B.J. Cyprian's Blog, page 2

Quarantine Chronicles – First Edition

Ah technology… What a remarkable, incredible, magnificent, horrible, waste-land mankind has created, amirite? I mean, it just depends on what kind of day you’re having! Maybe you want to look at hilarious videos of goats in pajamas, (which was something I didn’t know I needed in my life until my good friends Amy and Deci introduced me to them on my birthday.) or whether you want to find some Reddit thread hating all women for existing and having the nerve to not even give YOU the time of day. (I mean, how dare these bitches, right? What? Do they think they have their own minds or something? Don’t they know they’re property! Any broad would be lucky to have me!) Oh gosh, yes, they’re out there. They’re called Incels. I just gave you a taste but sure.. if you wanna get angry at the pure audacity of anything… look ‘em up.  From innocent to evil, from pure to dirty, from knowledge to incredible stupidity and everything in between, you can find it on the good ol’ world wide web. For someone like me, who is way more Dom than anyone else, (Of course I’ll have a Shadow Resistance reference here… READ THE DAMN BOOK) growing up feeling like a lonely outcast made the internet a place to go when you’re too awkward to be sociable in the real world. With the current pandemic and the Stay at Home plan in effect, the internet has REALLY come with it with the memes, tech upgrades to allow us to interact even remotely, and all the bells in whistles to try to help us pass the time while people way smarter than us figure out how the hell to kill this damn virus.  As mentioned before, my family is close and we’re still dealing with the grief of losing my sister. This makes it much harder since we can’t really see each other. My mother is among the very high risk people, and I just can’t chance that I may pick up the virus and pass it to her. So this leads me to a not so shiny aspect of technology; The video call. My mother and my brother have taken to video calling me from time to time. To be honest, most of the time I miss the calls. (Not on purpose, I just miss them.) Today was the first day I actually caught one. As we chatted, teased, laughed, had a moment to miss my sister and my brother’s dad, and got caught up on everything, we turned our discussion to the current pandemic and politics. OF COURSE we discussed the recent comments made by y’alls president inquiring whether injecting or ingesting disinfectant could help kill the virus in patients.  Now, I’m not all that good on the science stuff… My father is a surgical registered nurse and has been my whole life. He has been married to my step mother who is an orthopedic surgeon. I grew up around doctors and nurses, but to be honest, I never had an interest in it. BUT… Even *I* knew that was an insane and dangerous comment to make.  After discussing the news reports of people ACTUALLY DOING THIS MADNESS (No seriously… they are.) I had to lighten the mood. So I turned to reminiscing about an event that happened when I was a toddler. It happened when I was about 2 1/2 or almost 3. I remember teetering my happy ass into the family bathroom and going under the sink. There I spied a bottle of apple juice. I was perplexed. Even at that age, I knew that apple juice did not live in the bathroom. Always the helpful child, I decided I should remove the problem. I THEN decided that it looked quite refreshing and that I could go for a nice drink of apple juice. So I helped myself.  It tasted funny; and it burned.  The next part, I don’t fully recall; you’d have to ask my parents or my brother. I don’t remember how I got caught on the floor of the bathroom gagging on the Pine Sol my toddler mind just knew was apple juice. I DO recall the treatment, however. My father burned me two slices of toast and basically forced fed it to me. (I mean look, my palate was no where as refined as it is now, but even at 2ish I knew burnt toast was… as I would’ve said back then… “yucky.”) I recall the treatment because in retrospect, I wondered WHY my father THE NURSE force fed me burnt toast instead of taking me to the hospital or something…. Then I remembered… hey… he’s a nurse dummy.  Anyway, as we discussed this story I said, “I wonder if I’m now immune to the virus because of that. Maybe they can make an antibody from my blood or something.”  My brother suggested I give plasma to see, but I hear that hurts, so I think he’s just being a jerk.  Guys… I drank Pine Sol for the following reasons: I was TWO (and some change), I happened to be out of eye-shot from the adults, and I couldn’t read…cause I was TWO.  Please continue to follow the social distancing guidelines laid out by the doctors at the CDC… you know.. the ones who went to school for what they do? I can’t believe we are being led by someone who suggests ingesting or injecting disinfectant into our systems to try to combat this virus. That’s not science, that’s stupid…  Also… Two year old B.J. wants me to tell you, it’s also very yucky. ~Fin~ 

The post Quarantine Chronicles – First Edition first appeared on BJ Cyprian.

C'mon Tyler!!! (And other hair woes...)

I love being Black.

For real. It’s pretty freaking awesome.

If you’re a regular reader of my blog, you know that this has been a struggle for me in the past; particularly surrounding the comfortable expression of my Blackness. In this ever changing world, the comfort of one’s expression can wax and wane, depending on what’s hot/not, taboo/trendy, social media friendly/attractive blah blah blah…

I didn’t say being Black wasn’t exhausting… I simply said it’s awesome.

I revisited this concept of society’s comfort level of Black expression when an article crossed my news feed. The article was about a Texas teenager who was banned from his own graduation due to having dreadlocks. So, of course the key words that drew me into the story were: Texas. Banned. Dreadlocks.

I mean… I live in Texas and I have dreadlocks... I was invested!

It seems that this young man’s school had a dress code that limited the length of male hair. In order to comply with said dress code, he would tie up his locks and ensure his hair remained above his earlobes and out of his eyes. He had worn his hair in locks since he was in 7th grade. Now, in his SENIOR YEAR, the school’s policy changed overnight!

No seriously… it was basically overnight. Dude left for Christmas break cool and came back to the news that he was suddenly out of dress code and would not be able to attend his graduation if he didn’t cut his locks. Sure hair grows fast, but NO ONE’S hair grows THAT damn fast.

Of course this angered me. Just last year, in the Year of our Lord 2019, California became the 1st state to ban hair discrimination. HAIR. DISCRIMINATION. Y’all… Do you hear how stupid that sounds? Have we run out of things to be upset about, so we have now moved on to hating people cause their HAIR is different? And it's now so bad states are now passing LAWS about it??? (California, New York & New Jersey)

It's not like I don't know that hair discrimination has always been a thing. Ever since the Europeans met the Africans… (and when I say “met” I mean the brutal colonization and enslavement of a good portion of their populous…. It’s just that “met” is shorter, and I’m working on word count, remember??) Europeans have always set the standard of beauty and for years, it solely revolved around them. Everything catered and pandered to them; and given the racist nature of our country, they would be less prone to buying something that was not also represented by them.

Even when Madame C.J. Walker developed hair products for Black women, it initially was to help their hair to become like that of the Europeans (straight); and therefore, more socially acceptable. During the Civil Rights movement, the afro was associated with embracing one’s Blackness and rejecting the idea that the European-American way was the only way; while chemically relaxed hair was seen as attempting to conform to society. That thinking never went away, and I get that... But it's gotten to the point where laws are having to be written to allow Black folks to wear our hair styled in its natural state; without the fear of losing our jobs or being banned from our high school graduation... you know... without the side of discrimination.

Anyway, going back to the article, I came across a comment on the post that really struck me as profound. We are being policed for the way our hair grows out of our head NATURALLY. We are being discriminated against, not for changing our hair in some wild or outlandish way, but for hair styles that only hair like ours can pull off naturally, with zero chemical enhancements. Our hair is kinky, it’s coily, it can be curly one day, or straight the next. It can be molded into cool styles with zero hairspray and mousse. It’s so funny how many times many of us, (Not that I speak for Black people as a collective. PLEASE. They’d pick someone much better than me) have been told by White folks, “I love your hair! I wish mine could do that!”

You know what, Shelly? WE wish we could interact with “authority figures” and not be afraid that our skin-tone will trigger some sort of fear and get us killed… But sure, my hair is cool too.

See how even in 2020, we are still having stupid fights over our basic rights to let our hair do what it naturally does without being declared as abominable by a society run by people whose hair can’t do it unless they use enough product to punch a hole in the ozone layer and then not listen when scientist tell them that because of said hole in the ozone layer, the world is burning…?

*gasp* Okay, maybe that was too far… I’ll reel it in.

Anyway, as I mulled the case of the young man from Texas around in my brain to figure out what I wanted to say about it, another article crossed my path. This time it was about Tyler Perry.

Full disclosure: I USED to like Tyler Perry's stuff. I was introduced to his work through some church folks. As I mentioned being raised Seventh-Day Adventist, there was not a lot of options of entertainment on any given Saturday. I was raised not watching TV or doing anything secular from sundown Friday night til sundown Saturday. (Sure I could watch Tom and Jerry beat up on each other in a long standing rivalry that did NOTHING for the propaganda of an interspecies feud between cats and mice, as long as it was turned off as the day died in the West on Friday.) That was the Lord’s time. During that time, any entertainment had to ALSO be related to Jesus. That was all fine and good when I was a kid. Usually after church and food, we napped and when I woke up, the sun was down and I could watch TV. But as I got older, naps became less desirable and boredom often consumed my Sabbath afternoons.

