How can this feeling Be Real?

I am trying so hard to push past this hollow feeling...give it all up and trust in God. I've been reading for the past two days non stop because I don't want to think about my situation. I have always been a take charge kinda gal, and it is one of the hardest thing I've ever done.

The problem is, the moment I start reading, my situation pops in my mind. I get scared, and I feel like the weight of the world rests on my shoulders. I begin to hurt so badly.

Sometimes I have a hard time believing that a God who loves me could put me through this kind of pain.

I don't understand what I did to deserve this.

I am aware that uncomfortable situations are a significant part of growth, but it seems to me that my life has been a rollercoaster of pain, sorrow, fear, tension, self-doubt, self-pity, self-loathing, and no self confidence with few fleeting moments of joy.

I do my best to hold on to those moments, the moments where God showed up and showed out in a mighty way.

But its hard to keep those moments in mind when life continuously refuses to offer you solace.

I am so tired.

I mean beyond tired.

I'm struggling more and more to hold on.

I'm trying so hard to trust him.

Peace and Blessings
Bumble.

ONE OF THEM DAYS....

...Where nothing seems to work out right. I swear, I want to slap everybody! And the worst part of it all is that I'm still in the midst of my trial. I am so flustered right now, all I can do is pray that I don't do anything stupid.

I'm hurting so bad right now. I feel like if I drove off a cliff, I would be in less pain. I'm hurting so bad right now that it hurts to cry. You know how hard it is to be in pain and can't cry? And to think there are people in this world going through much worse than I. I can't understand how they deal with it outside of God.

Right now, dark thoughts are rising in my mind, and I am so close to acting them out, it's not even funny. I am completely broken now. Nothing much else I can do but get it over with.

I'm so ready give up. I'm tired of hurting. Tired of pain. Tired of people treating me like excrement. I'm so sick of living I don't know what to do....

Well I got some ideas, but they aren't good.

I'm being honest.

Peace and Blessings,

Bumble.

Hi: I'm Bumble, and I May Be...

...a hot mess. Today when I was sitting in Chemistry, the strangest thing occurred. My "emotions" went uber crazy.

Now anyone who knows me, knows that I admit to being celibate. But it has been one of the greatest struggles of my Christian walk.

Lord knows, I do not want to go to hell because I couldn't control my urges.

I'm thinking about seeing a counselor, because prayer hasn't been very effective for me, at least in this area... and each time, I feel that I am a step closer than I was to falling back into old habits--the "friends" routine.

Don't get it twisted. I wasn't promiscous having multiple random "friends".

But something is very wrong with me.

I'm honestly thinking of talking to a counselor....

WHAT DO I DO?

So I haven't Drawn Anything In A While

Little known fact about me: I used to take art. But at my school, at least when I moved to Columbia, SC, you had to choose one elective (e.g. Band, Orchestra, Art, etc), because there was no room in anyone's schedule to take more than one. I don't profess to be a Van Gogh or anything, but I did wish to share my drawing. I'm not saying that it's the best thing since sliced bread or anything, just felt like being a kid for a moment. After this I am going to go study genetics, but sometimes you need to escape.


Hope you Enjoy this pic as much as I enjoyed drawing it.
Peace and Blessings
Bumble

Last Repost (I Swear)

From Bumble, Busy, Honey, Killer--It's Still Just Bea

Scribe's Spell

I scribble sections of my soul
on pieces of plain paper--
I entertain eagerly--
Legibly, learning, and lapping
Lovers of language lavishly and liquidly.
Surely scribes script sums sized
plus--more pleasingly plump than this
easily words exonerate the enchanted
linguists, leaving them
longing for lingual lullabies.

By Beatrice Pate bka BUMBLE!!!

Yet Again, Another Repost

From Bumble, Busy, Honey, Killer--It's Still Just Bea

Insomniac Thoughts

It's official. I am an insomniac. I don't sleep regularly anymore.

So I decided to write. Well type, but you get the gist.

Lately, I have been thinking about a lot of things.

But mostly, not being productive... Well not personal productivity, or things that would benefit me.

What I want to accomplish is bigger than me. It's become who I am. Accomplishment. The process of going after what you plan and want in life.

Outside of my career goals, however, I have done little planning.

