Anyone Still There?

*A note from the writer* I started this blog nearly ten years ago along with my stent as a freelance writer for a local publication here in my hometown; “The Evening Whirl”. My “career” as a blogger started out as something just for fun, but my journey as a writer began as therapy. When I was a fifteen years old and a freshman in high school my father dropped dead from a heart attack at the age of thirty-six. I had just spoken to him only hours earlier and he was ok. When I lost my daddy I lost a piece of me and I turned inward; I was sad. It wasn’t until my ninth grade English teacher told me that I needed to figure out how to channel all I was feeling into something worth while; he told me to write. And so I did, hence the start of my journey. That was well over nineteen years ago. For a long time I used writing as my tool to get my point across. Not to anyone in particular but just to let it out. And then I stopped! Literally just stopped, the last post on this blog is from December 2016; nearly two years ago. When I stopped writing I starting hurting myself, both in a physical and mental way. Instead of using my outlet in times of stress or crisis I began to hold everything in until I would explode. But not only that, I’d become so lost in myself and self pity that I lost myself (does that make sense? I hope it makes sense). My identity had changed hands, I was now a wife, a mother on a crusade for justice for her son, a friend, a daughter, an advocate for mental illness and  I forgot who I really was, who I was really born to be; a writer.

The title of this post is “Anyone Still There?” but really the question is rhetorical because I don’t care if one or one thousand people read this blog I’m not doing it for them, I’m doing it for me. However, if in the process the right pair of eyes should come in contact with this content know that you are not alone. I’m here with you. This is the first day of doing something again for the first time. Thank you for reading. ~B

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Black Girl, Still Interrupted

This past Thanksgiving holiday was different from those before, for the first time since I was nineteen years-old I decided to break my silence about my mental illness and showed my mother the scars that only I knew existed. My left thigh is covered in over fifteen fresh  scars that are slowly begin to heal after being infected for two weeks. The tears that silently fell from her eyes as she covered her mouth in horror let me know that she didn’t believe me when I told her nearly five years ago that I suffer from Boderline Personality Disorder and clinical depression. For the first time in a long time she was faced with the reality that her eldest daughter suffers from a mental illness.

I was eighteen years-old the first time I ingested a prescription drug cocktail in an effort to end my life. It took four nurses to hold me down so they could insert a tube in my nose and down my throat because I refused to drink the charcoal that would ultimately save my life. I didn’t realize it then but that wasn’t going to be the last time I tried to end my life nor did I realize I was battling an early onset of a mental disorder. It was only one year later that I slid a rusty razor across my skin  for the first time. I was nineteen years old and a new mother to a baby boy; my intent in that instance was never to kill myself but  rather to find a release from the pain and frustrations of my daily life. The high that came from the opening the skin and watching the blood drip was what I would assume that first hit or heroin feels like. And it was on that day that I became what is known as a cutter.

K.I.P.P-(KIDS IN PRISON PROGRAM)-BLACK BALLED AND PUNISHED

“While we try to teach our children all about life, Our children teach us what life is all about.”
  — Angela Schwindt

It takes a lot for me to speak on or expose many details of my personal life especially those that pertain to that of my eleven-year old. For many who are familiar with Dude (my son’s nickname since birth) and I it is no secret that we move quite effectively as a unit, where there is he there is me. This was no different when we decided to enroll in KIPP Triumph Academy, a choice charter school located in Saint Louis City[but a much smaller entity attached to a larger national conglomerate]. It was all of the glitz and glamour that was sold to us upon out initial new family tour during the spring of 2015. From the moment we stepped foot inside the school we were more than impressed with their advance curriculum, the dedication of the teachers and of course the super fly uniforms.

However, it wasn’t long before the honeymoon phase was over for us; it quickly became evident as to why the children refer to KIPP as the “KIDS IN PRISON PROGRAM”. Now granted, I whole heartedly support their academic learning structure but the rigorous and overbearing discipline structure is extreme and over the top for children who more likely that not are transitioning from less restrictive public school structures.  KIPP serves the “under-privelaged, low-income” urban families in the inner cities, and recruit and employ young first year white Teach for America educators to pay their dues to what they believe to be poor, unfortunate, undereducated children whose parents surely can’t have more than a high school diploma or a G.E.D. [ This is the furthest things from the truth as it pertains to the families attending KTA]. I have been an active member of the school’s Parent Ambassador group, taking time out of my schedule to attend meetings, book fairs and new family orientations to encourage new families to come to KIPP, chaperoning dances,  and much much more. Over time I have noticed that the strict and extreme discipline structure gives children more time out of school than in for even the smallest of infractions. My son has been one of said students who no matter how big or small his indiscretion is he pays a hefty price. [No I am not one of those “My child does no wrong mothers, I know my child is a handful but right is right] 

This is our story.

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On a Monday: Here’s How You Can Avoid Dating A Fuckboy, Based On Your Zodiac Sign — Thought Catalog

unsplash.comAries (March 21st to April 19th) You’re attracted to people who have a thirst for adventure, but this can often lead to you ending up with flighty, restless guys who ghost you the minute things get comfortable or routine-like. Stop letting yourself instantly fall for the mysterious, pioneering types and take your time getting to…

via Here’s How You Can Avoid Dating A Fuckboy, Based On Your Zodiac Sign — Thought Catalog

Liquid Frosting X Brendolyn Marie

I had the opportunity to sit down with ShowYouStl.com to talk about my vegan nail polish line Liquid Frosting Nail Color as well as to talk a little bit more about myself ; kind of tell my story. Here it is…

Shout out to Jasmine for these amazing photos and this awesome interview!! You rock girlfriend!

http://www.showyoustl.com/2016/10/brendolyn-royal-liquid-frosting-nail.html