papers. One of them was on early hip-hop music as political activism – how American, to study hip-hop as a viable subject – and he read it hoping it would be silly, but it was interesting enough for him to read all the way to the end and this soured his stomach. The black American had become, absurdly, a rival. He tried Facebook. Kosi was active on Facebook, she put up photos and kept in touch with people, but he had deleted his account a while ago. He had at first been excited by Facebook, ghosts of old friends suddenly morphing to life with wives and husbands and children, and photos trailed by comments. But he began to be appalled by the air of unreality, the careful manipulation of images to create a parallel life, pictures that people had taken with Facebook in mind, placing in the background the things of which they were proud. Now, he reactivated his account to search for Ifemelu, but she did not have a Facebook profile. Perhaps she was as unenchanted with Facebook as he was. This pleased him vaguely, another example of how similar they were. Her black American was on Facebook, but his profile was visible only to his friends, and for a crazed moment, Obinze considered sending him a friend request, just to see if he had posted pictures of Ifemelu.
In the book Ifemelu becomes a very successful and provocative race blogger who eventually wins a Princeton fellowship. This is one of my favorite posts she writes:
Dear American Non-Black, if an American Black person is telling you about an experience being black, please do not eagerly bring up examples from your own life. Don’t say “It’s just like when I …” You have suffered. Everyone in the world has suffered. But you have not suffered precisely because you are an American Black. Dont be quick to find alternative explanations for what happened. Dont say “Oh its not really race, its class. Oh its not race, its gender. Oh its not race, its the cookie monster. You see, American blacks actually dont WANT it to be race. They would rather not have racist shit happen. So maybe when they say something is about race, its maybe because it actually is? Don’t say “I’m color-blind,” because if you are color-blind, then you need to see a doctor and it means that when a black man is shown on TV as a crime suspect in your neighborhood, all you see is a blurry purplish-grayish-creamish figure. Don’t say “We’re tired of talking about race.” or “The only race is the human race.” American Blacks, too, are tired of talking about race. They wish they didnt have to. But shit keeps happening. Don’t preface your response with “One of my best friends is black” because it makes no difference and nobody cares and you can have a black best friend and still do racist shit and its probably not true anyway, the ‘best’ part, not the ‘friend’ part. Don’t say your grandfather was Mexican so you cant be racist (please click here for more on the There Is No United League of the Oppressed). Don’t bring up your Irish great-grandparents suffering. Of course they got a lot of shit from established America. So did the Italians. So did the Eastern Europeans. But there was a hierarchy. A hundred years ago, the white ethnics hated being hated, but it was sort of tolerable because at least black people were below them on the ladder. Dont say your grandfather was a serf in Russia when slavery happened because what matters is you are American now and being American means you take the whole shebang, America’s assets and America’s debts, and Jim Crow is a big-ass debt. Don’t say its just like antisemitism. It’s not. In the hatred of Jews, there is also the possibility of envy – they are so clever, these Jews – and one must concede that a certain respect, however grudging, accompanies envy. In the hatred of American Blacks, there is no possibility of envy – they are so lazy, these blacks, they are so unintelligent these blacks.
Don’t say “Oh, racism is over, slavery was so long ago.” We are talking about problems from the 1960’s, not the 1860’s. If you meet an elderly American black man from Alabama, he probably remembers when he had to step off the curb because a white person was walking past. I bought a dress from a vintage shop on eBay the other day, made in 1960, in perfect shape, and I wear it a lot. When the original owner wore it, black Americans could not vote because they were black. (And maybe the original owner was one of those women, in the famous sepia photographs, standing by in hordes outside schools shouting “Ape!” at young black children because they did not want them to go to school with their young white children. Where are those women now? Do they sleep well? Do they think about shouting “Ape”?) Finally, don’t put on a Let’s Be Fair tone and say “But black people are racist too.” Because of course we’re all prejudiced (I can’t even stand some of my blood relatives, grasping, selfish folks), but racism is about the power of a group in America and it’s white folks who have that power. How? Well, white folks dont get treated like shit in upper class African-American communities and white folks dont get denied bank loans or mortgages precisely because they are white and black juries dont give white criminals worse sentences than black criminals for the same crime and black police officers dont stop white folk for driving while white and black companies dont choose not to hire somebody because their name sounds white and black teachers dont tell white kids they’re not smart enough to be doctors and black politicians dont try some tricks to reduce the voting power of white folks through gerrymandering and advertising agencies dont say they cant use white models to advertise glamorous products because they are not considered ‘aspirational’ by the ‘mainstream’.
