I’m scared of lonely. I’m scared of being the only shadow I see along the wall. And I’m scared the only heartbeat I’ll hear beating is my own. – Beyonce, “Scared of Lonely
      I haven’t written in quite some time. I could be because I just got my new phone, the Samsung Vibrant (T-Mobile’s knockoff iPhone, because I’m #TeamIphone, but not #TeamAT&T) and have been trying to figure out how to use it. It could be because work is kicking my ass, not because of the hour, but because I don’t know what “enough” money is and I feel really Chapelle, but…WTF is rent? Maybe I can’t write because I might’ve lost one of my best friends this week and everything in me wants to talk about it, but that would be futile and honestly, a bit to personal –even for me. 
     A very cool blogger (writer of “Sex Made Me Do It”) asked if this blog was more of a diary than a “blog” and honestly, I don’t know. In my opinion, all writing should be personal. And after thinking about it, yes, these blogs are long, but I’m not going to stop until I complete my thought. I encourage my readers to read… even skim. You can stop when you’d like. On EllaThought, there’s no writing or reading limitations. If you’d like to dedicate the 5 minutes it takes to read this, much appreciated. If not, your page view had still been recorded in my stats. Thnx 😉  –Just FYI, there is never any real point to my writing… this is just what happens when my heart connects to my mind, my mind to my fingers, my fingers to my laptop and my laptop to this blog. It’s simply the connection I have with words. It’s simply what happens.

        Today is about me. With so much on my mind, I just need to write (about something else)… please bear with me. I can’t think about the reader today or what you all might think or what you want to read and what I should write… I need my heart to pour from these pores and onto the keyboard because I can feel a buildup inside of me.

 So here it goes:
        FACT: I am at the greatest, lowest point I have ever been in my life. I landed a job plenty people would kill for –this is by no means a complaint, I LOVE my job –but my job is all I have. I wake up every morning excited about what to wear. Work is a personal fashion show that I gladly take part in. I take the train to work and read a book during my 45 minute commute. I just finished The Summer Fletcher Greel Loved Me by Suzanne Kingsbury, about a beautiful summer love that ends in despair. I get to work, I turn on my computer and answer emails. I make a coffee and eat my cereal… and answer more emails. That’s it. Well…. there’s more to it, but that’s the low down. After work, I get back on the train, and go home to my sister’s house.
     I typically write with a very “fuck niggas” persona but truly its the complete opposite…. I’m lonely. I want love. Real love. *Cue Mary J* I don’t aim to take part in pointless conversation or entertain men that show no potential… and I wonder if this is holding me back. Am I being too picky? Am I moving too slow? At this point I am damned near celibate and the physical yearnings –while they are there — aren’t my biggest issue. 
      Can you really hold onto a man without sleeping with him? I’m not naive, I know that all men –ALL MEN– are looking for sexual satisfaction, but I’ve adopted the idea that if he wants sex, he can get it somewhere else. As long as I don’t know about it of course. I can’t expect a man to be faithful to me when I’m not giving him something that is probably near, if not at, the very top of his list. But I also know that I’m not the only tail he’s chasing. I may be the best, but not the only. Never the only. 
     Then (FACT #2), I’m not ready for heart break. My heart hasn’t healed from what has happened to it before and I’m not sure if I can take another blow. & while I’ll take a free meal anytime…I don’t want to date. I really just want to meet the person I’m going to be with already. I’m tired of looking. Tired of dating. Tired of searching. I’m not ready for arguments and yelling and worrying and questioning and checking in and keeping track. Not only do I not have the time for it, I don’t think I have the strength. I used to yell. And when I say yell, I mean YELL. Believe me, I would swing if I felt I had to. I did swing when I felt I had to. I’m not going to pretend I’ve been the best person my whole life. I was actually a terrible person. I was so bad that not only did I wear men out, I wore myself out. I could be happily… something right now if I had matured when they expected me to. But really, you can only do that for yourself. 
      You get to a point when you’ve ruined your own life so much that you can’t even deal with looking at yourself. I would literally ask myself what my problem was. I had to try to figure out why I kept ruining things for myself. This is not to say that the men didn’t deserve what came to them or that I want to be with them now. This is simply to say that I have learned from my actions. I apologize to the men that had to take the heat so that The One could have me in my most perfect form. 
       Every woman has her history. Whether you know it or not. Whether people around you know it or not. My opinion on it all is this: What matters most is how long ago their transition to woman hood was. I personally believe that after a woman is hurt to the core of her heart… she breaks. She does things she shouldn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t. And she learns. You don’t want to get with a woman in the middle of this transition because she doesn’t know who she is or what she wants and has yet to realize her own flaws. 
         I can fill pages with my flaws. I still have flaws. The difference now is that I can pinpoint these flaws and correct my actions before I make mistakes. There was a time I felt like my body was all I had to give –for reasons women can all relate to, because we are never addressed separate from our bodies –but now, along with my flaws, I recognize my strengths. I congratulate myself on my accomplishments. I applaud myself in taking on adulthood with no fear. I rejoice in my attempts to understand woman hood and even more so what it means to be a black woman. A hispanic woman. An educated woman. A family woman. A motivated woman. 
      And still I’m alone. Here is where the confusion comes in. Here I am, listing off my qualities. The reasons I’m a good woman. Why I’m a good catch. So why doesn’t anyone see that? Why don’t the men I want, want me back? Why can’t things be perfect? I catch myself staring at engagement rings. All of them. From righteous rocks to the diamond shavings placed in metal. I wonder what it takes to get there (not the shavings though, they can keep those). I’m not (really) in a rush. I just want to know if I’m going to get there. Will someone love me enough to make his mark and let the world know that he has chosen me? Someone chose those girls. No one chose me. I want someone to want to be with me. I want someone else to think I’m as great as I say I am and more. The hard part is I want him to be great too. While you aren’t going to read an “Ella Wants a Baby” post for a couple years, I want a man who would be a candidate when my life starts to take that turn. 
      Well, there it is. I just moved to one of the most populated cities in the world and have gotten lonelier than I can begin to describe… Beyonce did a good job (or whoever wrote “Scared of Lonely“). I understand: I can’t seem to breathe…I am lost in this dream. I need you to hold me. Thing is, I missing a “you”. A guy once told me that his greatest fear was being alone. I hadn’t even considered it. Now I know. I’m scared, too. 
**Sidenote: Went looking for a place in Harlem & saw some good looking brothas driving good looking cars looking back at me. THERE IS STILL HOPE. Stay Tuned.**
Wish me luck, Ellas.