Nimz and Everything On Her Chest
Nimz and Everything Under The Sun.
For a good year probably more I’ve been feeling this emotional block, which has been hard for me to navigate through. I’ve spoken to anyone who’ll listen about it. Without really going into it, I should add. I’m willing to talk about it, but not deal with it it seems. Everyone’s reassuring about how much of a first step talking about it is, but when you have huge dreams and ambitions slow progress often feels like no progress.
I don’t expect myself to change over night, but I do expect change. Positive change. And as of late it feels like I’m regressing.
So I’ve forced myself to the gym and I’m currently writing this out whilst strolling on the treadmill. My plan is to write freely whilst power walking on this incline.
I’m a terrible multitasker, so the idea is maybe I’ll be so focussed on not falling over my brain won’t be able to block all the thoughts I’m so clearly running away from.
Let’s go -
I have one secret that I don’t want to share, I keep getting this recurring thought that I’ll eventually have to open up about it. Facts are if I speak, things’ll change. I don’t want things to change. I don’t feel massively effected by it. I feel more like society is telling me I have to speak out. But I honestly don’t need to. It was years ago, I’m here now. I have a life I’m quite comfortable with. I don’t want it to be my story. I don’t want it to be my buzzline or my clickbait title.
I can’t control other people’s reaction and this one thing is part of my story I guess. So me too.
Today I realised I don’t really like this version of myself. I joke often about my frequent personality upgrades, we’re probably on Nimz 20.0 but I’d quite like to go back to 2012 Nimz. I love myself. I love who I am and what I’ve built. I love all the experiences I’ve had. I love every flaw and every mistake and every sxck my big toe I’ve ever dropped. But facts are, I don’t like this Nimz. She’s pessimistic, laughs less, narcissistic creeping in too. She’s overly self critical and others herself intentionally. She refuses to get close to people - cos everyone is trash. And she’s searching for something she doesn’t know what is. This Nimz is a piece of work and honestly I don’t even have time for her.
I intend to write a whole piece on the Ex’s. Friends, loves, rebounds even crushes. I’ll save the gritty for then, but for now... y’all did a number on me. This isn’t about blame and fault, I think it’s my first admission that it was all a mess and I was hurt. I’ve always felt that I couldn’t show weakness. I mean if I did I was opening myself up to being gossip fodder. So I manned up and forced myself into situations I really didn’t need to be in. I avoided and wore a mask. Honestly, in hindsight, I kinda wish we all rocked out and just fought. However thank you, I learnt lessons I had no business missing. Y’all schooled me and gave me a crash course. So now in 2018, I think it’s time to re-enrol for the full course on healing and unlearning.
There’s this expectation that with growth comes betterment and I’m really really tired of holding myself to this standard. I want to be trash, misbehave, denounce my responsibilities and honestly twerk everywhere. I hate the increasing responsibilities and expectations that come with being a black Muslim woman. I really want to put my best foot forward and be someone to be proud of, but I also want to be ratchet and an ay girl. - which brings me back to one of the Ex’s, the one who moved on with their life but left me with words that I think I just realised at this moment I’m still holding myself too. “I don’t want to prove xyz right”. The monotonal voice humming deep in my conscience. I heard you just now.
- Yay, I think this distracting my brain thing is working.
I think I’m gonna taking a year off to misbehave. This won’t be televised, it’ll be behind closed doors, but I’m deffo taking my twerk on tour.
I miss having friends. Everyone got trolled by adulthood and now we’re all on these different paths trying to make it. We’re together but alone at the same time. I miss y’all. I genuinely love y’all. I’m sorry I don’t say it often. I wish I could describe how comforting your presence is to me. When I was jobless and a bum I’d drive down and just chill on y’all sofas chatting shxt and laughing. I know these developments are mainly my doing. I felt I had to make it then come back for y’all. I felt I was holding y’all back by always being broke. Always demanding lifts. Never wanting to go anywhere further than one bus ride. So I stopped reaching out. And now y’all far and few living wholly and fully and I’m a shadow in your stories. Always present but never clear, never a whole person, a whole moment. I now appear as a phone call, a random tweet, a memory of a private joke we share. It’s largely my fault but y’all are shxt too.
Call me, come to mine, show up. I don’t ask often but I miss you and I need y’all. Don’t slow down your hustle for me though, I’ve got you in prayer, in darkness and in joy.
I’m not having fun anymore. And I don’t know why if I’m being honest. I think it’s all of these rules and restrictions I’ve unintentionally internalised. I realised today I don’t know how to have fun. I’m always on my best behaviour and I’m always careful of what I’m saying and doing. I’m tired.
That’s it for now. I think that’s all that’s on my chest at the moment. I feel lighter. I don’t think I accessed the locked treasure chest in me. But I do feel like I spoke to myself frankly. I’m a mess, that’s not changing anytime soon. But I’ve always been okay with that.