Most girls my age know when, where, and why they want to get married. They know how many kids they want. What style house. How everyone will dress. What activities they will participate in...

I'm still hung up on the marriage part.

As a Christian, I believe that you are only supposed to get married once. If you divorce, you cause you and your partner to commit adultery--whether or not you get remarried.

I do enough of my own sinning to know that I can't be responsible for someone else's sins, especially, if they were the ones who decided that they wanted to walk out. Furthermore, with the divorce rate being 50%, I know I want to know who my partner is completely before taking that step.

Marriage is a vow to God. And it is better for you not to make that vow if you know you might not keep it. God, in the bible, compares it to a dog licking up its own vomit.

That is not to say that people who are divorced aren't Christians. That also isn't to say that all people who are married are Christian.

There are some instances that require divorce (abuse, incest, etc) but even then, the sin is still committed. But for me, the sin is outweighed by the content of the actions...

To say that I am confused my marriage is an understatement. (I didn't want to make this blog all about marriage, but that is where my fingers are taking me.) Love, apparently, is confusing enough, but marriage---is another whole issue.

I believe that there is one Adam for every Eve.

But what if something happens to that Adam? (i.e. Meets someone else of another background, becomes homosexual, becomes asexual, becomes non sexual (like a priest)) Then what?

What if life beats Adam down so badly that he doesn't want to search for his Eve? Where does that leave Eve?

Then there is the whole "the man is the head of household " thing. Honestly, I wouldn't have a problem with that, if Black men weren't so afraid of Black women. If a man were willing to step up to the plate, show me that he deserves to be followed, that he is a man of God, and loves me genuinely, I will move mountains and moon to ensure that his dreams and mine would come true.

I would spend my days aiding him to make him the best man he wants to be. I would spend my nights, being the best lover for him that I could be. I would soothe all of his wounds with my tears, and demolish those who cause him to hurt. I would take care of him, if he made sure my every need was supplied (as much as humanly possible).

If he loved me and never cheated, I would give him all of me, with the exception of what belongs to God--(my soul), but even a piece of that would be his, because if he is truly a Christian, that will be something that him and God would share, because he would reserve it for God too. And if he took the time to love me the way that God instructed him (As Christ loved the church), I would sacrifice me for him and treat him like the King he is.

But in today's world, Black men feel that that is asking too much. I weep for our former kings.

http://livesteez.com/livestyle/read/90/The-Blessing-The-Apparent-Curse-Of-a-Strong-Black-Woman


That article pretty much sums it up.
Here is another interesting one, that is also related (distantly) to this blog:

http://www.thenewblackmagazine.com/view.aspx?index=50

Thanks to @Shesouldeep {on Twitter, you should follow her} for providing them on June 8th..

I am at the point where I believe that Adam has given up on looking for me. I don't go looking for him. (See Proverbs 18:22)

One of my best friend's mom says that that shouldn't stop me from making myself available, because after all, God isn't going to drop him in the living room...

Well I think that is it for know. I know that I could type forever about this. It's an ongoing mental debate.

That's it for now.

Peace and Blessings
BUMBLE!!!

Another Repost

Yet another post from Bumble, Busy, Honey, Killer--It's Still Just Bea, before it became the undesirable...

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Thoughts from Bumble (Redundant right?)

There are days like today when I question my moral fiber. My threads, at best, are frayed and discolored. Sometimes, they are transient and unconnected. Rarely, are those threads completely collective and definite. But how often is it that we examine ourselves? Is it only when the presence of alcohol is clouding our mind? Or is it when we are wounded by life? How often do we examine ourselves microscopically?

Fiber, more than the dietary supplement we need daily to survive—it is essentially, what makes us tick—who we are. Fiber is the difference between a thief and a judge—realistically, only one thread separates them.

One thread can make the difference between Jordan and unknown, MJJ and nobody. What separates us is how we bind our threads. So when the threads become frayed—cut them off. It sounds much easier than it is—cutting off damaged pieces of yourself is often painful; they are apart of you—but it is essential step in the process called growth.

That's it for now.

Peace and Blessings
BUMBLE!!!

Repost From Other Blog

I decided to repost this blog entry, because I thought it was a pretty good one from my other blog that I turned into a music blog that I don't really keep up with Bumble, Busy, Honey, Killer--It's Still Just Bea. I thought it was rather good.....

