Acceptance is a Drug

Hey white black girl! Hey Oreo! You are black on the outside but white on the inside! White washed. All those names I heard on the daily when I moved to Portland in 2008. Why because I was different I was raised different and acted Different. I was not the stereotypical black girl that was expected. I would try to make friends but I was so uncomfortable due to being judged all the time for being an “Oreo” All the friends I made at Madison High school were white. Not the black kids that I so longed to be friends with ” disclosure my white friends welcomed me with open arms”.

To try and gain acceptance I started listening to what was in, I learned the lingo, I even took myself to Urbandictionary.com to Learn a few words and phrases. I started to change the way I dressed. I dressed with skin tight cloths to show of my figure that was so made fun of down in Roseburg, but seemed to be something of a desire in Portland.

As the school year went on I noticed that I was getting male attention from the black male population. I realized it was because of my Body, I had a plump bottom and a slim athletic waist. I started to utilize it. Hey attention was attention right acceptance was acceptance in my mind. So any way I could get it from my black peers I did it. I opened up a Twitter I had a Facebook. I started getting a lot of attention for provocative photos I would post. The boys who didn’t talk to me at school sure talked to me on social media. At that time I was a virgin but I portrayed myself as not. Because I felt that was desirable. I lost my virginity to a boy when I was 18 after two years of pretending I wasn’t a virgin I lost it to some random boy that I met online. He questioned me when the sheets turned out bloody and I was like oh “I don’t know I guess I was just tight I haven’t done it in a while.” He shrugged his shoulders and I left. That marks the day that my sexual addiction to dampen my pain and to gain acceptance started.

I started using my body and sexuality because it was the easiest way to fit in. I am so ashamed of it now but it is what it is. I started acting out sexual acts on black men the acts I saw in pornos. The freakier I got the more I thought they would like me. I thrived off the negative attention. I loved when men would stop me when I was out and about and compliment my figure. I loved when black men would message me online and ask for naked pictures, and revel in my bodies beauty. Sad how messed up my mind was in yearning for attention and acceptance. Senior year in high school wasn’t even the worst of it. My parents found out about my ways and put me into therapy to try and get me some help. but all I did was lie to my therapist and saying that I regretted my behavior and that I wasn’t doing that anymore. I developed self hatred due to my behaviors. at the time I was to immature to know.

College 2010 I attended Philander Smith College and HBCU ” historically black college”. It was in Little Arkansas as far away from my parents as possible. In my self loathing I began to develop a hate for my parents. PSC was a huge mistake, it was a good experience because I met some amazing black people that literally accepted me for me. They came from all walks of life and they themselves didn’t fit all the way in the stereotypical black person mold. I made some life long friends who in the short time I was there made me realize just being me was black. No matter how i was raised and were I was raised, I was black and I was beautiful. But the danger of PSC was that the pool of black men became even more available. there was so many to choose from. sadly I was known on campus as a hoe. But at this point it wasn’t even about acceptance it was an addiction. I slept with countless men, surprisingly I only caught one STD that was curable. I hardly went to classes I was failing out of college. So my self esteem was low.so the more i slept around and filled that void the better i would feel for a short amount of time. Thankfully one of my friends, called my parents and told them what i was doing. I was so very angry with her I didn’t talk to her for years :” we are friends again”. Now I realize she only wanted me to stop my destructive behavior. My parents in December in winter break sent for me and I never returned back to PSC. They forced me into therapy, and again I was lying. I was not ready to accept what I had done to myself. Acceptance became a drug I would have to knock.

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