So after listing of don’ts, what’s the do? I’m not sure. Try listening, maybe. Hear what is being said. And remember that it’s not about you. American Blacks are not telling you that you are to blame. They are just telling you what is. If you dont understand, ask questions. If you’re uncomfortable about asking questions, say you are uncomfortable about asking questions and then ask anyway. Its easy to tell when a question is coming from a good place. Then listen some more. Sometimes people just want to feel heard. Here’s to possibilities of friendship and connection and understanding.
Amazing. I will be first to say that I have benefitted tremendously from white privilege. Probably nothing has served me better than looking like a white girl, but I really think that being mixed has always made me hyper aware of this conversation. To be judged solely on your race? Its one of the most interesting and important conversations to be had today. I am hungry to know more. Rhoda said I should join the diversity council at work. Cole said he would investigate and let me know how I can get involved. I told Carol Ann and she said she would be interested in joining too. I want a trans model on the cover of our next catalog. :) heheheh.
Cole wanted us to take headshots for his internal organization chart and we do have an in house photo studio so…..yeah. He didnt really give us any notice though. I didnt wash OR brush my hair today hahahah. God bless flattering lighting.
I insisted on a group shot because I’m cheesy like that. This is my new bloomies family <3 Ruth, Cole, Miya and Rhoda! Killing it with efficiency all the way!!
Outfit today. :) Got a flu vaccine this morning and chatted with the pharmacist about Ebola and how we hope this guy recovers an no one else gets infected. I found that ‘bowling in Williamsburg’ headline to very annoying/absurd. Feeling pretty shitty now from the shot so I think I will lay low this weekend.
I just want to give another shoutout to Lanny for being the only guy who dated me and dumped me but maintained his decency and treated me with the respect and kindness I deserve. No grey zone. No keeping me a secret. No denials. Just honesty. Love this photo of us drunk as shit at the Asian Club hahahahahah.
Let’s just remember that there are some good ones out there. And I did want to write a post thanking those who were good to me and treated me well. <3
Special honorary mention to Bogdan for being my one and only true fling and also for being a good guy and keeping our humor and friendship alive four years after we met in Manchester. It would be so cool to meet him in Romania but I am secretly hoping I can convince him to meet me in Istanbul instead…… Still trying to dream big like my Mr. Big! Bogdan has always been on team Miya :)
And now on to the bad stuff: October 19, 2013. My anxiety made me very thin. I cant believe that was only a year ago. I am still very lonely…. :/ i don’t think I will ever gets used to being lonely…. It feels wrong. It goes against my nature. I’m a romantic and an Aries and I want a partner. I am having a harder time blogging now because the anti depressants have done a really good job of flattening me out. I just feel as if I don’t have much to say…..
Geniosity from my photo producer over my rage regarding Josh’s treatment of me. I was re reading our fight and cannot believe how cruel he became in the end. She explains why I’m so heated perfectly:
Don’t obsess over that and don’t spin. You are probably feeling a little anxiety because you feel upset about not being able to speak with your therapist and think you need to work your way through your stuff quickly… But josh is a part of your past and your needed him as a crutch from ES. And think you may have sort blended them together a bit emotionally and so this is making you feel more upset than you are. This may not make any sense in a text but basically it is like josh makes you feel worse and ES is who drove you to josh for the assist in the first place to reassure you and then he disappointed you!!
Ugh my instincts about josh were right all along, even though he almost had me fooled. I’ll never see those boys ever again. And good riddance.