Monday, August 10, 2009

Sometimes Vacations Aren't What They Seem

Hello all,

It has been a while since I have suffered from insomnia. Oddly enough, it decided to resurface when I am supposed to be relaxing...That's right on vacation. Maybe it's because I am uberexcited to see one of my best friends that I haven't seen in a year.

I have been thinking more than usual, and I haven't had time to type because summer classes are extremely consuming. But they will erupt in an extremely long post. Hope that you can go the distance :).

I believe that there are times in our lives when we question our very existence. We go through and question our purpose, our next breath, even our next blink. Through these methods do we determine who we are going to be?

How do we decide who we are going to be?

Some say they always knew that they wanted to be such and such, but do they ever question how or why?

I decided that who I wanted to be was a doctor. I have made many errors on this journey, but I have decided that I would give it my all to make this dream become a reality, but what if my all isn't good enough? Do I make a plan B?

All my life, I have worried. Worried that I wasn't liked, or that I am not pretty enough, or not smart enough, or that I lack what it takes to make my dreams come true. I worry every second of every day, like life isn't already hard enough. I am a type A person.

When I was in the eighth grade, I read Langston Hughes most famous poem Dream Deferred. That simple poem questions what happens to those dreams that we do not pursue. But we all know what happens to those of us who lack the ability to be fit enough to survive.

Life is the cruelest teacher. The most metaphorically used statement about life. Probably because it is the undisputed truth. Life takes no prisoners, doesn't discriminate, and whips everyone. Life beats you if you are right and beats you if you are wrong. Point blank period.

Examine a broken person. Look around bus stops and near the local homeless shelters. Look when you are at a stop light. On your job. Hell look in your church. Every where there are broken people. You will know them. They are distinctive. They may live, but the piece of their soul that is missing because they couldn't survive life's pitfalls, calls out to your soul if you are searching for it. It will change you.

Recently, because of my car accident, I have been examining the souls of the broken. I looked and saw something that burned my soul. To watch someone live without a piece of themselves is utter torture--so it is almost unimaginable that these people continue carry one. If they laid down and died, I couldn't blame them. All I wanted to do is help them, give them a piece of whatever they lost back. But even if I could, the scars that they suffered and bare would still be deeper that the deepest depth I could ever create a simile for. But how is it possible to help a person find a piece of themselves that they've lost to living?

In that instance, I believe that only God could heal those wounds. Watching the broken, I saw something that disturbed me so greatly. I saw something extremely familiar....pain. I cringed when I saw through these people's eyes and saw their nakedness. The worst part of it all--I worried if they saw mine. The shell of who I am and who I am becoming. I cringed at the thought that I could end up in that kind of pain. I couldn't live with myself if I failed to become who I wanted to become. I realize God is who he is, and his will trumps mine. But God wouldn't allow me to make those dreams if there weren't anyway that I could accomplish them. That would be cruel of Him.

I couldn't walk around broken like that. Life can be a doosey sometimes. Pains can erupt any time, place, or date. But living constantly in that kind of pain would be unbearable.

So, faith, as my pastor said one sermon, is an action word. The time has come for me to proverbially put my money where my mouth is and put up or shut up.

I guess you know what that means.

Peace and Blessings
BUMBLE!!!

How do you know when to give up a dream?

Okay. I am at USC Aiken and these science classes are killing me.


Well not literally, but there is something not quite right here.

I went to my Genetics Lab, thinking that it was time to determine the sex of the flies that we are supposed to genetically be crossing so that we can understand Mendelian Genetics better.

So, I put the flies to sleep and put them under the microscope.

Then I saw it.

One of the females was getting ready to lay eggs.

I was a little disturbed, so I chose another one. I knew then I couldn't use that batch because they had been "tampered" with. But that was another female who was also getting ready to lay eggs.

As I sat there, I felt the bile rise, and it hit the back of my throat. I was utterly horrified at what I saw.

I don't particularly care for bugs, especially when they've been magnified as many times as it takes to actually see the characteristics to determine the sex of the bug, Drosophila melanogaster (If you've never seen one google image search).

The emotion I remember feeling is fear.

I've been performing horribly on the quizzes in the class. But everyone is.

But I'm not everyone.

I remember thinking, how am I to do my lab if I get sick at the thought of sexing the flies?