Enter Tyler Perry and his sassy, “cussin’” (that totally belongs in quotes, cause damn and hell ain’t really cussing), maternal and wise character, Madea. As crazy as the character was, in the end, it all circled back to something church-related; while also being funny, engaging, and relatable.

Now don’t get me wrong. I have no problems with Tyler Perry's catapult from a gem in the Black community to damn near Hollywood royalty, rubbing elbows with Oprah and whatnot. I’m all for that! (Hell, if I’m being honest, I hope it happens to me one day!) But, I will say that when he moved Madea from the stage to the screen, it lost something for me. It wasn’t even about the religious undertones that were more overt in the stage plays. I feel like it was just better on stage. The singing aspect of the musicals that most of his plays were, brought a sense of emotion to each role. I mean, if we’re being honest, Tyler isn’t the BESTEST writer out there, but with the rawness of the actors, many of who started with him, their singing voices (shout out to Pepsi Riley!), and the emotion that brought made the story better overall. As that is lost in the screen adaptations, you’re left with an often stereotypical and campy movie that you try to make better by getting super big names to fill the roles.

Basically I got nothing against Tyler Perry, I just don’t really vibe with his product anymore. For me he’s up there with the Reality Television shows. I understand people like drama so messy and loud that it's cringey and campy... but I’m just not one of those people.

I heard on a podcast that Mr. Perry brags about the fact that he doesn’t have a writers room and he writes everything he produces himself. I also think perhaps part of why all of his shows and movies seem the same to me; it’s the same writer with no other perspective. After he built this large studio in Atlanta on the ground of an old plantation and then inked his deal with Netflix, it would have been nice to see him reach out and bring in more “Tyler Perry wannabes” coming up. Get other voices out there that wouldn't be given the chance otherwise. Be someone's Oprah. Ya got a whole studio! Why not?

Anyway, a few days after reading the story about the young man and his school giving him grief over his dreadlocks, I stumbled onto another article where Tyler Perry responded to some of the criticisms he’s receiving in his new Netflix movie: “A Fall From Grace.” Besides the run-of-the-mill feedback I saw about it, a reoccurring criticism was about wigs: quality, presentation and consistency. (Apparently, at one point in this movie, a wig changed mid-scene.)

Mr. Perry's response to the wig critiques didn’t sit well with me. He basically said he doesn’t want to spend the time and/or money on the hair for his movies. It's just not a priority for him. I would assume his take on this is due to the fact that as the writer of the movies, his vision is not about the character’s hair, but the story. As a writer myself, I understand that to an extent.

However…

What bothered me is the fact that he thinks hair doesn’t matter. This is a movie put out in the SAME YEAR as a kid is being told he can’t attend his own graduation unless he cuts his dreadlocks in a blatantly targeted act from a high school.

But hair doesn’t matter…

Black folks have been fighting for representation in the entertainment world since entertainment developed its own atmosphere and orbit and became a "world." We are STILL fighting for representation. While I’m super happy and proud of Tyler Perry’s accomplishments as a Black man who brought an aspect of Blackness into a mainstream society, and this continual representation in his projects; I have a problem with the idea that he doesn’t think full representation is important.

Ask ANY Black woman you come across and I GUARANTEE you that the majority of them will tell you that their hair is important. (And the ones who don't will probably follow up with, "I got a whole mess of wigs.") Most Black women have horror stories of a hot comb, a relaxer that burned their scalp, or how they cleared her whole day because that's how long she's finna be at the beauty shop. We don't do 1-2 hours and you're done, honey.

Ask ANY Black man, and the majority can talk about their current or former barber shop, and if you going who to ask for, and whose chair to avoid, and who will put a plug in your head if you make him laugh too hard…

Hair matters in the Black community, Mr. Perry.

It matters to a young man who was faced with not being able to attend his graduation because his school has deemed his hair style as offensive or unconventional. It’s only atypical to people who don’t have hair like ours. Perhaps for some White people, dreadlocks are associated with marijuana, dirty hair, or some other unprofessional light because that’s all they’ve seen or had presented to them. What if they just saw them regularly in a board meeting for a Fortune 500 company? Or even a Fortune 500 company in a movie or TV show? What if they saw a young person with dreadlocks in an after school special and the weed is actually being offered to THEM, instead of the other way around?

Whoa, I just said After School Special… Yeah, I’m old.

My point: Representation can help eliminate discrimination. But the representation should be proper and not stereotypical or deemed unimportant. It should be as accurate as you can get, to show others different facets of our community.

Yes, even down to the hair.

~Fin~

C’mon Tyler!!! (And other hair woes…)

