What Are Your Intentions?

I know May marks the grad season part of the year where young (or old) hopefuls finally receive their diplomas, degrees, certificates, and other pieces of paper honoring their hard work, blood, sweat, tears, and money. Can’t forget about money.

I believe undergrad college grads have the most pressure on them compared to any other graduates. Undergrad college grads get hit with the dreaded question. This question is asked by everyone, everywhere, at any time. You can be in Wal-Mart just trying to grab the new flavor of Häagen-Dazs ice cream, at the gas station trying to get $20 on pump 4, or at church trying to get your praise on and the question is bound to come up. What’s the question you ask? The question is the oh so dreaded: “So, what are you doing next?”

I hate that question so much it makes my ass itch like you have no idea. Seeing my friends go through the “So, what are you doing next?” phase of the post grad life makes me feel so bad for them. When they come to me asking how did I deal with it, the first thing I say is, “What are their intentions?”

A lot of people that ask the dreaded question are not even asking it because they are legitimately concerned. They ask because they are miserable, nosey, and usually bums themselves. It’s up to you to decipher which shoe fits the person that is asking the question.

For example, if one of your close friends or even one of your Mom’s close friends ask you “What’s next?” they are most likely asking because they are really concerned. You should tell them the truth. If you have no clue, maybe the can help you sort things out.

On the other hand, if the girl from high school that was always mugging you asks you “What are you doing now?”, her intentions aren’t good. If the messy old lady that sits on her porch all day collecting more mess than a dumpster asks you “So what are you doing next?”, her intentions most likely aren’t good.

I remember when I graduated all I got was “So you’re moving to LA next right?” “You’re about to start working for Kim huh?” “Will you be Kim’s assistant or work for Jenner Communications?” It put so much pressure on me that I wanted to run away from it all and I decided to move to Houston. Don’t be like me and run away from it. Tackle it head on and tell people to mind their damn business.

Always remember that some people want to see you doing good, but NEVER better than them. Be mindful of who you tell your plans to because they can very well damn you before you even put one foot in front of the other. Before you give a response to the dreaded question, ask your self, “What is this person’s intentions?”

Logging out,


“Myleeza…are you…okay?”

Sup all my myleezakardash.com readers. I know y’all have been feeling hella abandoned since I stopped blogging on my site. If you pay close attention to my Twitter, I also don’t tweet that often or I go on long, random breaks without tweeting. I know my Snapchat is private, but I hardly post on Snapchat and only watch celeb’s snaps. Oh and I stopped fucking with Instagram a while ago so who cares about that. haha Lots of people, including my pal Kim, has asked me “Myleeza, are you okay?” Most people have noticed that I haven’t quite been myself the last few months or weeks. If I tweet, it’s rarely about Kim. It’s usually advocating black people seeking help for mental health issues. The truth is that I myself have been struggling with my mental health. I’ve been fighting it for years and as of late, I’ve been getting my ass kicked.

Since high school, around 2011’ish, I always felt…worried. Small things worried me. Small things kept me up at night. Small things prevented me from fully living my life. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. My friends would call it “The Myleeza Mood”. My mom just said I had bad nerves and that it was hereditary.  I thought to myself, “but what does having bad nerves mean?” I used to write about it in my senior memory book. I wrote that I worry about things that most likely won’t happen and if it will happen, it won’t happen until I’m like 45. I never knew what that fear of the future and that “what if” factor was called until my first year of college. I found out that it was called anxiety.

I battled anxiety throughout my first year of college without seeking medical attention or therapy. I just figured it was something I could “shake off” and “live with”, which I did until my senior year of college. Then this beast, this monster, this evil feeling that I won’t wish on my worst enemy kicked it. Its name was depression.

Now before you chime in and say “Omg! I feel depressed too!!” I want you to understand something. There is a HUGE difference between feeling sad and feeling depressed. Feeling sad is when a relative passes, when you gained a few pounds, when you failed your final, when your hair didn’t come out right, or when you missed the game winning shot. Sadness lasts only a few days , a week or two tops, and you usually know why you are sad. If you do go through depression during these examples, it’s considered situational depression.

On the other hand, systematic depression, oh man, systematic depression is something way more serious. It’s way more severe. It’s way more mentally crippling than anything I’ve ever gone through. Depression is when you literally cannot get out of bed; not because you’re lazy or tired. It’s because mentally you just can’t. Depression is when you become completely uninterested in the things you once loved the most. For me, I hated being on Twitter. I hated making y’all laugh with my tweets. I hated being Myleeza Kardash. I hated being around people. I didn’t want to go out with my friends or go home to my family. Depression is the feeling that you’re fucked for life. It’s that small voice in your head saying there’s no coming back. That voice screams to you on a daily that your best days are gone and nothing but sadness and sorrow is ahead of you. Depression makes you feel worthless, like a burden, abandoned, alone, and incurable. Depression makes you sleep all day and stay up all night. But it’s not a good stay up like your best friend’s slumber party when you were 12. It’s a bad stay up when your mind is racing with the craziest thoughts and you’re kinda afraid to sleep. Depression is sickening. It changes you to the point you don’t know who you are anymore. What makes matters worst is seeing all of your friends, family, classmates, sorority sisters, and everyone else go on with their lives and you are mentally stuck and mentally drowning. You don’t want to seem jealous, but in the back of your head you say “I wish I could be you.” or “I wish I could live a regular life like you.” You ask yourself “Why am I this way?” It’s like when you were little and you saw all of your friends playing outside, but you got in trouble at school so you have to stay inside and just watch them play. They live their lives, while you suffer. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to rewind your life. You want to talk to your friends for hours about how you feel, but you don’t want to scare them. At the same time, you don’t want them to brush off your illness like it’s just a common cold. You want them to check on you, but you don’t want to seem needy. You want to see them, but just not right now. You feel so lost, confused, and contradicting.

