the divorce is final and i don’t have to pay alimony

break up letters by wastedrita

I recently made the very adult decision to break up with my best friend. Well, we broke up six years ago but we have been in each other’s lives in one way or another for eight years. He took care of me when I couldn’t get out of bed. I did my best to take care of him whenever he allowed me to. ¬†But the time has come and we are no longer growing together…we have grown apart.

I thought it would be harder than this but it’s kinda like getting a haircut. At first it’s weird and you don’t know if you like the person reflected back at you but then a few days pass and life goes on and hair grows back or it doesn’t or it does.


I think he loved me in his own way but he never loved me the way I needed him to and that’s ultimately why I am choosing to leave. I am choosing to close the chapter on our life together in order to love myself more completely and not shoulder the guilt of years of toxic love.

I should have known a white dude from the Northwest suburbs and I couldn’t be best friends for life. But I tried anyway because that’s the only way you learn. And my god, did I learn.

It is not his fault he is willfully ignorant and selfish and insensitive but at the same time, it is his fault. Because I had every opportunity to remain ignorant and selfish and insensitive but I chose life. I chose to open my heart up to the world and get hurt and learn and love people the best way I can.

I know a lot of you are probably wide-eyed as you read this scathing review but I honestly, truly, legitimately do not give a flying fuck.

Because when I was fifteen my sister looked me dead in the eyes and said, “You are a waste of god given talent.”

And I never forgot those words. I never, ever, ever let those words go.

Because I would rather have a serpent in my home that I can talk to than a fucking panda bear that lies all the time.

I firmly believe that the things which are the most difficult to hear are the things which need to be repeated over and over and over. Only then can we live authentically. Only then can we move forward and make America……………………………great?

Yeah, I did that.


So I am moving on with my life. I have decades left and I haven’t the energy to waste it on people who add nothing to my experience. It’s as plain and as simple as that.

Who wants to be my new best friend?

Nah, I’ll be my own best friend.


how to #staywoke when all you want to do is sleep

#StayWoke is an often trending hashtag usually accompanied by #BlackLivesMatter or #IfTheyGunnedMeDown. To be woke is to be aware and in touch with issues of racial and social injustice. To be woke is to be down. To be woke is to be respected among other members of the black community.

I can log onto my computer and instantly find Black Twitter abuzz with conversations on a wide range of topics concerning the black community. There are links to various articles written by different well-respected black academics. There is a whole universe sharing their ideas, frustrations, and hopes for the world.

It is inspiring to see so many young black people engaging on such a grand scale.

But for some reason I cannot help but feel saddened and overwhelmed by the entire experience. Because I wish there was something else to talk about some days. Because the rage expressed by some of the people is just so palpable it causes my heart to ache in a way I never thought possible.

I think a lot about how James Baldwin, Lorraine Hansberry, Nina Simone etc sat together decades ago in their Greenwich Village studios discussing the very same things we are debating on Black Twitter in 2016. I think about how they wrote their books, plays, and songs believing that the world was perhaps on its way to equality and black bodies would one day cease to be disregarded with such alarming frequency.

I am not saying they believed the work would be finished with them but I have to think that they probably thought the world would be farther along than it is today.

So when I log onto Twitter and I see the same headlines and the same outrage, I can’t help but feel the urge to slam my computer shut and go back to bed. Because there is still so much work to be done. There are so many broken parts that need to be picked up and lovingly pieced back together.

It feels selfish to even be sharing this because what have I done to help my fellow black man? I have not signed any petitions. I have not marched in any protests. I have not donated to any causes. I haven’t even done the bare minimum.

Sending my thoughts out to those who are truly suffering does not bring back the dead. It does not erase the years of racism and ignorance. It does not heal anyone. It does not bring about any real understanding.

I am worried that this struggle will just become the work of my generation, and the generation after that, and the generation after that. That there will never actually be a #CarefreeBlackChild. That some of us will sacrifice our lives to the fight either literally or figuratively. Or that some of us will be so paralyzed by the weight of it all and never answer the call to action.

And so I must ask, at what point does being woke become detrimental to our collective consciousness?