I love being Black.  For real. It’s pretty freaking awesome.  If you’re a regular reader of my blog, you know that this has been a struggle for me in the past; particularly surrounding the comfortable expression of my Blackness. In this ever changing world, the comfort of one’s expression can wax and wane, depending on what’s hot/not, taboo/trendy, social media friendly/attractive blah blah blah…  I didn’t say being Black wasn’t exhausting… I simply said it’s awesome.  I revisited this concept of society’s comfort level of Black expression when an article crossed my news feed. The article was about a Texas teenager who was banned from his own graduation due to having dreadlocks. So, of course the key words that drew me into the story were: Texas. Banned. Dreadlocks. I mean… I live in Texas and I have dreadlocks… I was invested! It seems that this young man’s school had a dress code that limited the length of male hair. In order to comply with said dress code, he would tie up his locks and ensure his hair remained above his earlobes and out of his eyes. He had worn his hair in locks since he was in 7th grade. Now, in his SENIOR YEAR, the school’s policy changed overnight! No seriously… it was basically overnight. Dude left for Christmas break cool and came back to the news that he was suddenly out of dress code and would not be able to attend his graduation if he didn’t cut his locks. Sure hair grows fast, but NO ONE’S hair grows THAT damn fast.  Of course this angered me. Just last year, in the Year of our Lord 2019, California became the 1st state to ban hair discrimination. HAIR. DISCRIMINATION. Y’all… Do you hear how stupid that sounds? Have we run out of things to be upset about, so we have now moved on to hating people cause their HAIR is different? And it’s now so bad states are now passing LAWS about it??? (California, New York & New Jersey) It’s not like I don’t know that hair discrimination has always been a thing. Ever since the Europeans met the Africans… (and when I say “met” I mean the brutal colonization and enslavement of a good portion of their populous…. It’s just that “met” is shorter, and I’m working on word count, remember??) Europeans have always set the standard of beauty and for years, it solely revolved around them. Everything catered and pandered to them; and given the racist nature of our country, they would be less prone to buying something that was not also represented by them.  Even when Madame C.J. Walker developed hair products for Black women, it initially was to help their hair to become like that of the Europeans (straight); and therefore, more socially acceptable. During the Civil Rights movement, the afro was associated with embracing one’s Blackness and rejecting the idea that the European-American way was the only way; while chemically relaxed hair was seen as attempting to conform to society. That thinking never went away, and I get that… But it’s gotten to the point where laws are having to be written to allow Black folks to wear our hair styled in its natural state; without the fear of losing our jobs or being banned from our high school graduation… you know… without the side of discrimination.  Anyway, going back to the article, I came across a comment on the post that really struck me as profound. We are being policed for the way our hair grows out of our head NATURALLY. We are being discriminated against, not for changing our hair in some wild or outlandish way, but for hair styles that only hair like ours can pull off naturally, with zero chemical enhancements. Our hair is kinky, it’s coily, it can be curly one day, or straight the next. It can be molded into cool styles with zero hairspray and mousse. It’s so funny how many times many of us, (Not that I speak for Black people as a collective. PLEASE. They’d pick someone much better than me) have been told by White folks, “I love your hair! I wish mine could do that!”  You know what, Shelly? WE wish we could interact with “authority figures” and not be afraid that our skin-tone will trigger some sort of fear and get us killed… But sure, my hair is cool too.  See how even in 2020, we are still having stupid fights over our basic rights to let our hair do what it naturally does without being declared as abominable by a society run by people whose hair can’t do it unless they use enough product to punch a hole in the ozone layer and then not listen when scientist tell them that because of said hole in the ozone layer, the world is burning…?  *gasp* Okay, maybe that was too far… I’ll reel it in. Anyway, as I mulled the case of the young man from Texas around in my brain to figure out what I wanted to say about it, another article crossed my path. This time it was about Tyler Perry.  Full disclosure: I USED to like Tyler Perry’s stuff. I was introduced to his work through some church folks. As I mentioned being raised Seventh-Day Adventist, there was not a lot of options of entertainment on any given Saturday. I was raised not watching TV or doing anything secular from sundown Friday night til sundown Saturday. (Sure I could watch Tom and Jerry beat up on each other in a long standing rivalry that did NOTHING for the propaganda of an interspecies feud between cats and mice, as long as it was turned off as the day died in the West on Friday.) That was the Lord’s time. During that time, any entertainment had to ALSO be related to Jesus. That was all fine and good when I was a kid. Usually after church and food, we napped and when I woke up, the sun was down and I could watch TV. But as I got older, naps became less desirable and boredom often consumed my Sabbath afternoons.  Enter Tyler Perry and his sassy, “cussin’” (that totally belongs in quotes, cause damn and hell ain’t really cussing), maternal and wise character, Madea. As crazy as the character was, in the end, it all circled back to something church-related; while also being funny, engaging, and relatable. Now don’t get me wrong. I have no problems with Tyler Perry’s catapult from a gem in the Black community to damn near Hollywood royalty, rubbing elbows with Oprah and whatnot. I’m all for that! (Hell, if I’m being honest, I hope it happens to me one day!) But, I will say that when he moved Madea from the stage to the screen, it lost something for me. It wasn’t even about the religious undertones that were more overt in the stage plays. I feel like it was just better on stage. The singing aspect of the musicals that most of his plays were, brought a sense of emotion to each role. I mean, if we’re being honest, Tyler isn’t the BESTEST writer out there, but with the rawness of the actors, many of who started with him, their singing voices (shout out to Pepsi Riley!), and the emotion that brought made the story better overall. As that is lost in the screen adaptations, you’re left with an often stereotypical and campy movie that you try to make better by getting super big names to fill the roles.  Basically I got nothing against Tyler Perry, I just don’t really vibe with his product anymore. For me he’s up there with the Reality Television shows. I understand people like drama so messy and loud that it’s cringey and campy… but I’m just not one of those people.  I heard on a podcast that Mr. Perry brags about the fact that he doesn’t have a writers room and he writes everything he produces himself. I also think perhaps part of why all of his shows and movies seem the same to me; it’s the same writer with no other perspective. After he built this large studio in Atlanta on the ground of an old plantation and then inked his deal with Netflix, it would have been nice to see him reach out and bring in more “Tyler Perry wannabes” coming up. Get other voices out there that wouldn’t be given the chance otherwise. Be someone’s Oprah. Ya got a whole studio! Why not?  Anyway, a few days after reading the story about the young man and his school giving him grief over his dreadlocks, I stumbled onto another article where Tyler Perry responded to some of the criticisms he’s receiving in his new Netflix movie: “A Fall From Grace.” Besides the run-of-the-mill feedback I saw about it, a reoccurring criticism was about wigs: quality, presentation and consistency. (Apparently, at one point in this movie, a wig changed mid-scene.) Mr. Perry’s response to the wig critiques didn’t sit well with me. He basically said he doesn’t want to spend the time and/or money on the hair for his movies. It’s just not a priority for him. I would assume his take on this is due to the fact that as the writer of the movies, his vision is not about the character’s hair, but the story. As a writer myself, I understand that to an extent. However… What bothered me is the fact that he thinks hair doesn’t matter. This is a movie put out in the SAME YEAR as a kid is being told he can’t attend his own graduation unless he cuts his dreadlocks in a blatantly targeted act from a high school.  But hair doesn’t matter… Black folks have been fighting for representation in the entertainment world since entertainment developed its own atmosphere and orbit and became a “world.” We are STILL fighting for representation. While I’m super happy and proud of Tyler Perry’s accomplishments as a Black man who brought an aspect of Blackness into a mainstream society, and this continual representation in his projects; I have a problem with the idea that he doesn’t think full representation is important.  Ask ANY Black woman you come across and I GUARANTEE you that the majority of them will tell you that their hair is important. (And the ones who don’t will probably follow up with, “I got a whole mess of wigs.”) Most Black women have horror stories of a hot comb, a relaxer that burned their scalp, or how they cleared her whole day because that’s how long she’s finna be at the beauty shop. We don’t do 1-2 hours and you’re done, honey.  Ask ANY Black man, and the majority can talk about their current or former barber shop, and if you going who to ask for, and whose chair to avoid, and who will put a plug in your head if you make him laugh too hard… Hair matters in the Black community, Mr. Perry.  It matters to a young man who was faced with not being able to attend his graduation because his school has deemed his hair style as offensive or unconventional. It’s only atypical to people who don’t have hair like ours. Perhaps for some White people, dreadlocks are associated with marijuana, dirty hair, or some other unprofessional light because that’s all they’ve seen or had presented to them. What if they just saw them regularly in a board meeting for a Fortune 500 company? Or even a Fortune 500 company in a movie or TV show? What if they saw a young person with dreadlocks in an after school special and the weed is actually being offered to THEM, instead of the other way around?  Whoa, I just said After School Special… Yeah, I’m old.  My point: Representation can help eliminate discrimination. But the representation should be proper and not stereotypical or deemed unimportant. It should be as accurate as you can get, to show others different facets of our community.  Yes, even down to the hair.  ~Fin~

The post C’mon Tyler!!! (And other hair woes…) first appeared on BJ Cyprian.

For My Sister....

It’s been a very long time folks… too long. I’d apologize, but I highly doubt I’m all that engaging or important to any of you that you actually MISSED my blog entries. However, I’m suppose to have some kind of confidence in my writing to the point where part of me has to give the appearance of believing that folks actually like my writing both in the novel and on this webpage to continue trying to have some form of a writing career, so…

Here we are.

A lot has happened since I last wrote. Some has been insanely good, and some insanely terrible. I turned 40 last month, so… Yay over the hill and old jokes. I went on a cruise to celebrate in mid-September and had a great time. I flew to Puerto Rico, spent a couple of days exploring that beautiful island, and then got on a boat and sailed off for islands such as St. Thomas, St. Lucia, Barbados, St. Kitts, and Antigua. I relaxed, I became a karaoke legend all over again on a whole other cruise line, I drank.. (*cough* a lot * cough*) I tanned, I splashed, I smiled…. I had an awesome time. It was such a great time that I never wanted to leave. I was floating act ideas by Shauna, trying to convince her that we should become entertainers on cruise ships and just… sail all the time. I didn’t want to get off the boat.

I really, really wish I hadn’t. It was when I got off the boat that the universe smiled it’s malicious smile it reserves for times when I’m particularly happy and says… “I hope you had fun, because shit is about to get real ignorant…” (once again.. pronounced “ig-nant”)

I didn’t even get OUT of Puerto Rico before things went to hell. I was at the airport! Then I got home, trying to put that behind me and home was weird!

(All these are vague references to personal things that I wouldn’t share with strangers…(no offense guys)… Just know that two very, very bad things happened: One at the airport, and one when I got home… but I didn’t die… so, it’s just to put you in my mindset for what I’m really going to talk about…)

The day after I returned, my mom called… After over a year of searching, they finally confirmed that my older sister had cancer…(That overshadowed the events of the prior 24 hours by a mile!) And if that wasn’t enough… On October 6th, 2019, three days before I turned 40 years old, I woke up to my mother and big brother telling me that my big sister laid down and died in her sleep that morning.

(Yeah, didn’t see that coming did you? Neither did I… Strap in kiddies…)

I’ve been wrestling with how to write this. I had so many ways I could have gone about it, and I had been struggling, but I think I found it.. some thing that my big sister would have absolutely loved…

If you’ve read my book, you may have read the author’s note. If you have it and haven’t read it, you should.. it’s pretty heartfelt and real, if I have to say so myself… Anyway, at the end, I apologized to those people who read my writings in my 20s and was left wondering what happened. That was a not-so veiled shout out to my big sister, Renee.

Renee was probably one of my biggest writing fans. From my corny ass poetry I started writing in Jr. High, to the songs I wrote for and sang with my gospel group, to every single attempt I made at writing a book… my big sister was there. She always bragged about me to her friends and family. She would talk about my failed writing attempts and ask me when I was gonna give her the rest of her “stories.” When I finally finished Shadow Resistance, it was a personal triumph for many people as well as myself. So, in my authors note, I put a cloaked shout out to my big sister Renee, because I finally finished a story she could complete.

Around the time I was publishing Shadow Resistance, my sister had been stricken with a rare auto-immune disease that put her in a lot of pain and had her in and out of the hospital. It also affected her eyes, and hands, and her speech and ability to read. Shortly after release, during one of her many trips to the emergency room, I arrived with a copy of the novel for her. She mainly lived in the Austin area, and since I’m in the DFW area, I figured I’d leave it for her to read as she could.

