Today, I was blessed enough to spend my last day of my LA trip sitting in the lounge of my downtown LA hotel with two of my biggest NBK fans, Mayson and Khelan. Curled up on the couch with two of my biggest supporters, giggling, sharing stories, and hearing about their lives…For 5 hours we contently spent our time together, sipping lattes and iced tea, just connecting with the people who love me most.
These moments, this afternoon spent with these gorgeous souls is a gift unmatched by any other. While chatting and embracing my fellow NBK’s, I received the news that one of my most dedicated fans, Michael Welsh, was killed in a motor cycle accident just hours before…
I met Michael when he came out to my Houston tour date back last fall. He drove 8 hours, alone, on his birthday, to come to my concert. I remember he was the last meet and greet to approach me. Clad in official NBK gear, and bearing a smile that melted my heart, we embraced without saying a single word. He told me that this was his dream come true..to be able to meet me in person, and how he planned on marrying me someday. He claimed this was the best birthday of his life.,. the best moment of his life. I remember most of all his smile.. His eyes shone with such passion and love, I was in the presence of a true angel. I told him that i loved him with all my heart. I watched his eyes tear and we held each other once more. The only peace I can find at this moment, is knowing that i was able to meet Michael, just once, and I was able to tell him how much I truly loved him. I will never forget this moment...
Sitting in the hotel lobby with my two beautiful NBK’s, they witnessed me discover this dreadful news.. Mayson held my shaking hands, and Khelan held me as I cried. I lost one of my most dedicated, loving, supporters today, but I find solace in the fact that i could share my pain with the people who love me most. I am broken inside. I lost an angel today. If I would have discovered this news alone, i don’t think I would have been able to contain my pain. But surrounded by my two other angels, feeling their love…kept me from reeling. Michael was one of the purest, kindest souls that i have ever encountered, and i have to find peace and solace in knowing that i was able to tell him how much I loved him, at least just once. And i know he believed me..
Heaven was blessed with one more angel today.. and I will love you forever.
So, everyone is always asking me about my skin and my makeup routines, so I thought I would start out by giving you a tutorial of the first and most important step of my beauty regimen. SKINCARE. This is legit everything. You can have the most expensive/luxurious makeup in the world, but if you don't start with the right canvas: it don't mean shit. So, here is what I use on my face. DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CLAIM TO BE A MAKEUP ARTIST OR A SKINCARE PROFESSIONAL. THIS VIDEO DEMONSTRATES WHAT I USE ON MYSELF. So, I hope you enjoy! Tweet me using #NBKBLOG to request what I should post next! - Niykee
NIYKEE'S PRE-MAKEUP SKINCARE ROUTINE
RIP MICHAEL WELSH
The first time I remember being disgusted with myself was when I was seven years old. I was very well familiarized with my mother’s repulsion of fat/overweight people of any kind.
As she was walking past me, I pulled up my shirt, exposing my tummy, while sucking in so hard so my ribs were protruding. I exclaimed,
“Mama, look! Look, how skinny I’m getting!” I was grinning, panting, trying to keep my stomach sucked in, optimistically awaiting her approval.
She paused only briefly, looking down at my exposed stomach before pinching an inch of fat between her fingers and answering,
“But this.,” pinching harder,
“this is what needs to go.”
Then she walked away, while I silently cried and swore to starve until I could please her. This pattern continued and escalated for the next 14 years.
I was never slim, or skinny, as a child. There are pictures to prove that, which I’m sure internet trolls will eventually excavate. Aside from the constant, and continual bullying I endured during elementary, middle, and high school concerning my weight and appearance, I also suffered the same torture in my own home.
I hate to mark myself as a martyr, but the pain and misery I sustained before the age of 13 supersedes what most humans experience in a lifetime. I honestly don’t really care if any of you believe me. Aside from growing up in a home with both parents unable of remaining sober, or acting as parents should, I lived everyday, watching my sister slowly die. An agonizing, prolonged, tortuous death. And I stood there, a child, incapable of helping her. I was in the room the night her soul left her little scarred body. I live with the guilt of not being able to save her every single day.
I won’t ramble on, but I think I’m getting towards my point. The pain didn’t end after my sister’s demise. If anything, in some ways, it worsened. I attempted to overcompensate for the fact that my mother had lost her daughter, by being the best I could be at everything. Best grades at school, won every poetry contest, anything, to make her love me, to make up for the fact that she was left with me, not her precious child. But I couldn’t compete with an angel.
I was raised, and trained to hate myself. Every day, I was reminded of how grotesque I was. How I wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t skinny enough, my hair wasn’t long enough, my skin, glasses, braces.. I was not good enough, for anything. I was not worthy of anything, including my own mother’s acceptance, and love. I wasn’t worthy of living. Not after long, I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror, because every time I did, I would cry.
So, like many young girls dealing with similar issues, I ate. More, and more. And then I would hate myself again, and starve, but never for long. I didn’t have the will power to covet anorexia. So I was always big, or bigger. I always had big thighs, a big ass, I was always just big. And I always just hated myself. That’s the way it was.
But I aged, grew up, got the fuck out of that house, and with the help of my own music, i gained the amount of confidence it took to see myself as I really was. My path to self-confidence and self-love was long, and it continues on daily. When I first started gaining clout, I would edit my photos to make my butt look smaller, my thighs slimmer, because my old, brainwashed way of thinking still remained. To this day, I still sometimes look in the mirror expecting to see a monster...
Recently, I have felt that I have come the closest to loving myself fully and completely, exactly as I am. Which is what prompted my Instagram post and caption. (see post below)
Now, internet trolls and blogs dug up photos from years ago. One, in particular, was an arranged photoshoot organized by my old label, who edited the photos to make my ass considerably smaller, along with the rest of my body (see post below).
This was also one of the main reasons I left this label. Because they couldn’t accept me as I was, and were constantly trying to make me into someone I wasn’t.
I have come out and said publicly, I used to edit my photos to make myself look slimmer, because the pressure from my label and social media forced me to believe that I still wasn’t good enough. And now, I am strong enough to stand up and say, fuck everyone. This is my body. My thighs still don’t fit into AG jeans. I will never be the thin, model-type my mother always wanted of me. I don’t fit the mold, and I don’t believe I ever will.
All I can do is say my truth.
But it will never be enough for those who revel in evil, and hatred, and depravity.
Those who trained me to hate myself back when I was just a child…they still exist, and they will remain.
But we can be stronger, we can prevail.
Love exactly who you are..because you are all you have.