A week in review: Netflix and Namastaymyass over here / Lil Wayne is a prophet (LONG READ)

Ya’ll. Idk what the hell is going on but the universe has called out war against me.

Before we get into any of the shenanigans that is my tragic life, I want to sincerely apologize for not posting every Saturday like I’ve promised.

I know how much ya’ll love reading the tea with your Saturday morning mimosas, and I have failed you.

Once I get a new laptop the content will be hot and ready with no delay hunny. Trust.


Where do I begin!?!

How bout with a little romance, huh?


Ya’ll know how I’ve been kinda-sorta-not really talking to Mr.5’7maybe?

Well we still talk every now and again but we haven’t hung out since the time I called him out for being homophobic and he told me I was white for being sensitive to jokes about suicide.

Ahhhh, good times.

So he used to sketch when he was younger and I would describe his art to be street-style or graffiti, and lemme tell you, he’s pretty dope.

Most of his sketches are words and small images so they tend to look like poppin ass tags.

One day out of the blue he hit me up saying that he was gonna put his ideas on a shirt, so of course I’m here for it!

Ya’ll know I’m here for self-expression and art in all its forms so I was like “Yeah! That would be dope!”

THENNN….. he said he was gonna make a shirt for me.


Of course now I’m feeling myself like “OK! SHAWTY IS OUT HERE GETTING SHIT MADE FOR HER AND SHIT!!!”

So later on in the week he texts me asking me to come and help him design it and I’m like yeah sure! I have no artistic skills but I definitely have an eye for what I would and would not wear.


Fast forward through the week and I head over to his house around 5:30 and we start looking at different stencils, playing around with the new airbrush he got, and the shit was legit. I felt like I was preparing for his “Where Are They now?” TV special when he makes it big as a designer for street-wear just by helping him change the ink and giving input on location of sketches.

Mind you, the whole time we were working on the shirt, Netflix was on in the background.

I know what you’re thinking! It was a trap, yadda yadda yadda, but I understood why he put on the tv; it was awkwardly quiet in between the airbrush set up and picking stencil/placement, so the Netflix kind of filled the void.

Everything was fine and I was really feeling like hot shit for being apart of someone’s creative process, but then all of a sudden the script was flipped….

It was about an hour and a half into designing and he started packing all the things away.

By this time I was just laying on his bed playing candy crush because my non-artistic ass can only help so much.

In the corner of my eye I see him putting everything away all nice and neat and then he sat down on the opposite end of the bed than me and kinda just sat there….



Then he goes….

“So you gonna let me eat that ass?”

Honestly all I could do was laugh because he texts me this all the time as a joke but in the midst of my laughing I was like…


The setting/the mood he was tryna put down with the Netflix in the back and the casual tidying up of his design material had me like “hmmm, what’s going on here?”…


With no exaggeration this boy asked if he could eat my ass half joking/half serious a good 3-4 times.

I thought it was pretty dope that he could just say what he wanted out right but I was like jeez !

I thought I was only going over there to do some doodles on some t-shirts ya’ll and he tried to Netflix and chill my ass!

What I appreciated though is that he didn’t make it awkward after every time he’d slyly ask; we were able to just laugh it off and move on with the rest of the night.

…and what was even better is that he played some conscience ass interviews on youtube that we watched and then ended up getting into a small debate on sexual/gender identity and why it’s important as well as the genderization of clothing.

Overall it was a chill night, but he tried to push the envelope and see what he could get away with….BUT YA GIRL KEPT HER FOOT DOWN Y’ALL.

So, the booty eating started the week and the foolish co-workers ended it.

Y’all remember #BustedNBoujee right?   Well she did it again folks.

We had our monthly department meeting last week, and to have things run a bit more smooth our bosses sent us an email asking us to set up an agenda among us and then leave a good chunk of time for whatever questions she had.

#BustedNBoujee takes it upon herself to create the agenda and walks over to my desk to say the following:

“Hey. So I’m coming up with agenda, and if you have any questions, concerns, or ISSUES you’d like to bring up at the meeting, just send me an email”.

First off, move.

I do not need, nor do I want her in my space (and I’m pretty sure she catches my vibe) but she thought it made more sense to come to my desk instead of sending me and email.

K. Whatever. No big deal.

After I gave it some thought I sent her an email saying that I wanted to talk about insurance.

I thought she was going to set up the agenda with names next to who wanted to speak about what so I didn’t give any explanation.

She calls me and goes:

“Soooo what is it you want to talk about regarding insurance?”

Me: “How to check it when you’re over the phone with patients, the easiest way to find out if they need a referral, how to determine whether you should call the insurance company or not…. That kind of stuff”.

Her: “Oh ok!” *Goes on to try and answer the examples I gave her as if they were questions I had.

Me: *cuts her off while laughing* “No No No No, not me, I know how to do it. This is for ya’ll, because ya’ll book patients and then hand it to me to look up insurance”.

Her: “Oh.”