As we stood there in her ER room, my mom read the author’s note out loud to her. When she got to the special shout out, Renee looked at me with a big ol’ smile and said, “That was for me, wasn’t it, sissy? Cause you know I’ve been waiting!” The rest of my time with her in the ER was spent with her lovingly admiring the cover of the novel and telling every medical professional that came into the room that her sister was an author and had just published her book and they should get it because it was great! (Mind you she hadn’t read it yet.)

But as her battle with the disease progressed, she couldn’t read it herself. At one point she was in a rehab center near me, and I would visit her and read it out loud to her. When she was staying with our mother, she would read the book to her as she could. Renee was so frustrated she couldn’t read it herself. She wanted to so badly, but she couldn’t see well enough or the pain was to great for her to be able to sit up to read.

So the one person who was waiting the longest for my first novel, my amazing big sister Renee, lived long enough to see me publish, but she never got a chance to read the novel.

Since her death, I of course have been going through all the various stages of grief, (and perhaps some I’m creating.) But that led me back to thinking about how I wrote a book, and my sister never got a chance to read it.

Then I thought about the book and characters in itself… My sister is all over that story, and I didn’t even realize it. As I said in my author’s note, I wrote about my life, my family, my friends and my outlook. My sister is present in so many characters. So, I want to tell you about my sister.

Like Vasquez, she was so outgoing and loved to laugh and eat! There would be no way anyone with a soul could be within earshot of Renee’s laugh and a smile not find its way onto their face. Her laugh and smile were contagious! She also would tell you exactly how she felt when she felt it, whether you wanted to hear it or not.

Like Dom, she loved to cook and feed people. Cooking for people was a love language for my sister. In the novel, Dom got that trait from her deceased mother. As a person, I, BJ Cyprian, got that trait from my big sister and my grandmother.

Like Rose, she wanted to help as many people as she could and be a positive influence in the lives of many youth. The friends of her kids called her mama, and knew better than to talk back to her. Sometimes, they showed her more respect than their own mothers. She tried to help them as much as she could, and no matter what their personal path became, good or bad, they always loved and respected her as a positive role model in their lives.

Like Layla and Ryan, my sister was NOT scared of a fight, and if you were at the end of her ire, especially if it was related to her family, have mercy on your soul. LOL My mom actually gave the 3 of us, “spirit animals” one day. She said that my sister was like a Rottweiler. They can seem scary, their barks are terrifying… but I mean, they’re still dogs and by nature are not “attack dogs” or “fighting dogs” or whatever people think about them. However… if they perceive a threat to their loved ones… Well a Rottie’s bite IS worse than its bark, if you know what I mean.

And like Robert, sometimes my sister made mistakes… and no one was harder on herself that she was. That one was something I learned towards the end of her life. But like Robert, my sister Renee was resolute til the end.. she would be better. She would do better and always be a good person.

And like SARA, love was an easy concept for my sister to understand. She truly didn’t understand not loving people or energy of hating people. She loved people and people loved her…

I loved her.

I’m not sure what my new normal will be. My parents have both lost siblings and both told me, it’s a different kind of pain, and now that I’m experiencing it, I see. It's not something people prepare you for. It's not something you can explain. It just...hurts. But I hope to keep putting my sister in my writings. I know she was proud of me, and I will continue to try to make her proud.

RIP Renee. I’m gonna keep finishing your stories, okay?

For My Sister

It’s been a very long time folks… too long. I’d apologize, but I highly doubt I’m all that engaging or important to any of you that you actually MISSED my blog entries. However, I’m suppose to have some kind of confidence in my writing to the point where part of me has to give the appearance of believing that folks actually like my writing both in the novel and on this webpage to continue trying to have some form of a writing career, so…  Here we are.  A lot has happened since I last wrote. Some has been insanely good, and some insanely terrible. I turned 40 last month, so… Yay over the hill and old jokes. I went on a cruise to celebrate in mid-September and had a great time. I flew to Puerto Rico, spent a couple of days exploring that beautiful island, and then got on a boat and sailed off for islands such as St. Thomas, St. Lucia, Barbados, St. Kitts, and Antigua. I relaxed, I became a karaoke legend all over again on a whole other cruise line, I drank.. (*cough* a lot * cough*) I tanned, I splashed, I smiled…. I had an awesome time. It was such a great time that I never wanted to leave. I was floating act ideas by Shauna, trying to convince her that we should become entertainers on cruise ships and just… sail all the time. I didn’t want to get off the boat.  I really, really wish I hadn’t. It was when I got off the boat that the universe smiled it’s malicious smile it reserves for times when I’m particularly happy and says… “I hope you had fun, because shit is about to get real ignorant…” (once again.. pronounced “ig-nant”)  I didn’t even get OUT of Puerto Rico before things went to hell. I was at the airport! Then I got home, trying to put that behind me and home was weird!  (All these are vague references to personal things that I wouldn’t share with strangers…(no offense guys)… Just know that two very, very bad things happened: One at the airport, and one when I got home… but I didn’t die… so, it’s just to put you in my mindset for what I’m really going to talk about…) The day after I returned, my mom called… After over a year of searching, they finally confirmed that my older sister had cancer…(That overshadowed the events of the prior 24 hours by a mile!) And if that wasn’t enough… On October 6th, 2019, three days before I turned 40 years old, I woke up to my mother and big brother telling me that my big sister laid down and died in her sleep that morning.  (Yeah, didn’t see that coming did you? Neither did I… Strap in kiddies…) I’ve been wrestling with how to write this. I had so many ways I could have gone about it, and I had been struggling, but I think I found it.. some thing that my big sister would have absolutely loved…  If you’ve read my book, you may have read the author’s note. If you have it and haven’t read it, you should.. it’s pretty heartfelt and real, if I have to say so myself… Anyway, at the end, I apologized to those people who read my writings in my 20s and was left wondering what happened. That was a not-so veiled shout out to my big sister, Renee.  Renee was probably one of my biggest writing fans. From my corny ass poetry I started writing in Jr. High, to the songs I wrote for and sang with my gospel group, to every single attempt I made at writing a book… my big sister was there. She always bragged about me to her friends and family. She would talk about my failed writing attempts and ask me when I was gonna give her the rest of her “stories.” When I finally finished Shadow Resistance, it was a personal triumph for many people as well as myself. So, in my authors note, I put a cloaked shout out to my big sister Renee, because I finally finished a story she could complete.  Around the time I was publishing Shadow Resistance, my sister had been stricken with a rare auto-immune disease that put her in a lot of pain and had her in and out of the hospital. It also affected her eyes, and hands, and her speech and ability to read. Shortly after release, during one of her many trips to the emergency room, I arrived with a copy of the novel for her. She mainly lived in the Austin area, and since I’m in the DFW area, I figured I’d leave it for her to read as she could.  As we stood there in her ER room, my mom read the author’s note out loud to her. When she got to the special shout out, Renee looked at me with a big ol’ smile and said, “That was for me, wasn’t it, sissy? Cause you know I’ve been waiting!” The rest of my time with her in the ER was spent with her lovingly admiring the cover of the novel and telling every medical professional that came into the room that her sister was an author and had just published her book and they should get it because it was great! (Mind you she hadn’t read it yet.)  But as her battle with the disease progressed, she couldn’t read it herself. At one point she was in a rehab center near me, and I would visit her and read it out loud to her. When she was staying with our mother, she would read the book to her as she could. Renee was so frustrated she couldn’t read it herself. She wanted to so badly, but she couldn’t see well enough or the pain was to great for her to be able to sit up to read.  So the one person who was waiting the longest for my first novel, my amazing big sister Renee, lived long enough to see me publish, but she never got a chance to read the novel.  Since her death, I of course have been going through all the various stages of grief, (and perhaps some I’m creating.) But that led me back to thinking about how I wrote a book, and my sister never got a chance to read it.  Then I thought about the book and characters in itself… My sister is all over that story, and I didn’t even realize it. As I said in my author’s note, I wrote about my life, my family, my friends and my outlook. My sister is present in so many characters. So, I want to tell you about my sister.  Like Vasquez, she was so outgoing and loved to laugh and eat! There would be no way anyone with a soul could be within earshot of Renee’s laugh and a smile not find its way onto their face. Her laugh and smile were contagious! She also would tell you exactly how she felt when she felt it, whether you wanted to hear it or not.  Like Dom, she loved to cook and feed people. Cooking for people was a love language for my sister. In the novel, Dom got that trait from her deceased mother. As a person, I, BJ Cyprian, got that trait from my big sister and my grandmother.  Like Rose, she wanted to help as many people as she could and be a positive influence in the lives of many youth. The friends of her kids called her mama, and knew better than to talk back to her. Sometimes, they showed her more respect than their own mothers. She tried to help them as much as she could, and no matter what their personal path became, good or bad, they always loved and respected her as a positive role model in their lives.  Like Layla and Ryan, my sister was NOT scared of a fight, and if you were at the end of her ire, especially if it was related to her family, have mercy on your soul. LOL My mom actually gave the 3 of us, “spirit animals” one day. She said that my sister was like a Rottweiler. They can seem scary, their barks are terrifying… but I mean, they’re still dogs and by nature are not “attack dogs” or “fighting dogs” or whatever people think about them. However… if they perceive a threat to their loved ones… Well a Rottie’s bite IS worse than its bark, if you know what I mean.  And like Robert, sometimes my sister made mistakes… and no one was harder on herself that she was. That one was something I learned towards the end of her life. But like Robert, my sister Renee was resolute til the end.. she would be better. She would do better and always be a good person. And like SARA, love was an easy concept for my sister to understand. She truly didn’t understand not loving people or energy of hating people. She loved people and people loved her…  I loved her.  I’m not sure what my new normal will be. My parents have both lost siblings and both told me, it’s a different kind of pain, and now that I’m experiencing it, I see. It’s not something people prepare you for. It’s not something you can explain. It just…hurts. But I hope to keep putting my sister in my writings. I know she was proud of me, and I will continue to try to make her proud.  RIP Renee. I’m gonna keep finishing your stories, okay? 

