Diana Kurniawan

My feet had red welts yesterday and my bones were sore. I worked my shift and was part angry for the work, and part grateful for the employment. I felt lesser than with my life, with my dual degree and manual labor job, but my mental health and the assaults prevented me from truly being efficient with a desk job, therefore, so be it. Writing was in my mind the whole time and I couldn't write yesterday because I was so tired, and I felt guilty.

Madeleine Engle once wrote that worship of the craft of writing should be done rain or shine and labor or pain. Those weren't her exact words, but I believe everyone understood that during tired days, it would be the perfect time to worship the craft because the mind works best under the pressure. Well...yesterday, I was sore and cried beyond belief of the pain and the anxiety nearly led me to another suicidal ideation. I was hurting and I couldn't do anything and I fell asleep after the Valerian kicked in. It was to my benefit to sleep and my mind was ready to go into a dream filled slumber. My mind wouldn't have worked properly to compose any sentences right for reading. 

Where should I draw the line? Should I write everyday, even when my bones hurt? I plead to God to give me another choice than write during times like these. To relax for instance and to take a break. I felt I was allowed one, but today, the same thing almost happened but I didn't give in to the pains, instead I wrote, and here was I, typing aways for my 15 minutes of writing, without stopping. The only difference between today and yesterday were the tears and the mental health. I was so tired that I was crying and couldn't compose anything, but today, I was calm, and even now....I am okay.

Sometimes I have to give in to the fact that I wrote my writing with the flaw of my mental health, but what writer isn't? Everyone has some sort of mental health issue, and I won't let that get the best of me. Yet, yesterday, I felt the pains of my hard work and I took the time to rest. It felt right and I was happy I did it. But, from now on...rain or shine, labors of pain, won't stop me. I promised Madeleine when I took the oath of writing. I promised to use my craft to the best of my ability, and to keep going, even when the going gets tough and I had no way out. I promised myself to keep worshipping God through my craft and skills, even when there would be no one else but me to enjoy my own writing. I knew when I wanted to become a writer, this journey would be a very tough and long road. 

I will keep going, and no matter what, with a job was better than without one.

Just write.

The morning promised me a new day and it does often well, but this morning I found myself with memories of her, the woman who broke into my parent's townhome to steal our belongings and my monies. She followed me to Colorado and ended with marrying the man I once loved and it hurts me beyond belief. Her reason was "equality" and "Justice," but where does the justice lie?

Love Thy Neighbor, the verse in the Bible says and I remember that I did not do anything to her, and instead she was sent to me by a lot of hateful people and they all wanted my demise. I have these bouts of memories often and I try to not think of the past and revert to the present moment to help myself and heal. 

The battle goes on each day and each day I meditate to keep those memories away, and to let the bubbles leave me and let go. I realized she took love from me, but I didn't want her to take everything else from me. I will find another love, and I would rather know that I have my sanity and my family intact than to let her take them away too along with my life from self harm. She often stalks me at work and at places I frequent, but I realized that it was all her mental health. I don't want to be her and I don't want to be with her people, whoever they may be. They seemed to be money hungry, lecherous, dirty swindlers and hateful people. I won't want to be with their group and my Father and Mother both told me to let them go, and move on. I have moved on, but memories forced me to let it all out, and meditation asked me to release it unto these pages to let go of the heartaches and the longing for him. I don't deserve to be treated lesser than good. I've been through too much and was hurt beyond belief that I went to the hospital and almost took my own life. I don't deserve to be surrounded by her people and even the man I once loved would want her to be around and to pay her alimony and hurt me in return. 

I am now conscious of the evils that she did and what the man I once loved would be willing to do for her, which is everything. I don't want to be them, and I deserve better.

Love Thy Neighbor, well, I didn't love mine, and I found it self-preserving to not love her and him. They caused me my life and they caused me my mental health and well being. It was with respect for myself that I don't love them, and to keep myself intact and care for myself to not love them. I chose to forgive them, but that's about the bottom line. I want to make sure I will be healthy and be protected from their abuses that they did to me, and protect my own family and our children. We were targeted often in California and I don't want them to keep hurting us and hurting my parents and our children. It has to stop. They came from a place where group violence was a norm and it was to my benefit to not love them. 

It was to love them that I chose to not love them. They needed to learn their own behavior and the evils they did to me. They hurt me and broke into our home and hurt my parents behind their backs, when we were also low income and hurting ourselves from the sexual assaults and the bullying and they kept on. We have to stop loving them, it was too unbearable for us to live with. We needed to help ourselves. Don't get me wrong, I was not prejudiced or racist towards her, she broke into our home and stole our belongings and my money, so it was not about her race, it was about her behavior. She knew she did wrong and she kept on with it. They have to keep away from now on, including starting with me and my memories, and the thoughts of the hurt they caused me. A lot of pain were inflicted by them and I don't want them to inflict pain upon my brothers and sisters. We became smarter and we now know how to help ourselves and to protect ourselves, and it would start with the police department and then the prosecutions with them against us and legal means will be taken towards them and their abuses and even to the man I once loved and their involvements with her. I stopped caring for them and their well being. I was once very cautious of them and what they would want, but now...I want them to go to jail.

