Everyone knows I stay prayerful so that my butt grows bigger. I've done all types of exercises from squats to rollerblading. Nothing seems to work. I decided to sing about my problem...maybe all of us girls with no booty can learn the lyrics and go on tour.
Ladies and gentlemen I present to you "Ready for Butt" by J Danielle (backing track, Ready for Love by India Arie).
Ever since I was a kid, I always remembered being happy. I was the kid always laughing, very ticklish to the touch, jovial...always smiling. My childhood itself, while not always perfect, was a happy one, with family vacations and extra-curricular activities. I had nothing to complain about.
I did well in high school, participated in after-school activities and made plenty of friends. I knew as soon as I graduated high school that I would go to college and become a psychiatrist. I became organized, and steadfast in my goals. Although I was quite nervous and anxious leaving home for the first time, I was really excited: a new city, new set of friends, new environment, and a place where I’d meet people with similar goals who sought, through education, a path to better themselves and be successful in life.
My freshman year in college, I did very well. Joined several organizations, and made friendships that are still strong to this day. Sophomore year followed, and I was still on my way to success, making good grades and expanding my knowledge and base of friends. I would say that my trouble with my illness started when I was in the Spring Semester of my sophomore year. I was rushed to the hospital by my roommate/friend when I suddenly had a panic attack that I couldn’t control.
I was referred to my school’s mental health office and was diagnosed with depression. Now granted, I was a psych major, so I knew what depression was. But experiencing it was absolutely scary. I was psych major and would ask myself daily “how would I be diagnosed with something that I’m trying to prevent?” But the symptoms were there: overwhelming sadness, inability to join in on social activities, different eating habits, and feeling lethargic for most of the day. I didn’t even realize that I was exhibiting these behaviors until several appointments with my psychologist and my close friends almost staging an intervention because they didn’t know what was wrong with me.
My symptoms subsided until the end of Fall Semester into my Junior year when my panic attacks started to increase in number and my depression worsened. It got so bad that my parents finally noticed the changes in me and finally asked what was wrong. “I’m depressed,” I told them. I told them that I was seeking help, and although they were upset that I had hid it from them, they were happy that I told them.
Although I crossed that hurdle of being open with my illness with those those I care for (and those who care for me) I still suffered daily. I tried psychotropic drugs, such as Zoloft, and although it worked for the first couple of months, my mood changed for the worse and the drug ceased to have an effect. I was at a loss. I questioned my tactics. I did everything I was supposed to do in terms of getting help, and yet, no avail. I would have crying fits, sleep for abnormally long periods of time, and begin to prefer isolation rather than social interaction. I prayed to God, in tears, “how could this happen to me?!” I was dating someone during that time, and had to let her go because I couldn’t give anymore of myself. In terms of emotion and love, I was tapped out. How could I love someone when I had no love for myself?
I was finally diagnosed with clinical depression some months later, and the news that I would probably suffer from depression from the rest of my life. The news, although disheartening, at least gave me something to finally fight against: A concrete illness I could finally get a hold of if I was given the proper tools. My psychologist told me that I already have the proper tools—I just didn’t use them efficiently. I started ranting and raving in my appointments, being open, crying, not out of fear or sadness, but for release. I was able to speak my mind without repercussions or criticism in the hour afforded to me in my appointments. I was free.
I still see a psychologist. I’m still scarred from my depression, and even though I’m in a better place, I will never be that happy child again. But I don’t look at that as being terrible or tragic: I’m actually content. I was able to see that dark Justin. And though I wish I hadn’t, it made me a stronger person.
I believe that help is better than no help at all. Seeing a psychologist/counselor doesn’t mean that you are weak, it means that you are seeking to take control of something affecting you. And that, by proxy, makes you strong.
--Justin Cooper is a writer for the very popular and hilariously irreverent blog Crunktastical.net
HappyAboutthis.com is grateful that Justin was willing to share his story with our readers. If you have a personal story of struggle with mental illness that you'd like to share, please email J Danielle at firstname.lastname@example.org.
There are two series of "Personal Stories" I'd like to incorporate into my blog...one is a series on mental illness, the other is a series on why and how bloggers started blogging.