I don't feel like I am cut out for this, but I know it is fear. How am I to overcome this fear of failure, so that I get out of my way so that I don't fail?

Seriously?

I know I should study harder. Without question. That's what I am going to do. And get used to the abdomen images, by forcing the "sickness" away.


Peace and Blessings
Bumble

Awesome Roomates

Yesterday, the day was awful. I was insulted by my situation, and a group of gentlemen (using that term very lightly) outside of a local Wal-mart, here in Aiken.

I relapsed into old habits and grabbed the biggest bottle of wine that I could afford, and left the store, not before being harassed again. I was already feeling so low, because my situation seems to be getting worse and not better, and then I was insulted because I am not as feminine as other girls.

I came home, downed the bottle of wine and went to sleep.

Then this morning, I woke up and went about my routine--I needed to wash clothes, and I got up and got started (around elevenish).

And I wasn't feeling any better than the night before.

But my roommate got up while I was in the shower, and decided that she would cook after she got of the phone.

And she made me breakfast.

That was the nicest thing someone has done for me this week, and in this new month.

Sometimes, it's the little things that keep you holding on.


Peace and Blessings
Bumble!!!

I'm in Aiken

It has been seriously a while since I've posted, but because everything has worked out, I have been super busy.

There are still some kinks, but they will be worked out. Honestly, I haven't been this happy for a long time. I am starting to see a trend: Away from family=happy Bea.

I smile everyday...for no reason. I handle problems differently. All because I know that where I am and the steps that I am taking are blessed. What a wonderful feeling!

Well anyway. Got to get to the lab to print!

Peace and Blessings
Bumble!!!

Random Thoughts That I Had at Work

We'd like to think that we are superior beings; that we uphold moral fiber, and are wonderful people with upstanding character. Truth be told, we are quite opposite--everyday is a fight to mask the darkness inside us; each time we successfully continue to hide what is buried deep within us, we discover there are more bones in our proverbial closet, making us discover new ways to put on masks and new ways to hide the bones, furthering our facades. In reality, it makes us all fake--we fear being discovered--we do not want any one to discover just how sick we are...

What we fear most is judgment passed on us--our real selves are carnal in nature, and have twisted thoughts and sick desires; we become who we portray ourselves to be--successfully becoming skilled actors and actresses. The most sane among us are the insane--for they have removed their masks and have revealed their true selves, sacrificing normal lives because they couldn't contain their carnal desires. In fact, sanity is the ability to repress carnality; the ability to appear normal amongst society. However, if the truth were told, normal has always been relative to ones ability to mask what has been long hidden within them.

The Gullah-Afro Rembrandt

The Gullah-Afro Rembrandt

Still images capture the Gullah culture.
Never seen it so beautiful
Except—
On the faces of the Gullah and Geechee people.

You capture the island and its splendor.
Calm island beauty in the summertime.

I can hear the souls calling—
the spirits of the island sounds spiritual
A low moan, a hum.
Rugged paths tell the story of those who traveled here.

They remain in the sea misted cites.

Life After Death, Micro, NC

Life After Death
Micro, NC

I held your shirt and smelled your Hugo Boss cologne,
I nestled in your nook; rolled up where you slept.

Just like when I was a baby, I wrapped in your shirt, so I could sleep.
The next morning, I lay in your spot red-eyed.

I watched my sister sleep peacefully.
Her snore sounded like a quieter version of yours.

I looked at your beloved trading card binder.
It was empty.

Lasting Memories

Lasting Memories

At the funeral parlor, the director warned us
not to go see my father before he was cremated.
I pictured his body on a cold cot, alone.
His body had swollen,
his nose was broken,
and his face was twisted.
I saw his massive body become gargantuan.
I saw the pieces of his nose—jagged and bloody—
I saw the skin hang off the center of his face—
while sitting in the chair
surrounded by my family.

It's Days Like Today That Makes Me Question My Sanity

I thought I had my future mapped out. This perfect plan on how I was to become Dr. Beatrice Pate MD. The future has arrived and I am no closer to that goal than I was when I graduated high school.

I now have two degrees I will not use, and on top of that I have to figure out how I am going to pay for these classes, then the GRE, and finally if everything happens to work out, the MCAT.