Anxiety plus depression is one hell of a mixture and I’ve been dealing with it. Only about 4 or 5 of my closest friends and relatives know about what I’ve been dealing with. I don’t tell people about it. Why? Because I am…embarrassed. I’m ashamed. I’m humiliated. I feel weak. I feel vulnerable and fragile. I feel ungrateful. How can the girl that had it all is so sad all the time? And this is a clear reflection of the struggles of being black with a mental illness.

Black people, well at least most southern black people, don’t believe in talking about mental health. It’s not their fault and I don’t blame them at all. For decades, our race was taught to suck it up. We had to suck it up because

1. Not trusting the medical system

2. Not being able to afford medical costs

3. Believing that going to church or saying a prayer will relieve all of our mental issues.

4. Thinking mental issues are “white people problems”.

Mental health is such a taboo in the Black community. My people fear being labeled as “crazy” to the point they would seek help in secrecy, like me. I begged my mom not to tell anyone how I was feeling or what I was going through. I told my 3 closest friends that I would kill them (joking) if they told anyone. We get so embarrassed and fear being called “weak” that we drive ourselves crazy.

I thought about Kanye and how every time he does anything, the first thing people scream is “He’s crazy” or “He’s a lunatic”. Even though he often speaks about his dealing with depression and anxiety, people still call him crazy when he publicly suffers with it. I didn’t want to be the next person that everyone labeled as crazy because I’m suffering from an illness that I can’t control.

People also mistake mental illness as something you can shake off, pray off, sleep off, go to church about, but you can’t. I believe in God as much as the next black southerner, don’t get me wrong, but God gives us resources to make us feel better. Why would I not take advantage of those opportunities because my pastor is preaching about how Jesus turned water to wine? You know? You wouldn’t expect going to church will heal a broken leg so why go solely so it can heal your mental problems?

Then I started to feel guilty. I feel guilty that people literally wish to have my life, yet I feel like I’m wasting it. But I had to stop thinking like that. I let y’all see only what I allow y’all to see. Like I always say, you don’t know me. People think since I know Kim pretty well or because I’ve experienced such amazing things that I don’t supposed to have problems or that I’m supposed to be happy regardless of the issues I’m going through. As I stated before, I love Kim SO much and she’s been good to me, but Kim can’t fix this. My mom can’t fix this. My friends can’t fix this. Only me, my belief that God is with me, and my medication can help me feel better.

I’ve been on medication for almost two months now to try to regain my strength and take control of my life again. It’s not easy. It’s hard. I give up every day, but I try to keep holding on. I’ll feel better for a day or two then I’ll feel terrible for a week straight. It’s weird. It’s so exhausting, but thankfully I’m starting to see progress.

I’m writing this not for attention and definitely not for pity. I’m not writing this for a million random messages all of a sudden checking to see how I’m doing. That’ll really freak me out. (seriously, don’t do this) I don’t want you to baby me or feel sorry for me. No need for super long text messages.

What I want you to do is seek help if you’re dealing with a mental illness. I want you to teach your kids that it’s ok to talk about their mental struggles and tell them that there’s no need to feel ashamed. I want you to check on your friends and family on a regular basis just to ask how they’re doing; not via Instagram comment or tweet, but by picking up the phone, asking them out for lunch, or having one of those good ole in the car conversations. I want you to slow down and take life in. I want you to love harder and be kinder to others. Spread positivity to a stranger or to someone you notice is not quite being themselves. You never know what battle someone is fighting. You could be a hero and save a life without even knowing.

As someone with a social media following and some what of an influence on people, I wanted to use my platform to share my story so people, especially Black people, will no longer feel ashamed of the battle they are fighting. If I’ve touched one person with my story, I’ve done my job.

I want to personally thank the few people that noticed that something wasn’t quite right with me and stopped to call and check on me. Thank you Mom. Thank you Joiya. Thank you Stasha. Thank you Mya. Thank you Cherese. Thank you Twitter fam. Thank you Reotta. Thank you Kim Kardashian-West. I love all of you so much. You have been a light through all of this.

Always remember: Grow through what you go through. God is with you forever.

Love and light,


PS: But foreal though, don’t write me a bunch of long messages feeling sorry for me. I’m writing this because I found strength, not seeking pity.  K, bye.