Dear Postpartum Blues, 

5/17/17Dear Postpartum Blues,

When I created you; I created you with a poisoned heart and severe heartache. Selfishly looking at my life with a microscope, I focused in on so many negative aspects that crowded my ways of thinking. Causing me to worry less about my son and the results of his feelings or upbringing. 

After analyzing my life, I realized I must get back to good health in order to carry out the many tasks it takes to become a mother. Being in love with a young man whose mind caused me to indulge in “making it work,” literally took the life from me. 

My words scattered, trying to write every thought of every terrible incident; without telling too much. I guess you can say I was sugar coating my life. Like i’m used to doing everything else. Instead of fulfilling purpose and executing my mission. I didn’t begin to exercise my backbone strength until I accepted the fact that, I would be raising my son alone without his biological dad. 

To my fans, who actually read Postpartum Blues, the ending was so bogus. Admit it, I know you were thinking it. Going on and on with my, “I took him back speech” Let me just say… that’s straight bullshit. If I could rewrite the ending I would, but I can’t. Since I’ve been focusing on living I don’t really care to fry my brain trying to re-word the life of my PPD phase. Especially when everything is already written. 

Having fans are like a dream come true. I never really kept friends because I stay busy; writing, meditating, and strategizing on saving the world from evil villains. So my friends are my fans, they get me. They read me and accept me; flaws and all. Unconditional love. For that, I love you for rocking with me, no matter what. 

To my healing mothers, with this work, I promise to deliver knowledge and understanding on how to overcome the wicked monster I’ve grown too familiar with, he goes by the name PPD: Short for Postpartum Depression. 

To my Black/Poverty stricken children, please forgive us as parents. For we are trapped in a generational/racist curse. Some of us try our very best to pick up the knowledge that was deprived of us still to this day. Riches have skipped our previous families/ ancestors. Financially, we are doing the best we can, with what we know and what we are gaining to understand. How nothing is always glitter and gold.  

The old author in me died along time ago. I used to babble about all the things I thought mattered the most, instead of prophesying ministering hope and instruction to my lost people. This entire time I should have been instilling prosperity and understanding in my people. Instead of running around here with my head cut off. 

It wasn’t until I examined my bible whole-heartedly looking for directions on how to be okay and searching for the tools I would need to fight depression. God created a peaceful palace in my brain that was once a cluttered go-to spot to throw all my uncertainty. Until I realized that everything isn’t designed to be stored into the very vessel intended to store my God’s assignment, given to me.  


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