 

The post For My Sister first appeared on BJ Cyprian.

Where is the love?

Recently, I stumbled across an editorial on a lesbian entertainment website that I have been a long follower and fan of. The article was titled: “Butch Eradication, Served with a Progressive Smile.” It piqued my interest. As discussed in prior writings, the LGBT community have boxes within boxes, and as far as I understand, my box is a butch/stud lesbian.  So, I opened it. I mean if there is some undercover plot to get rid of people like me, I’d rather know about it than not, ya dig?  What I read bothered me to my core. You are more than welcome to read the article yourself, but I’ll summarize it for you. The author, who apparently is a mature butch lesbian, feels appalled and offended by trans-men who are working at her local Starbucks. In her opinion, these men are actually butch lesbians who feel shame about their butch-ness and is embracing some sort of societal gender-normative role, perpetuated by the trans community, to belong so they choose to transition rather than to live their best butch life. In the author’s opinion, this is akin to a genocide (which was later corrected to eugenic destruction) of the butch lesbian community. The author goes on to say that she weeps for the youth of today who are being swayed into transitioning their gender because they are ashamed to live as themselves.  The article is full of judgment, trans-hatred and since NEVER ONCE does the author indicate that she spoke to any of these men, full of a whole lot of misguided assumptions based on ignorance at best or an anti-trans agenda at worst.  My first reading of the article, (because yes, I read it at least twice, so that you don’t have to if you don’t want to) left me feeling uneasy, but also torn. The thing is, I know firsthand how hard it is to be more masculine presenting than feminine. In fact, it’s something I’m covering in book 2 of Shadow Resistance. (Like I legit wrote about this over 3 months ago.) Here’s just a little of my experience:  I am rarely treated as female by men. I will get on an elevator with a mixed crowd, and the guys will hold open the doors for the other ladies, and then step out in front of me as if I am a dude like them. I am called sir at least three times a week. (Despite having a DDD bust) Children often walk up to me and ask me if I’m a girl or a boy. The more overt homophobes visibly cringe when they see me or they become actively hostile. I’ve been told I’m going to hell more times than I care to count. (For simply EXISTING you guys, not like I was tonguing down anyone. Just breathing air and condemned to hell.) People have freaked out when I enter the women’s restroom. Men believe they can say the most foul and perverted things about other women to me, because I’m “just one of the bros.”  That’s just the “best of” hits…We aren’t even bringing in the whole being Black and in the South thing. The thing is, when you “present” as something outside of the norm, it short circuits the brain cells of small-minded Homo sapiens. If your box is not what they are used to, they don’t know what to do with you. So instead of just letting you live your life in your own bubble that has nothing to do with them, they judge and treat you as improper or incorrect.  But see, that’s the problem with society as a whole, isn’t it? You must fit in a box that’s easy to understand or you’re pushed away as an “other.” If it’s skin color, sexuality, gender identity, etc, it’s all the same. (Read my book people, it’s all there!) However, as I spoke to my lovely wife about the topic and how it made me feel, the problem that I’m having with this article, (and believe me, there are many problems) is the extreme either/or tone, as well as the irony in the author’s erasure of trans people in an article lamenting the erasure of butch people.  So, of course in our house, topics like this spark discussion. As the resident mental health specialist, Shauna had some strong feelings on the erroneous nature of the information presented. I felt the same way, but added a little outrage to the fact that I am a part of the “butch” community and for someone who allegedly represents my interest to present themselves in such a way makes me feel like… well… embarrassed.  Why would I be embarrassed by a post that has absolutely NOTHING to do with me?The thing is, in a society where equality for all is nothing more than an idyllic dream, there is a problem with viewing people who seem to be the same as the exact same. Black people see this quite frequently. The way we are portrayed in the media often is the only way small-minded humans can see us.  Because small minds, you see.  (Seriously it’s all in there, here’s a link to it! It’s even available on Kindle Unlimited now!) It’s the same with every group that is not considered to be the “majority” or “normal” or whatever ridiculousness you wanna call it. So, to have this butch woman, who surely has been the target of discrimination for her sexuality as well as her gender expression, write an article so full of hatred towards another group, who is in a similar camp, just makes butch lesbians look like bitter and angry men haters.  I mean, to be honest, probably every angry bitter lesbian joke is likely taken from a portrayal of a butch lesbian JUST like the one who wrote this editorial. Now, let me get down to the part that is all about ignorance. Here’s where I teach you something. There is a difference between gender expression, gender identity, and gender assignment.  I know, it’s a lot, and to be honest I’m still learning myself, but thankfully I have a built-in therapist at home, so I’m trying to give you the info I have.  Gender assignment is basic biology. It’s simply the parts you have when you are born. If you can pee standing up, don’t have the monthly bloodletting going on, and people listen to you when you speak, whether you know what you’re talking about or not; you’re likely assigned male.  If you don’t have an extra appendage that allows for peeing in public without worrying about what disease the toilet seat may give you if there is no toilet cover, are usually smarter than most people in the room but are simultaneously the most ignored person in the room, and have the ability to biologically carry an ungrateful human on the roll of the dice that they will end up hating you because they have a fancy penis and you do not… well then congrats! You’re assigned female.  It’s simple really. And before we Earthborn fully understood psychology, that’s all we had to go on.  Now, as we started understanding the human mind, we have learned that there is a difference between gender assignment and gender identity. Gender identity is the gender your BRAIN sees yourself as. In most cases, the assignment and identity match up. But in some cases, they do not, and that’s where we get transgender people. A trans person suffers from gender dysmorphia which is basically caused because the gender they see themselves as is not what they were assigned with at birth. This causes major distress and is often dangerous to the psychological well-being of the person. In most cases, no amount of counseling, talking or berating will change the gender of which they see themselves.  Now, back in the old days, these people were often written off by society as “funny” or “queer” or “gay.” Sometimes these people were committed into institutions against their will, and dangerous experiments were conducted on them up to and including lobotomizing and electro-shock therapy. The existence of these people were taboo, often by their own families but definitely by society and the medical community.  But then, science happened. Finally, there is gender expression. This has absolutely nothing to do with the biological or mental aspect of gender. This is simply, “how do you feel comfortable?” Some women, like myself, “present” more masculine than other women. Some men “present” more feminine than other men. This concept is dumb really, but it’s heavily rooted in the whole gender-normative concept of our patriarchal society that of course has roots in the notion that gender assignment was the only thing there is.  This is not even touching on the fact that everything is on a spectrum, from sexuality to gender. (Shout out to my non-binary & ace folks)  Okay… I’m getting to my point, if you’ve stuck with me thus far, you’re the real rock stars.  First of all, this article completely negates the existence of trans-men. In the author’s all-knowing mind, trans-men are simply butch women who are ashamed of being masculine presenting women and decide to transition because of some patriarchal pressure put on by the trans community.  (There is so much wrong with that sentence, but that’s still my takeaway.)  Trans men exist! Trans women exist! I cannot fully understand the mindset of a trans person because I’m not trans. I’m a lesbian. I do understand the trials and bigotry a masculine presenting lesbian faces from society, not just in the hetero-normative space but also in the LGBT community. Femme lesbians can be rough on the butch/stud clan. Yeah, some love us, but I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “If I wanted to be with a man, I’d just date a man.” (Yeah, that’s not how lesbianism works at all. The whole idea of being a lesbian is that you don’t want a man. That’s what we’re all here for. WTF are you talking about?) Conversely, gay men can be pretty vicious to us because perhaps some of us make them uncomfortable by presenting too masculine? (I honestly don’t know, that’s a wild guess on my part but I’ve felt the shade from gay men all the same.)  This is where my problem is. WHY ARE WE DOING THE JOB OF THE MAJORITY FOR THEM?!! Look, the whole reason we march, we go to court, we write, we hope, and take action towards equal rights is because we just want to live. We just want to exist and be protected like everyone else! Just about everyone in the Rainbow Coalition has been overtly or covertly discriminated against. We have been the subject of hatred borne from lack of understanding. Small minded people who cannot understand a box that is not their own try to tell us we chose the lives we live. They try to force us to live in a box they give us or want to silence us all together. Why are we doing this to each other?! There is no need to lament about the problems of one group by dumping on and trying to erase the existence of another. WE ARE ALL IN A SIMILAR BOAT. The small-minded majority wants us to just go away. And then with us being hard on each other, they use that as ammunition to pit us against each other.  And THEN… Oh and then… the heifer had the nerve to use a term like genocide and eugenics. I don’t think those words mean what she thinks they mean.  Sure, perhaps there COULD be butch lesbians who think transitioning would make it easier to function in society, but IS IT?! The author started out speaking about her very real very RUDE judgement she had towards the trans-men at her Starbucks when they were just living their lives trying to give her coffee. HOW IS THAT EASIER?? Now they have to deal with the hateful discrimination of cis-gendered hetero-normative folks AND people within the Rainbow Coalition WHERE THEY SHOULD FEEL SAFE!!  What’s doubly infuriating is that as someone who is a minority several times over, to not even have the small amount of empathy to try to at least remember what life was like BEFORE one became comfortable in their skin. How are you going to look at people who are already judged by the rest of society for something *very* close to what you’ve likely been judged for and pile on?? That’s like someone who grew up poor, scratched and clawed for everything they had, despite being viewed as trash for being poor, then looking down on the “help” because now they’re the rich ones and the help is poor. YOU WERE THERE TOO!! It’s like you forgot that you’ve had your own struggles as well! Or maybe you’re privileged and you have always been surrounded by accepting and loving people. Well la-dee-dah. Good for you! That isn’t the case for all of us. So you do you, boo-boo. You go to your Starbucks and silently judge the trans-men behind the counter as “shamed butch lesbians” and stew at how their existence is an indicator of butch erasure.  I will choose the route of being respectful and kind to those who are different than me, whether I get it or not. Because God knows I’ve had my fair share of hatred and judgement thrown at me in my forty years. I will embrace the mantra touted by the Rainbow Coalition. Love is love.

