You can bet that, never gotta sweat that.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.  I have amazing people.  They never cease to amaze me.

I’ve always prided myself on being a strong person — someone who can roll with the punches, walk through the fire, and come out smiling with my eyeliner still in tact.  No need for crutches, because I’m all I got and I’m all I need. I done been through some SHIT, but here I was, still happy.  Scarred, but happy.  It’s taken this weekend for me to realize that Tupac was right — thugs need love too.

Simply put, I was a mess.   And I cried.  

I sat at my desk at work, sobbing on the phone with the one person who hates to hear me cry.  And yet he listened.  And he comforted, and by some miracle, he even made me laugh.   I wrote a text message to my best friends, all of them ending with the same thing –  “Don’t freak out.”   And although I know that my request was absolutely imposibble, they smiled and never let me see how much they were, in fact, freaking the fuck out.    I looked my mother, a surviver herself, dead in the eye and told her that I was facing her demon.   She looked me dead in the eye, held back her tears, and told me everything was going to be OK.

My people talked and ate and texted and prayed.  They laughed and danced and drank with me.  They joked and smiled and googled.  They took pictures and shared memories and showed me one thing:   My people are just as strong as I am.

And I cried.  Because if I were them?  I’d be a MESS and I would definitely be freaking the fuck out. 

Then, I read this.

And I realized that there is no room for failure when my corner is as strong as this.  Because my people?  They’re just that…MY PEOPLE.   So I’m gonna let them freak out a little bit.  And I’m gonna let her Web MD me to her heart’s content.   I’m gonna let him and his mom listen to me cry on the phone.  And I’m gonna let them be my crutch. 

Because I can’t do this alone.  And my people are a sure thing.