Looking Up

As I break apart all the best pieces of me rise up further than my eyes can see, more than my mind can fathom, somewhere between here and heaven, while the rest of me falls to the better parts of hell, as if their is such a place.  You know me even wanting good for the fucked up peices of me, good for the fucked up pieces of you. Thats whats it about, chances, changes, love, hate and the struggle to gain acceptance of what you see while your most attracted to what you hear, cuz it sounds so good!

Every career/job has its ups and downs. However, there comes a time when one must ask themselves, am I the problem? Did I smile too much? Did I show up too encouraged to work? Did I do my job with too much intensity. Or do y’all know something I don’t know?

Take It Back

“Go back to where you came from,” she taunted as she skipped a few steps ahead of me. “Take it back,” I yelled as I almost caught up to her before she darted into an unknown classroom. “Take it back,” I whispered to myself this time as I turned back around to go to my classroom, knowing she would never take it back.

“You’re such a white girl, you sound so white,,, girl where you from?”I’m, I’m from here.” I said, looking down. I wanted her to take it back but I was too scared to say it to her face, but I knew she would never take it back and if I said something she would probably accompany her words with a smack, so I attempted to make myself smaller so know one would know that I was a white girl in a black girls body, like she said I was.

“Are they your cousins?, their clothes are dirty and they dress bummy!” as she examined their attire, they waived to me to follow them. “Yes, they are!” I replied as I turned away to join them on the swings. Inwardly, feelings of guilt washed over me, as I recalled my mom hand washing, ironing, and hanging up my clothes every few days. I wanted to tell her to “take it back” It’s not their fault, that I was them and they were me, it was easier for me to leave her standing on the playground by herself. I should’ve told her to take it back!

I walked in the door half numb, scared and hopeful to find my play cousin sitting on the couch. With no hesitation, I told her the news I just received from the local teen clinic. “Girl, I’m pregnant.” “Whaaat,” she replied. I don’t know what I’m going to do, I said as I picked up the phone dialing his number and after 7 rings, I hung up, went to my room and fell on my bed rubbing my belly afraid of how I was going to tell my mom. That night, I dreamt of him, of us, of his promises, startled by the phone, I jumped up to grab it, praying it was him. “Hello”,, ” “Joy, you better tell your mom or I will.” My heart sunk into my stomach… “ok,” I said as I swallowed hard, “but she’s sleep, and I don’t want to wake her.

Dread filled my soul with the thought of telling her. After I hung up the phone from my play aunt, I thought she didn’t waste any time in telling on me…I called him again and this time his grandma answered. “He’s in juvenile honey, but you can write him, ok thank you I said as I hung up. I walked into my mom’s room to hear her snoring loudly and sweating. Wasn’t no way I was gonna wake her up to tell her, her 13 yr. Old is pregnant. I went back to my room and fell back asleep with no dreams. This time, I woke up to the phone ringing again. I answered “yea” “Did you tell her?” “No, she sleeping”, with clear irritation, I hung up the phone. This replayed a couple of times before I went into her room and said mom, silently at first, then a little louder until she screamed, “What dammit?” I told you about waking me up!” I got something to tell you.. my voice trembling, I hesitated. “What girl?” she screamed again. “I’m pregnant,” I said as I half ducked and moved backward towards the door. “What, where is he at?” I don’t know, lying for fear that telling her he was in jail would somehow make this worse.. “Your ass is getting an abortion,” she said with conviction… scared, my mouth said “ok” but a part of me died with those words. The next month in a half, I spent going by his house seeing if he was out yet and wishing I would’ve never told my play cousin. As I succumbed to the anesthesia I wished, I would’ve never told her, and the words replayed over and over again in my head….”Take it back!”

So much has happened since I first realized my purpose to Break   Generational cycles. Thanks to my higher power and the Rooms of NA/AA, I am 35 days clean and I’m breaking the cycle within my own family… It hasn’t been easy but it is worth it, I definitely suggest you try it♡

It’s been a while but I am back…I tried to approach this blogging thing from a politically correct stand point hoping it would make it more acceptable to everyone, believers of my faith in God and those that don’t, but keeping it real it is he that is greater in me than of this world…I am extremely knowledgeable about the cycle but honestly have been unable to break the cycle. However don’t feel sorry for my struggle because it’s my process, you see I am anointed to break the cycle and help the world but I’m not appointed to do so yet because of my choices, my past, my circumstances and my battle within myself,,,,Nevertheless at 37 I am a grown woman with little girl issues and I see clearly that I may not be ready to lead,,,I am ready to let go and let God help me lead…Godbless

Joyclyn Bell

I was thinking about the organizations out there that serve to cultivate our young men. I’m sure there are many however, how many start when it most counts? I believe it should start at infancy. Our kids do what they see so its important to show them the right way from the begining. Nurturing our babies to be Men (Nurturing Men), is an idea that will help cultivate Men from infancy to adulthood, who have self control over their emotions, and love for themselves and others. Let’s populate colleges not jails. Just a thought.

Domestic Violence (DV) affects different Cultures, Genders,and Classes which makes it look differently for each individual. When its a Generational scenario (meaning one’s parents, grandparents or extended family members have been exposed)it becomes hard to pin-point the harmful signs because it is normal and the way you were raised. No surprise their are Cultures which practice what America would consider DV attributes or ways.

So how does one recognize it and prevent it from continuing through generations? How does a person who’s Culture an upbringing in addition, to being a victim themselves, recognize and maybe change their way of life? An how is society’s human health services an agencies put in place to aid DV victims helping those who are Cultured in Domestic Violence?

Joy.