I have failed so many times, honestly, I don't know if I can pick myself up from this one. I have fought so hard, that I don't remember a time that I haven't been fighting.

Yet I feel like my struggle is minor compared to others--I feel like I shouldn't even be complaining.

It's an awful thing to feel conflicted--I am conflicted often....

Sometimes I cannot find the words to explain how I feel. Even if I could, there is no one near me that will actually listen. You know, they won't take the time to hear me, or will not pass judgment or tell me about their problems.

Can anybody hear me? No?

Well I guess that I will keep writing into oblivion.

Fears Actualized Pt. 3

So I may not go to graduate school because USC Aiken is playing around with my money for my 3rd degree.

Let me clarify.


I want to be a doctor. But because of various situations going on during my undergraduate career, I put off taking my science classes, because I didn't want to lower my GPA. In addition, in order to get into medical school, I have to go to graduate school for Biology to prove that I can handle graduate school science work. In order to go to Grad school, I first prove that I am capable of handling undergrad science.

See where this is going?

My hope is to enroll at Midlands...that is my backup plan in case Aiken doesn't come through like it is supposed to...

Crap...my future is hinging on this moment right here...

I wish I had rich relatives or someone to care for me so that this wouldn't be my concern....

But it is...

Just gotta have faith that everything will work out...that and putting action toward it...

Peace and Blessings.

Simple Things

simple things


Every April Fool’s Day, my daddy’s youngest sister did something to fool us—
when I was eight, living in D.C. she told us we had no school
I was suspicious. I kept asking her
“You for real?” Yup, she assured me. “Don’t play Dot-Dot.”
“We got school?” Nope, she replied, and we jumped for joy
only for her to tell us “April Fool’s!”
when I was eleven, back home in N.C.
she told us that she’d won a million dollars
and she was sending us five hundred a piece
In 2003, shrieks from my sister and
the thud from the phone let me
know that not much had changed during the holiday.
Caller ID said Dorothy Ray. Dot-Dot.
she’d asked for an adult, but Charity assured her that no one was home.
smiling, she probably figured that Dot-Dot never missed this holiday.
But Dot-Dot insisted.
So did Charity.
Dot-Dot explained that she found daddy in his house, in a pool of his own blood.
As my sister cried, I figured it could not be what I felt it to be.
“Daddy dddd-ied” Charity sputtered through tears.
As my mother walked in she asked
What’s wrong baby?
My body too heavy to stand,
my head hit the table.

To All My Sisters Who Don't Wear Weaves

To All My Sisters
who don’t wear weaves
Inspired By Gwendolyn Brooks's To All My Sisters Who Have Kept their Naturals

Sisters who love themselves so much
that they will not perpetuate an image.
They will not push false versions of themselves.
They know beauty comes from within
and are strong
know true love
and stand tall
short hair and all
divas with caesar cut waves
bold with curled bobs
wrapped around their crown
They rock their hair their way.
they don’t buy any hair from a horse
or a corpse
They don’t see Jolie as themselves to be
Nor do they mimic ideas of society.
If they don’t have it to swing
They rock their own—go on Ms. Thing!
No imitations here
(everyone knows it’s not theirs)
[but I paid for it, so it’s mine!]
No claims of Indian ancestry—
[you know I got Indian in my family]
(really? what tribe?)
[Cherokee]
—just beauty for all to see.

The Blue Urn

The Blue Urn

A picture taken at my grandmother’s
house sat in front of a blue urn. He had
a great, wonderful smile. I sit in the
pew thinking, “How will I ever look in the
mirror again?” His image haunts me, just like
the blue urn that is his final resting
place. They found him in a pool of his own
blood. He fell forward and broke his nose,
after a massive heart attack. He survived
long enough to bleed to death. Blue, the color
of blood without oxygen to change it
to the color red. Blue, the color of
the mood at my father’s funeral. Blue, the
color of his gargantuan urn. For years
it sits in my aunt’s living room beside
my grandmother’s urn. Already haunted by
his face, which I have—I possess, when I visit,
I’m haunted by him, his presence—I can
not sleep peacefully in the house. When I
look in the mirror, I see him. When I sleep, I
see him—Permanently, I am haunted—
haunted by his face, by his blue urn, and
his last letter that ended with Vaya Con
Dios. Go with God, Daddy. Please, go with God.