The post Where is the love? first appeared on BJ Cyprian.

Behind every good thing is an amazing woman

They say behind every good man is a better woman. 

Since I’m not a man, *I* personally can’t say that, but that’s what they say. Obviously, the title is a spin on that. Today’s topic is about my lovely wife, Shauna. The reason I am writing about her is because on Saturday, we will be celebrating 5 years of wedded bliss.

Also, because this is my blog and I’ll write what I want.

To know Shauna is to absolutely adore her. This is a 100% factual statement, despite the fact that she will deny it. I seemed to have found someone that, given the opportunity, my own mother would exchange names on our birth certificates. At this point I’m fairly sure that most of my friends love her more than they love me, and I’m talking life long friends… Like friends I’ve had since kindergarten.

I can’t blame them. Shauna is beautiful. She is intelligent. She is patient. She is kind. She’s trustworthy. You are immediately at ease in her presence. She is one of the strongest people I’ve ever known.  She has the most amazing smile I’ve ever seen, and on top of all that, she’s freaking hilarious. 

(I mean, if you can’t make me laugh, I just can’t deal with you, okay?)

One immediately recognizes most if not all of the above characteristics when you first meet Shauna. But there’s something else I want to talk about.

Shauna is probably one of the most obstinate and stubborn people I’ve ever met! 

(Stick with me kids.)

See, I’ve had my fair share of relationships in my almost 40 years on this planet.  Some would say I’ve had more than my fair share, while others would wonder HOW THE HELL I got anyone to want to be with me in the first place. (That one is me, I wonder that almost daily.)  But in the end, things fizzled and died. There are many reasons for any relationship, serious or not, to die out. But there was a common theme in many of mine… hesitancy. 

I’ve dated straight women, bi-curious women, bi women and lesbians. So this is kind of all across the sexuality spectrum here. For a long time, my saying was, “People want to play with me, but no one wants to keep me.”

(In retrospect I realize that sounds way dirtier than it was meant to.)

When I met Shauna in 2004, I had just come out of the closet. I was still in the church, and I was still trying to accept who I was and shake the constant suicidal self loathing that had been instilled in me since I was a child. 

(I’ll let you know when I’m successful in that endeavor.) 

Meeting Shauna in that time was like a breath of fresh air. She didn’t really know me from any rando on the street, but she wanted to talk to me. Even though our initial interaction was limited to 1 night filled with a wedding rehearsal and a very strange bridal shower…. Where we had to assure someone that just because the chicken is called Jack Daniels chicken, doesn’t mean you will get drunk by eating it. (Which will forever be our favorite first meeting memory.)  That less than 24 hours made her want to know me more and ask me for my email address. (Cause this was 2004…dial up was still a thing people. If you don’t know what that is, ask your parents.) As we got to know each other, even after I told her I was gay (which was somehow a surprise to her? I’m not sure how…) she never judged me. She wanted to know me, wanted to be my friend.  

Then life happened and we kind of lost contact. By the time we reconnected in 2012, I was a different person. I was definitely more comfortable in my skin and with who I was, but I was more than a little gun shy in the relationship department. I had seen too much pain, too much heartbreak. I’d been returned to the store too many times; sometimes for things I couldn’t control and sometimes because of me personally. The small amount of self-confidence attained in my 20s from my inexplicable dating experience was gone, and I just didn’t trust anyone to really want to be with me. 

Oh, but you see… Shauna is stubborn. 

I wasn’t sure about gambling a 7 year friendship on a relationship, especially because I would be her first female relationship.  But Shauna was sure. 

I was afraid that I was just a passing fancy that will dull with time, and I wasn’t sure that she would be happy with me. But Shauna was sure. 

Even when I proposed and she accepted, I wasn’t absolutely sure that it was what she really wanted. (I mean, guys, I proposed in Florence, Italy. MOST people would say yes in the moment.) But Shauna was sure. 

When I ached to put my feelings on paper in the form of a book, but was unsure if I was good enough, or if I could be successful. Shauna was sure. 

On a weekly basis, I question myself, I berate myself, I hate myself, and I’m certain that there is no way I have anything to give anyone… But Shauna is sure. 

Even after five years,  I often don’t believe I deserve her love, her devotion and her belief in me. But for some reason, Shauna is sure. 

If it wasn’t for her stubbornness I’m fairly sure I would have sabotaged us within the first year. But no matter how down I get on myself, how much I question myself and my talents, how hard I try to prove my internal demons are correct and I ain’t shit… Shauna stubbornly looks at me and says, “Don’t talk about my wife like that.”

Her certainty and belief in me has given me more courage than I ever thought possible. I mean, I have awesome parents and family, but let’s be honest… they kinda *have* to support you, or pretend to. Shauna chose the mess that is me. 

And every now and again, I look at her and wonder if she’s lost her mind or if this is the life and the wife she really wants, she just looks at me and says, “Babe. I’m very sure.”

Yes, behind every good thing is an amazing woman, and I am so blessed that no matter how much I doubt myself, my wife is so very sure. 

I will forever be thankful for your love, your support, and your stubbornness.  Because I will constantly contend… you can do SO much better than me. 

I love you.  Happy Anniversary. 