I've always been interested in other people's lives, what makes them tick...you know, what brought them to where they are now. If you are a blogger, here is an opportunity to tell your story. It doesn't matter how big or small your blog is or what you blog about e.g. your life, entertainment, cultural issues etc. All I ask is that you tell your story in less than 1000 words, and be largely grammatically correct and organized in doing so. I do edit submissions :-)
In terms of the series on mental illness, I recently decided to write an essay on the depression I faced last year around the holidays. Depression and other mental illnesses are largely hidden in the black community and I'd like to shine some light on the issue.
The first story as part of the series on mental illness will appear tomorrow. It's an awesome personal story by Justin Cooper, a fellow blogger. I can't wait for you all to read it. I am definitely looking for more submissions.
If you are a blogger or you've suffered mental illness and you'd like to share your story, please email me at email@example.com. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to email or tweet me!
November 9, 2009 at The Masque Theater in Liverpool.
Growing up I really liked the bohemian rock sound of the "Brand New Heavies." Fan of the group know that the band was not without turmoil and the lead singer N’Dea Davenport left the group for a while. Now, she has reunited with the group and they are doing shows here and there. I grabbed these pictures of the group from their Nov. 9, 200 performance at The Masque Theater in Liverpool.
I figured I'd take this opportunity to post one of my favorite songs, “Never Stop.” I used to listen to this song on repeat and sing it at the top of my lungs. I always wished my voice was a clear as N’Dea’s! She's got a soothing yet strong set of pipes.
DC is a beautiful city during the day, but it’s even more enchanting after the sun comes down. And In the dark of the night, the nation’s capital is all winding roads, flashing lights, and well-heeled passer-bys. Unfortunately, DC is also a city of shining symbols—symbols that are quite phallic once you enter the dark abyss of not getting any sexual satisfaction for mumble mumble period of time.
The other night I was driving through Washington DC on my way back home from dinner with a girlfriend of mine. I passed the National Monument and immediately admired it for all its length and mortar. What a tall piece of work—and sturdy too! I live on Capitol penis, I mean Capitol Hill. Never have I been more aware of how shapely the building where the recent health care debates took place is than that night driving home. As the light hit the structure’s exaggerated dome, I thought…wow, everything is starting to look like a penis.
A simple visit to the grocery store is painful. Cucumbers, celery…MUSHROOMS. Oh the horror. The fact is, picking out a banana is torturous—and I do mean that literally and figuratively. Last month, I told myself that I was going to have sex with the next man who asked. Then, someone asked, and I immediately changed my mind. Desperation seems to dissipate when the guy isn’t all that. I’m certainly not opposed to casual sex, but why won’t God give me someone to work with! Don’t I deserve it? Hmm I’m not married so perhaps God isn’t the right entity to question about the lack of penis in what passes for my sorry life. Nevertheless, YOU think I deserve some lovin…right?
During my mumble mumble dry spell, I’ve met about 3 guys that I would actually consider sleeping with. But as super high as my libido is (and it IS SUPER HIGH), I also get turned off by lots of things. Specifically, cockiness, shallow behavior, and any evidence that a man is inconsiderate. You’d be surprised at how much of this abounds in the city of phallus. Even if I just plan on sleeping with you I want to feel comfortable with the guy and I don’t want to be pissed off every time he opens his mouth.
What makes things more difficult is that I have a strict policy against friends with benefits because I cannot reconcile such a dreadful dynamic in my mind. Either I’m sleeping with you and you’re not allowed to call me for random chit chat or fall asleep (or sleep over) after any passionate acts, or I like you and we are considering a relationship in which case you get to call me when you’re having a bad day and cuddle up with me in glorious nudity whenever you please, or we’re just cool. I’d like not to explore any messy combinations of these three relationship types.
Right now, I am at a point where casual sex really doesn’t interest me, but I know that’s where I’m headed. I am getting to the point where I just need to “just do it.” The Nike reference is really appropo because I want a full on sweatshop for my next foray into Loveland. I just hope that whoever ends up with the luxury of sleeping with me understands that unless we are actually in the “moment” he will have to keep his distance meaning no calls or texts unless you are arranging another rendezvous. But any man in which I am interested in getting to know (meaning no casual sex) will have to wait until we are in a relationship to get the Goodies Ciara told you about back when people actually listened to her. I know it’s not fair, but honestly it doesn’t matter to me. I gotta do what’s right for me.
Buildings, fruit, and miscellaneous items may all look like penises to me, but the reality is, in real life there seems to always be a man attached making things more complicated than I’d prefer.