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BreeBrii
1,273 M Little Steps 4
PathStep 22 Compassion hearts28 Forum posts6 Forum upvotes5 Current upvotes5 Age GroupAdult Last activeJuly, 2016 Member sinceJuly 18, 2016
Bio
⟨B r e e - B r i i ⟩
23
U S A

I'm kind, I'm cruel, I'm quirky and weird. I mood-swing a lot, but my default emotions are nervousness and sadness. I love to listen as much as I love to be listened to. I'd probably be your best friend.

I'm usually lurking around in Depression Support 1 - Come say hello!
If I don't reply to you, I'm probably busy gaming.
Ask for my Skype if you feel like you need someone you can actually call.

♥ ♥ ♥ I love you. ♥ ♥ ♥
All Of You.
Recent forum posts
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Being Black in a Predominantly White Family from the South.
Young People of Color / by BreeBrii
Last post
 August 9th, 2016
...See more I've decided to post a bit of my story here, because frankly It's something I've been holding onto for a long, long time. Even if no one reads it, at least I got it out. My name is Bree, and I'm 23. I'd like to stress that even though I'm Bi-Racial, I do not look white. I am not "white passing." No one has ever mistaken me for being white. Occasionally people have mistaken me for being mexican, but that's all. Why do I stress this fact? Allow me to elaborate. In my family, it was an unspoken rule that being black wasn't okay. It made you less than. It made you different. It made you loud, dirty, lazy, stupid, and a plethera of other adjectives. So, for YEARS, I never openly claimed to be black amongst my own family. But the first time that I did, my uncle jumped up and exclaimed "NO YOU'RE NOT! Who told you that!? You're not black, you're italian, that's why you're so tan!" My uncles mother, who we're going to call B, was my grandmother. My grandmother who everyone puts on a pedestal, because dear ol' gran-gran was the perfect matriarch of the family. And me? Well, even though "B" once looked in my eyes and told me that she doesn't like me wearing braids because it makes me "look like a nigger," I'm supposed to be grateful and treat her like she was perfect, too. You see, my parents were garbage alcoholics who had no business having a child, because they had no idea how to raise one. So, eventually, my grandmother took over. She put a roof over my head. Sent me to private schools. Made sure I had clothes, food, and if I ever saw a toy on TV that I wanted? Best believe I'd have it the next day. Materialistically she gave me everything, and so I've grown up having mixed feelings about her. B was the type of woman who would drive all the way across town to go to a different Wal-Mart, because the other Wal-Mart was "too ghetto." She was the type of woman who openly said "I'm not voting for that nigger" in reference to Obama during the previous election. She was the type of woman who, when a black salesman came to the door (and was as polite as can be), would smile in his face and listen to what he had to say, then make extremely racist remarks behind his back as soon as he left. She never saw me as black. She refused to acknowledge that I have black in me. I had to do everything that I could to look, sound, and act white. As Olivia Pope's father put it: "You have to work twice as hard for HALF of what they have." Material possessions, however, do not... They CAN NOT dismiss the fact that I hated my own skin color for the longest time. I hated my brown skin, my big nose, my big lips, my brown eyes, my kinky-curly afrolicious hair. I hated it. And I really didn't want to be around anyone that looked like me. I didn't have "black friends," because black girls, of course, are all loud, obnoxious, and rude, right? That's what I believed. That's what I was taught to believe. And at such a young age; I had no idea. For most of my life I couldn't process why I felt so shitty about my appearance. I took it as a compliment when white people would be shocked at "how well I speak." I took it as a compliment when people mistook me for a white girl on the phone. I went to great lengths to keep my hair straightened. I never-ever-ever-ever-ever spoke in slang. And I would never-ever-ever-ever date a black man. But I had no idea WHY I felt this way. I had no idea how different and othered my family was making me feel. I had no idea that I was always going to be second best in their eyes. I've kept it to myself for years, because in my family if you DARE say anything bad about B, then you're a colossal ungrateful bitch and you'll be treated as such. But you know what? I'm fed up with it. I'm the ONLY black person in my immediate family and I'm tired of having to feel like shit for it. I'm tired of everyone around me having some racist bullshit to say when I'm RIGHT FUCKING THERE, and not even thinking twice about it. B was a piece of shit. And you're all pieces of shit too. The end. Rant over.
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