Behind Every Good Thing Is An Amazing Woman

They say behind every good man is a better woman.  Since I’m not a man, *I* personally can’t say that, but that’s what they say. Obviously, the title is a spin on that. Today’s topic is about my lovely wife, Shauna. The reason I am writing about her is because on Saturday, we will be celebrating 5 years of wedded bliss. Also, because this is my blog and I’ll write what I want. To know Shauna is to absolutely adore her. This is a 100% factual statement, despite the fact that she will deny it. I seemed to have found someone that, given the opportunity, my own mother would exchange names on our birth certificates. At this point I’m fairly sure that most of my friends love her more than they love me, and I’m talking life long friends… Like friends I’ve had since kindergarten. I can’t blame them. Shauna is beautiful. She is intelligent. She is patient. She is kind. She’s trustworthy. You are immediately at ease in her presence. She is one of the strongest people I’ve ever known.  She has the most amazing smile I’ve ever seen, and on top of all that, she’s freaking hilarious.  (I mean, if you can’t make me laugh, I just can’t deal with you, okay?) One immediately recognizes most if not all of the above characteristics when you first meet Shauna. But there’s something else I want to talk about. Shauna is probably one of the most obstinate and stubborn people I’ve ever met!  (Stick with me kids.) See, I’ve had my fair share of relationships in my almost 40 years on this planet.  Some would say I’ve had more than my fair share, while others would wonder HOW THE HELL I got anyone to want to be with me in the first place. (That one is me, I wonder that almost daily.)  But in the end, things fizzled and died. There are many reasons for any relationship, serious or not, to die out. But there was a common theme in many of mine… hesitancy.  I’ve dated straight women, bi-curious women, bi women and lesbians. So this is kind of all across the sexuality spectrum here. For a long time, my saying was, “People want to play with me, but no one wants to keep me.” (In retrospect I realize that sounds way dirtier than it was meant to.) When I met Shauna in 2004, I had just come out of the closet. I was still in the church, and I was still trying to accept who I was and shake the constant suicidal self loathing that had been instilled in me since I was a child.  (I’ll let you know when I’m successful in that endeavor.)  Meeting Shauna in that time was like a breath of fresh air. She didn’t really know me from any rando on the street, but she wanted to talk to me. Even though our initial interaction was limited to 1 night filled with a wedding rehearsal and a very strange bridal shower…. Where we had to assure someone that just because the chicken is called Jack Daniels chicken, doesn’t mean you will get drunk by eating it. (Which will forever be our favorite first meeting memory.)  That less than 24 hours made her want to know me more and ask me for my email address. (Cause this was 2004…dial up was still a thing people. If you don’t know what that is, ask your parents.) As we got to know each other, even after I told her I was gay (which was somehow a surprise to her? I’m not sure how…) she never judged me. She wanted to know me, wanted to be my friend.   Then life happened and we kind of lost contact. By the time we reconnected in 2012, I was a different person. I was definitely more comfortable in my skin and with who I was, but I was more than a little gun shy in the relationship department. I had seen too much pain, too much heartbreak. I’d been returned to the store too many times; sometimes for things I couldn’t control and sometimes because of me personally. The small amount of self-confidence attained in my 20s from my inexplicable dating experience was gone, and I just didn’t trust anyone to really want to be with me.  Oh, but you see… Shauna is stubborn.  I wasn’t sure about gambling a 7 year friendship on a relationship, especially because I would be her first female relationship.  But Shauna was sure.  I was afraid that I was just a passing fancy that will dull with time, and I wasn’t sure that she would be happy with me. But Shauna was sure.  Even when I proposed and she accepted, I wasn’t absolutely sure that it was what she really wanted. (I mean, guys, I proposed in Florence, Italy. MOST people would say yes in the moment.) But Shauna was sure.  When I ached to put my feelings on paper in the form of a book, but was unsure if I was good enough, or if I could be successful. Shauna was sure.  On a weekly basis, I question myself, I berate myself, I hate myself, and I’m certain that there is no way I have anything to give anyone… But Shauna is sure.  Even after five years,  I often don’t believe I deserve her love, her devotion and her belief in me. But for some reason, Shauna is sure.  If it wasn’t for her stubbornness I’m fairly sure I would have sabotaged us within the first year. But no matter how down I get on myself, how much I question myself and my talents, how hard I try to prove my internal demons are correct and I ain’t shit… Shauna stubbornly looks at me and says, “Don’t talk about my wife like that.” Her certainty and belief in me has given me more courage than I ever thought possible. I mean, I have awesome parents and family, but let’s be honest… they kinda *have* to support you, or pretend to. Shauna chose the mess that is me.  And every now and again, I look at her and wonder if she’s lost her mind or if this is the life and the wife she really wants, she just looks at me and says, “Babe. I’m very sure.” Yes, behind every good thing is an amazing woman, and I am so blessed that no matter how much I doubt myself, my wife is so very sure.  I will forever be thankful for your love, your support, and your stubbornness.  Because I will constantly contend… you can do SO much better than me.  I love you.  Happy Anniversary.   

The post Behind Every Good Thing Is An Amazing Woman first appeared on BJ Cyprian.

Depression, empathy, therapy and other reasons I got married

Living with depression is difficult. There is no one size fits all for depression. Everyone’s feelings are their own and the degree of soul crushing despondency is something that cannot be categorized across the board for people with depression. If you suffer from depression, I cannot say “I know what you feel”; because I do not.

When you have depression, your mind is your own worst enemy. Things that may be benign to an average mind are magnified to a depressed brain. Often times there doesn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason for the malignancy. Because of this, I cannot speak to anyone’s depression but my own. I’m not a therapist; as I’ve said numerous times and this post is not simply about depression as a whole. No, what I’m writing about is living with depression as an empath.

For those of you who are new, or who haven’t read my book yet (shame!), let me recap this whole empath thing…

An empath is someone who is entuned to the emotions to of others to an almost paranormal degree. Not only are we entuned to the emotions of others, if we are not careful, we absorb the emotions as well. It is generally used as a superpower in sci-fi movies/books, but there are a select few out there that truly have the ability to feel the emotions of strangers as well as people close to us.

There are upsides to this little ability. Take my dating history for example. I mean, I’m self-aware enough to know that I’m not incredibly attractive. I’m a solid 4 when I’m trying. However, as we know true relationships go beyond the physical attractions; I truly believe my powers of an empath is the reason why I have had much more of a robust dating history than I probably should at my level of attractiveness. I also believe that this ability is what ultimately attracted my wife and made her think I was sexier than I truly am.

(Pro-Tip to those who date women: There is very little more attractive to women than someone who listens, understands and provides the emotional support needed, even when it’s not asked. It can be achieved without being an empath. You have to truly listen to your partner. I won’t lie, being an empath is kinda cheating.)

If you like helping people, being an empath is positive because others flock to us when they need emotional support. Folks who genuinely like helping people do it for the satisfaction of helping. You get that a lot as an empath.

However, like with most things, there are downsides. Hence the blog entry. (I know, long way to the lead up, right?)

Problem 1: When you’re an empath, you want to be there for people; however, you have a hard time allowing people to be there for you.

This is not because you don’t need someone; everyone needs someone. It’s because the same worry and concern you feel for those you care about, you do not want to put on someone else. Therefore, you try to ensure that no one is burdened by your emotions or feelings because if they are, and they react negatively, it makes you feel guilty. Most empaths want people around them to be happy, and the reason is two-fold. We want people to be happy because we genuinely care about the emotions of others and we want people to be happy because we absorb the emotions of those around us. (That last one may be selfish reasons.) If we are the cause of any negative emotions, not only do we absorb that too, but we feel guilty for being the catalyst for someone being upset.

Problem 2: We don’t always know if what we are feeling is real or a projection.

Absorb (v): to take in or soak up (energy or a liquid or other substance) by chemical or physical action

When we absorb emotions we TRULY do just that.

A caveat here is that Ipersonally only absorb the feelings of those who I know or have a connection with. I can read and feel the emotions of strangers, but I don’t fully absorb them. I’m not sure if it’s the same thing for other empaths. For me, the emotions of strangers is like being in a crowded room where there are a multitude of conversations going on at a low decibel. I hear it, but it’s not until I focus on a specific one that I can truly LISTEN to it.

The result of absorption is that once it’s been transferred to you, it’s yours, Chief. You generally carry that until you come into contact with someone else or time elapses. If you are an introvert, (like me), generally it’s a time elapse thing. So you can smooth be at home alone for hours and feel like shit, but you’re not fully sure why. You don’t know if it’s you or if it’s what you absorbed earlier.

Problem 3: You need an outlet to process emotions.

Here is where the big issue lies. Humanity is meant to be social by nature. (Again, unless you’re me.) We need someone to commiserate with, someone to tell us that we are justified for our feelings. But because of problem 1, we have a hard time truly allowing people to be there.

I’m not completely unhealthy, for the record. I have a couple of people who I’m close with that can tell when something is on my mind and will ask. But those are people who truly know me. The problem is, when those people are unavailable, and because we don’t wanna be a burden to others, we aren’t comfortable inducting someone else into that role.

Alright I’m bringing it home now….

I can describe being an empath with depression in 1 word. (I know, that’s truly abnormal, considering how wordy I tend to be.) The word is lonely. If your trusted inner circle is going through or is busy, we don’t have anyone to talk to. But we still have the need to be there for those we care about. Sometimes we need to vent, cry, scream, cuss or whatever about what we are going through, as well as what those closest to us are going through. But once that avenue is obstructed, we don’t have anyone.

When your mind is attacking you at every turn: your self-worth, your self-esteem, your outlook on life and whether or not you should even keep trying or if you should just give up; you need someone who is willing to listen to all the irrational notions your brain is feeding you with love and understanding.