Me: “yeah”.

Her: “Ok well I’ll put it in the agenda”.


Ok cool. Everything was all set, and I was ready to give everybody little tips and tricks they can use to quickly check insurance while on the phone with patients.

We get to the meeting and here comes #BustedNBoujee with her agenda, and the second thing she touched on was my topic….but she added her own twist to it.

Her: “Well I just wanted to talk about insurance because it seems like people aren’t talking about it when they’re on the phone with patients which is really frustrating because we’ve had patients that needed pcp referrals and we didn’t find out until the last minute….”

My ass is at the end of the table like….




Mind you, our meeting was dragging on longer than expected and I hadn’t had lunch for the day so I had no patience for the bullshit WHAT.SO.EVER. Everything that came out of my mouth afterwards was not processed at all it just came out.

Me:”The only ones that needed last minute referrals are the ones you guys did”.

Her: hwhat.thumb.gif.21b9d87e7f433968738af81ed5eaadf7.gif

Me: “We all have access to the excel sheet that can show us which insurances are contracted with us and which aren’t, so if I know a patient will be calling back to schedule or I have their information to call them and schedule I’ll look up their insurance information before I even get on the phone with them so that we can have that conversation about possibly needing a referral before their appointment.

Did you guys get that email with the excel sheet? I’m pretty sure we all did”.

Her: “Yeah but you still need to check NEHEN (insurance database system)”.

Me: “Nehen does nothing. It doesn’t work. It’s absolutely useless. All it does is tell you if the patient still has active insurance, meaning that it hasn’t expired, and that doesn’t help us. ”

Her: “Well when Molly (name changed to protect identity) was here she would check NEHEN and it was working just fine”.

Me: “Well Kathy isn’t here and Nehen doesn’t work so….”

*the two co-workers that got hired the same time as me start to chip in that Nehen is practically useless and that we would benefit from an insurance training when the insurance lady came back from vacation*





Y’all! Who did she think she was!?!

All I wanted to do was have a team discussion on what would work best for everyone and she went and tried to put me under the bus. No boo, that’s not cute.

How the hell are we supposed to work as a good team if everyone is just being fucking shady and childish towards each other all the time?! It makes no sense!

I came into this new week watching my back, front, and sides ladies and gentlemen because these bitches in this office are shaddyyyyy.


*possible triggers in this section: sexual abuse, suicide,& self-harm*

All of ya’ll are probably wondering what any of this post has to do with Lil Wayne…

Weeeellllllllllll, do ya’ll know the song I feel like dying?

I went to a new psychiatrist because my anxieties have been a complete shit-storm on my life and I figured that maybe it was a medication issue.

Ya k’now, taking care of my self, like a big girl.

When I got there I was told that the Doctor would be 10min late to our appointment so even though I told the front desk people “Yeah that’s fine”, the anxiety in me said “WTF?! WE’RE NOT GONNA HAVE TIME! OMG ! SHE CAN’T GIVE ME NEW DRUGS WITH LIMITED TIME!”….

….but I calmly went to my seat and filled out the “emotion vital signs” checklist thingy.

She finally comes out to get me and it’s this older looking woman, age ranging from mid 60s to early 70s. She directs me into her office and immediately I feel uncomfortable.

For a psychiatrist’s office it looked very rigid and bare with nothing but a pen/pencil holder and some papers on her desk, 2 chairs (not including hers), and a little table in the corner with a huge note pad with random scribbles all over it. The walls were painted an old french vanilla color and the air was dry.

As soon as we went in, she directed me to sit in a chair that was placed on the left of her desk so her back wouldn’t be towards me, and instead I would be facing her while she typed.

When I walked towards the chair I did my normal inspection to make sure it was “sanitary” to my standards (no stains, crumbs or unrecognizable anythings: if any of these things were present I could possibly have a small panic attack, hence why I was there in the first place).

In order to respect her office I asked if I could switch the chair she assigned me to with another one, and she replied:

“Why? What’s the difference?”

I’m no psychiatrist but I’m pretty sure if people come into your office and do something weird you should kinda just feel them out instead of trying a blunt approach because you don’t know what can set someone off.

Anywho, so I told her that “dirty things”, for lack of a better phrase, make me anxious. Whenever I’m on public transportation or sitting down anywhere I need to make sure there is no hair, liquid, stain, crumbs, paper, tissue etc anywhere near I’m putting my body or my belongings for fear of some sort of contamination that I can’t cure.

Her response looked a little something like this:



In any case, her response made me more anxious and uneasy because we were already off to a bad start.

First she asks me about my family history with questions like “How many people live in your house?”, “Do you have any siblings?”, and the million dollar question “Is there anyone in your family with a history of mental health”.

Whenever that question comes up I always talk about my cousin on my dad’s side because she’s the only one that has mental issues that are easily identifiable. Other than that, mental health is such a taboo subject on both sides of my family that if any one ever dealt with it, it was almost always kept a secret or “nobody knew”.

