The Roaring 20s

It’s Young M.I.A. coming at you!

25 and so…so confused…ooouuu 🥴

I feel like I threw away the instruction manual to life and decided to wing it because of the societal pressures to maintain the image of being a strong black woman who can conquer anything in the world when in reality, I’m just as fragile as Lana Del Ray’s ego. 


…I probably should’ve read the instructions. 

UPDATE:

I made it half way through 25! I made it half way through my twenties, 2020, and I’m still suffering from crippling anxiety, self diagnosed IBS, and a hopeless romantic heart. And you know it wouldn’t be quintessential Deenie if she didn’t break a bone as she was pseudo-cruising through life! I’m writing in the middle of Australia, miles and miles away from my family on the bed of my partner/friend/with benefits/it’s complicated??? with my right leg cocked sideways, entering a realm far more inviting than this one and wonder: “Is this really it?”

Words failed to plaster on paper throughout these past couple months of uncertainty. The worse things got in the world, the more emotions bottled up inside. Reality was shaking me in circles only increasing the bubbles that were fighting come out. 

Maybe that’s why I keep burping so much…

I watched my left leg go in directions it wasn’t supposed to and couldn’t help but think: “CAN I JUST CATCH A DAMN BREAK.

Clearly I can—in 3 different locations across my fibula and tibia bone requiring surgery to put more foreign objects in my body. Love that for us: me and all of my internal voices! And while it’s easy to sound ungrateful for the plethora of blessings God continues to give me, it’s hard to cope with situations that may seem minutiae in comparison to what the rest of the world is going though, but leave me in a slump I’m finding very difficult to rise above from. “Keep your chin up. There are far worse things that could’ve happened to you.” Yes massa

While the aforementioned quote is true, I dive into the depravity of man in search to outweigh the bad with the good and yet, I’M STILL DEFEATED. 

And perhaps you came here today in search of my tomfoolery that’s left me with broken bones. “Deenie tried to squat a who?!” 

My soul is tired.* But at the end of the day, I write to write. To cope and document this crazy little thing called life. If I’ve learned anything throughout the past couple of weeks it’s that nobody actually cares about you or your opinion (except your moms, bro). People will leave you out to dry quicker than they’ve embraced you with open arms.  Behind almost every “Hey! I’m just generally wondering” I’ve received was just a mask covering the faces of people who seek to stroke their own ego. I write my narcissistic essays in hopes to remedy my mental health, remind people they’re not alone in their spiral, and maybe to pretend like people actually care and bask in that false reality.

Anyway, run me my money, and I will give you whatever you please. You want reviews, I’ll give you reviews! You want the history and plight of BIPOC? I’ll give you FIVE thesises…thesi?

Theses. Dissertations would’ve also worked, but ya’ll already know what it is: Venmo Account: @dumbrichhh 

All that being said, here are the titles of my soon coming monetized content:

Always buy Travel Insurance

Stop Pretending to Like Black People

How to Inadvertently Fall in Love

YOU. Already Know the Vibes. 

Cheers. 

Support black people getting therapy just because: https://borislhensonfoundation.org/

*When’s the last time you’ve checked on your close friends? As we enter yet another lockdown in Melbourne in the middle of winter, I sense a downward emotional spiral emerging, and I’m not sure what to make it. Love on each other. Take care of your loved ones, take care of yourself, and don’t forget to take a dose of vitamin D.eenie ✨

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