It’s a painful thing, listening to the inner thoughts of someone with depression. Those who don’t understand the illness will make you feel bad for the thoughts that you just can’t help. You want me to believe that I’m not a worthless piece of shit? THAT’S GREAT! I’d like to believe that too! But the way my brain chemistry is set up…. *sigh*

We have to carefully vet those we can talk to about this kinda shit. It’s not only a trial and error, but it’s a painful trial and error. If we lose that, we are lost. We don’t know who to talk to, so the asshole that is our brain has free reign to tear us down without a counter argument.

So, what do you do when you’re an empath with depression?

Therapy. That’s it. That’s the only thing you can do. I’ve been in therapy for the better part of a decade, and to be honest, I will probably be in therapy for the rest of my life. Like depression, being an empath is kind of a life-long thing. You can’t turn it off. (Believe me, you have NO idea how much I’ve wished that was a possibility.) When you try to turn it off, you feel worse. You just have to learn to navigate and live with it. That’s what I do.

But that doesn’t mean times won’t ever be hard. Sometimes everyone close to you will be going through things, and then the asshole brain will be talking shit… When that happens, the depression is magnified, almost uncontrollably so. I wish I could end this entry with some message of hope that it will get better.

I mean, it probably will…but that’s not how it feels when you’re in the storm. Just remember that you can pay someone to pretend that they care for an hour a week. (or more, depending on how good your insurance is.) My recommendation? Call a therapist. (Or marry one, if you can.)

They truly can save your life.

~Fin~

It Takes All Types to Make The World Spin....

Here’s a fun one for you…

Astrology used to fascinate me. I like to understand the characteristics of every astrological sign, and try to see those traits in people I knew within them. I understand and realize that some people see it as bullshit, especially people who are religious or who view it with some sort of over analytical lens. However, I have found some truth in astrology in my life.

For instance. I am a Libra. I’m a classic Libra. For those of you who see this all as malarky and know nothing about Libras, lemme give you a crash course.

Libras are romantics by nature. We’re charming. We have a strong sense of justice and fairness. We can be indecisive. The biggest trait that I possess of a Libra is diplomacy. We are a very diplomatic people. We are usually able to broker peace in conflict. Being an empath adds a little extra flair to the diplomacy.

Since I’m an empath, I can literally feel the argument of both sides. I not only see the arguments to each party, but I feel the emotion behind it. I do have my own mind and my own opinions of most things, but it helps to have someone broker a peace deal when they can at least communicate the rationale behind each side’s argument.

However, there are aspects of being a Libra that aren’t really me. Most Libras tend to be outgoing and flirts. I *am* a flirt by nature, and I’m outgoing when pushed out of my comfort zone. However, I am a severe introvert and therefore, tend to be shy initially. The diplomacy often causes a Libra to be flighty, because they are easily swayed by others’ arguments. That is not me. Because I do have a strong sense of justice and fairness, I am open to the point of view of others, but that doesn’t necessarily sway me. Therefore, one of the traits of being a Libra is being “unreliable” and ANYONE who knows me knows that that is the last adjective to describe me.

You get the picture, right? Okay…

As I’ve gotten older, while I still can appreciate astrology, I have become more of a proponent of the Myers-Briggs Personality Test. I feel like that test is totally more scientific in nature.

(For the record, I’m an INFP.)

Because my writing of Shadow Resistance was heavily influenced by my life, and due to my fascination with the above, I decided to consider each main character in the first book and give them their astrological signs and Myers Briggs personality type. If this is your bag, then ENJOY!

Dom - Dom Samuels is the character whose personality is most like mine. It would only make sense that we share similar traits. Therefore, Dom is a Libra and an INFP.

Sign justification - Her birthday is in October. She is self-indulgent, and detached. However, once you get to know her, she’s also balanced and has a strong sense of fairness. Despite coming across as aloof and uninteresting, when her guard is let down, she is charming and just about anyone who meets her likes her.

MBP justification - She is an obvious introvert. INFP personality types want to see the good in people even when facts point otherwise. This often causes them to be burned, and if it happens too much, they start to close off and become hard to know. However, once you get to know them, you see them as the idealist full of creativity and passion.

Rose – Rose Jenkins is a Pisces and an ESFJ.

Sign Justification – While I have not mentioned a birth month, I will tell you guys that the events of book 1 took place just after her 35th birthday, which means she was born in early March. Pisces are kind, compassionate and selfless. This is all evident in the passion she has for her community and the work she does to make it try to make it better.

MBP justification – ESFJ people tend to be altruistic and focus on helping others. They are sensitive and warm and can connect with even the toughest audiences. (Such as how Rose was able to immediately connect with Dom.) I truly believe so many readers really enjoy her because of her sensitive and warm nature, which is exactly how most ESFJs come across.

(Okay the following has a long caveat)

Layla – Layla is probably the character that is known the least as far as personality, and that was done on purpose. I knew going in that this was going to be a series, and this presented an interesting navigation concern. She was always meant to be one of the big 3 protagonists, (Dom, Rose & Layla) and all three of the women have their own baggage from their past. However, as I wrote the story, the pasts and motivations of Dom & Rose became more germane to the initial plot. Layla’s history of being an orphan who had no sense of home or any family, outside of the ones she created with people she truly trusted, is something that I did not want to truly just gloss over. So, as the series progresses, you will get to know Layla.
(In fact, within the first five chapters of the second novel, you learn a lot more about her past and her attachments in New Orleans.)

I say all this to say, just trust me on the following. Layla is a Cancer & an ENTJ. I’ll try to give some rationale without providing spoilers for future novels.

Sign justification – She is one of the two characters in the novel that had a birth month mentioned, which is July. (chapter 22). Cancers can be a walking paradox, especially if they have trauma in their background. She is very faithful and protective of those she cares for, yet she doesn’t trust people easily. She is emotional, but she masks this emotion behind a suspicious nature. Vulnerability is not easy for her.

MBP Justification – She does not come across as extroverted, and I would probably say she is like 60% extroverted and 40% introverted. That is to say, she does not mind being around people and interacting with them, however due to her trust issues, she doesn’t seek them out and she’s perfectly fine on her own. Despite being the youngest of the protagonists, she is a natural leader. She is confident in her knowledge and skills, and does not deal well when people don’t believe she knows what she’s doing.

Vasquez - Rachel Vasquez is a Taurus and an ESTP. She is a hybrid of several people in my life, mainly my wife and some friends.

Sign justification - Besides the fact that hers was the first birth months mentioned in the novel, (chapter 8) Tauruses tend to be down to earth, dependable, and independent. However, we can truly see a Taurusean trait in her persistence. (Also, from what I hear, Tauruses LOVE their food. LOL)

MBP justification - I would dare say that Vasquez is the most extroverted character of the novel. ESTP people tend to be adventurous and daring. They are often the life of the party, and can come across as flighty. They are bold, sociable and direct in their pursuits. However, they are very caring and dependable, quick to try to help solve a problem and not afraid to take risks.

Ryan – Ryan Jenkins is a Leo and an ISFJ.

Sign Justification – Once again, I have not mentioned a birth month for him, but Ryan’s birthday is in August. Leos are kind and big-hearted and tend to be optimistic. They are loyal, sometimes to a fault, and they are trustworthy.

MPB justification – ISFJ personality types are defenders by nature. They are protective and have the desire to do good. I feel that Ryan’s defending personality emerged early when he immediately expressed his desire to join his sister and brother to protect them, just after returning from a war. ISFJs are reliable, patient, loyal and practical. However, as mentioned towards the end of the book, they can internalize their feelings.

Robert – Like Layla, Robert’s full personality has yet to be exposed. This was also on purpose, but for a different reason. For Layla, it was a matter of her story not being able to fully fit into the initial plot line without it being forced and possibly, not making a lot of sense. However, for Robert, it’s because he is now trying to figure out who he is. He spent a long time strung out on drugs, and then in prison. The first novel takes place just as Robert is getting released and initially, he is hopeful due to his relationship with his former cellmate. Once events unfold, he has been put in a situation where the rug of hope was pulled from under him and he is determined not to self-medicate, but to figure it out. As the series progresses, Robert will come into his own, and while I haven’t mapped out how it will come to fruition, this is how I personally see him.

Robert is a Gemini and an ISFP.

Sign Justification – Robert was born in June. Geminis are versatile, adjustable and soft-spoken. However, they also have a hard time making decisions and can be anxious and lack direction. For Robert, the negatives, particularly the anxiety and trauma he experienced is what led him to his drug addiction.

MBP Justification – ISFP personality types are creative and enjoy experimentation with themselves and with external factors. They are sensitive, curious, and passionate. However, they can struggle with low self-esteem and become easily stressed out. They are playful and quick to laugh. We see this side of Robert emerge as the first novel progresses.

You can read more on the various Myers-Briggs Personality types or even take the test and find yours at https://www.16personalities.com

What’s your personality type? You should take the test and share!