To answer the Doc’s question I say: “Well I know my cousin on my dad’s…”

Her: *cuts me off* NO NO NO NO. Let me tell you something. Family is mother, father, grandparents, aunt and uncles. Not cousins. Try again”.

I was kinda taken aback by her response so I kind of shrank into myself and told her that I didn’t really know.

We kept going.

While she was going through the family life portion she asked me “Are there any guns in the house” to which I replied no.

She then starts to go through the typical intake process which can be triggering in itself because you have to retell your whole mental health history and realize that you are talking to a stranger that may influence a decision on whether you should be locked up with hourly supervision.

As she’s reading the notes in my file left from my psychologist (mental health doc that can’t prescribe meds) she asks me when I tried to jump off a bridge.

I looked at her kind of crazy because I’ve never thought of or tried to do that before and replied:

“…tried to jump off a bridge? Huh?”

She got herself together and re-read my file to see that I was triggered and went into a state of dissociation because of an old client talking about her attempted suicide.

Her: “Any guns in the house?”

As I answered her no for the second time I was wondering why she thought my answer would change from when she asked me not even 5 minutes earlier.

This is where the shit hit the fan.

Her: ” I see that you said you were molested as a child. Tell me about that.”

Me: “yeah well it was in elementary school and I was molested by my friend.”

Her: “How old was the friend?”

Me: ” We were the same age…”

Her: “Nope. That’s not abuse. That’s sexual play. That’s not molestation. You weren’t molested. That’s sexual play.”

I froze.

For one it felt like she didn’t believe that it happened to me, but then her matter of fact way of rebuttal made me feel like she was invalidating my experience.

My whole life I’ve been trying to deal with the fact that someone close to me sexually violated me in a time when I didn’t even know what it all meant, and I’ve constantly tried to make sense of the whole thing without blaming myself for being “not smart enough to know that it was wrong”.

To have this lady I didn’t know just flat out tell me that my experience was not what I thought it was and to imply that I should feel some relief because I wasn’t actually molested sent me over the edge.

The rest of my time with her seemed to be the most difficult moments of my life.

She immediately noticed that my face turned to stone while my hands started to fidget uncontrollably and my leg was shaking faster than before.

At this point I couldn’t process her figure sitting next to me; I was too focused on suppressing the lump in my throat; there was no way I was going to cry in front of this lady.

Her: “Are you ok?”

Me: “yup”

Her: “Are you sure you’re ok with me? You look really serious”.

Me: “Yup. I just want to go home”.

Her: “Are you upset that I said you weren’t molested? Is that a source of trauma for you?”

Me: “yup”

Her: “The law says that in order for it to be molestation, the perpetrator needs to be at least 5 years older than the victim. But it’s not about the law right, it’s about how you’re feeling. Hahaha.”

I felt like crawling out of my skin and hiding in the darkest corner of the room.

I had to sit in front of this lady and try to keep my composure while tears burned the edge of  my eyelids.

She wrapped up our meeting, we set a time for us to meet sometime next month, and I sprinted to my car.

As soon as I got in I lost it.

I screamed, cried, hit the steering wheel, covered my face in shame and cried.

The only thoughts running through my head were telling me that I was stupid to think that I could’ve been molested. That I wasn’t pretty enough to be wanted sexually, let alone sexually abused. That if I would’ve gone through with my suicide in 2012 that none of this would’ve happened. That I should go crash my car somewhere or walk out into traffic to get it done and over with because there was no purpose for me. That once again my mental health history was a load of shit because everyone else seemed to think so anyway.

It took everything in my being to head straight home without doing anything stupid. I cried and screamed all the way there, and when I got home I cried, screamed and kicked some more.

The part of my life that I thought I tucked away forever ended up being the one thing that was able to completely unravel me.

When my mom came home and tried to figure out what was wrong I told her what the lady said and that it felt like she didn’t believe me.

Mom: “You can’t let stuff that people say get to you! You moved on from that! I honestly don’t know what to say but you’re a strong black woman and you just have to learn how to be strong.”

She even reached out for a hug but I had to push her hands away.

I know she meant well but her comment is exactly why I don’t talk to her about anything mental health related because she thinks everything is so one and done when in reality, the things I go through have been affecting me on and off, with varying strength, for years.

Thank the heavens I’m still alive to talk about it but it was a really scary day for me; I really thought I was going to do something I wouldn’t be able to come back from.

…and don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a problem with what she said. If molestation is really defined as she explained it then there’s nothing I can do about that. It was the simple fact that my anxiety kept increasing from the minute I stepped into her office and as a mental health professional, one would think she would be able to feel out the situation and approach with caution, but instead she dropped a bomb on me in a time when I wasn’t in the emotional state to hear it.

Now I’m on the search to find a psychiatrist that’s not her; I refuse to see her again.

Let’s pray that the upcoming weeks will be better than this: emotionally and mentally.

I can only take so much before I feel like giving up.




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