Heart Of A Goon

by Jahquel J.

My mind knew they would not, but my heart never stopped longing for their return. Anytime someone would visit, I had this excitement like my mother would pop out with her beautiful smile and warm hugs.

High functioning depression was a bitch. On the outside, everyone saw this put together, confident, powerhouse of a woman. Someone that would enter any courtroom with her claws extended and ready. I was the person who called and checked in on everyone and was down to show up with takeout and drinks when any of my girls needed me. Meanwhile, on the inside, I was low. So low. Always feeling completely low, exhausted, and that was even when I just woke up. You ever woke up from a full nine hours and you were still completely tired, overwhelmed, and drained?

Despite everyone being proud of me, I was so hard on myself. Never doing enough, always striving for more, and hardly ever celebrating my accomplishments.

It was easy for people to assume because I lost my parents young that I would forget, or I would get over it. Everyday living without the two people you loved the most was torture. Every celebration, every low you experienced, and every piece of your life was reduced to wondering if they were proud of you. Hugs became further and further in the rearview, and you learned to adapt without them. Convinced yourself that you didn’t really love hugs anyway, knowing that somewhere, long ago, you loved affection.

Depression had turned me into a liar. Always smiling and telling everyone I was fine when I was the complete opposite. I wasn’t fine, and it had been a long time since I had been. I entered relationships hoping they would make me feel again. Craving that love that I had been desperately searching for in every dead-end relationship.

“I’ll know. Baby Cakes, I’m on you real bad. You ain’t never had a real nigga come and break down those walls. By the time I’m done with you, you gonna have those walls broken down with a stomach full of me, and a ring on that finger… have fun tonight, baby.”

Zoya was everything I should have avoided, but I was drawn to her like a bee to pollen, a moth to a flame, a fuck to you mean.

Men deserved grace to fuck up, figure it out and then become whole for their women. A lot of women wanted perfect men out the gate and weren’t perfect themselves. Packed with a lot of trauma and wrong doings but wanted the perfect man.

She didn’t need to be strong, because I would be the strength that I knew she needed.

It wasn’t always butterflies and rainbows when it came to love. It could be, but the love worth fighting for will have you with dirt on your hands and chest exposed, because loving someone was the most vulnerable and messy act.

Depression was like fighting the darkness with a blind fold.

I wanted her to spend my money like it was running away from her. Spoil her because that shit hit different when it came from a nigga that was filling you up with dick. Filling her pockets and womb was my only agenda.

I never wanted to change the woman that she was. Just heal her.

“I’m not in the fucking business of chasing somebody that don’t wanna be caught. I ain’t with the games anymore, Zoya. You want your cake and to eat it too, and I don’t even like fucking cake. Figure out what you want or watch me give the love I wanna give yo spoiled ass to someone else.”

She was broken, and I understood that. Just because you were understanding of someone’s brokenness, didn’t mean you had to crumble right along with them.

No matter how much she claimed that independent woman role, every independent woman wanted to be babied. She wanted to have someone to lead her. Make decisions for her when her brain was too tired. Know what she wanted before she could even verbally say those words.

Black women were already not protected. They went through this fucked up world having to be targets, and having people make think pieces about them. If they were great, they weren’t great enough. If they accomplished something amazing, then the focus was shifted to their humble beginnings instead of the accomplishment. They had to work ten times harder, tone down who they were, and cover up their roots just to be taken seriously.

I was the kind of person that started to second guess when good things happened for me. Life could be going perfectly, and then I was hit with this wave of feeling like I didn’t deserve any of it. My brain told me that it would all end soon, and nothing ever lasted forever. I never believed in forever. Forever was lowered into the ground right in front of me as a child.

She wasn’t a broken woman. Just a woman who had experienced loss after loss and never healed.

“It’s okay to break at times. It reminds us tough girls that we are human and have feelings… the tears wash that rock exterior.”

“Crying is good for the soul. Doesn’t make you weak, it makes you real.”

Every year was a blessing because when the darkness took over your mind with depression, you didn’t know if marking down another birthday was possible. With all that I had going on, I was just thankful that I never allowed the darkness to win.