The Bitch is the one who spreads gossip because the girl with lesser than normal looks is fat or has a mole on her face. She talks like a bitch because she has no confidence and she has to put you down in the gutter or attack your braids and wear her thongs outside her jeans to show her beauty. The Bitch is the one who talks shit behind your back or in front of you to get ahead. The one who invites you to a party full of men who rape and tells you to get drunk and stay in the living room with those rapists. The Bitch talks shit about other women because she wants men to love her, and sees bad things in others because she wants others to affirm she is superior in comparison to other women. The Bitch be bitchin'....all the time, and she can't seem to want peace unless she gets a line of millionaires wanting to date her. She wants all the men or want all the men to date women like her. She doesn't want to work because she wants her man to compensate for her blow job she gives him at night, and this might sound double edged, but she feels she has to be compensated for everything. She wants men with money because she wants to be the princess and she's too good for work because it might break a nail or she might get tired. She wants his inheritance and yours too, in case you're rich. The Bitch is unkind. The Bitch is good to people with money or good looks. The Bitch is the shame of all women because she's an abusive criminal but she doesn't care and continues to harm hard working women who just wants to be stable. The Bitch wants to be bigger than life itself because she wants her life to matter, but ridicules the lives of others, even yours. The Bitch doesn't stand up for women's rights because all she cares about is money and men with money and sex and fame and more money. The Bitch tells other women to get therapy but won't get therapy herself. She feels other women are insane and needs to get therapy, crazy, or dumb. The Bitch likes her name because it's a compliment to bitches like her. The Bitch gets her name by being a big bitch, but the strange thing is...she loves it.

My eyes throbbed from sobbing after a sip of my half-calf Americano with skim milk at Trident Bookstore in Boulder. Alone at the back corner with my head down I mumbled crazy to myself with my eyes swollen red. Post-traumatic-stress-disorder symptoms often comes when I have inspirations and when I felt happy from a good day. Jesus, The Baristo, came to my table and held my shoulder. He asked, "Did I make the Americano too strong?" I looked into his eyes and said to him, "Are you trying to trick me? To go into Hell?" I wiped my tears with my left hand as my right was covered with snot mucus from my nostrils. "You drank some of the crushed Espresso Beans that was on the bottom of the machine. I need to clean that thing," said Jesus. I threw the cup at his face, and yelled, "You're a nasty coffee maker. Why did you give me suicidal ideations?!" I hated Jesus. Jesus wept. He took my hands and kissed them, then said, "I could make it all go away. But you have to stop drinking water."

I remembered him like he was the kindercare buddy I never kept in touch with. His smile, and that Italian curly brown hair and the naughty laugh. Sometimes a face was to be remembered and whether fondly or not, his face was in my brain this morning soliciting some attitude in me. I fondly remember him. I forgave him, and it wasn't without restraint that I chose to let go. But, he was in another state and I wanted him to live his life. I wanted him to be happy and I was still dealing with my PTSD and Depression and rape trauma. I was in trouble with my own mind, and I wanted nothing else but solitude and hospitalization. I wanted healing and I couldn't be with him, shame to say, but he was semi-perfect and I wished I kept in touch. 

Now, I will have to let go. I wish success for him and I wish blessings upon his life. I wanted nothing more for him then and the same now. I have no hard feelings and I won't recollect the past with some tragic memories of us fighting. I wanted to see him thrive and I hope he is. I hope he's doing well and I hope he will prosper, in any method that he would like. I want his success and I want to see him, even famous, with that good looks of his, I hope he kept running and paddling. I wish nothing but blessings for him. I hope he met God's grace and God's provisions. I wish a wedding with erotic love making for him and his wife. I wish him blessings. How, I would be so proud of him.

Sometimes we wish ill wills for our past flames, but I knew from the first moment I met him that he was special in his own ways. I hope he knew I had a good soul and a good heart, as I wanted nothing but good for us both. It's far too late and far too long for us to meet again, but I hope nothing but good things for him. I never wanted anything more. I pray he has support, hope and joy, and I hope he is well. I hope he lives well and gets on well with his life. I pray to God for him to have everything he needed and his desires to be aligned with God's will. I pray for good and I pray for well in his life. I hope he will prosper. Amin.

#Blessings #JustWrite