That which is amazingly painful could prove to be both baffling as well as therapeutic

The Struggle:

How would you feel if you saw your doctor and, after weeks of tests, his prognosis was no cure? There is no way that this can be fixed. If it is possible, even the possibility is slim. If you heard your doctor say: " I've never seen anything like this. I mean, you're supposed to be...and I feel that, even with all of my years of experience, I fear that there is nothing in my years of medical schooling or training that says I can help you." Have you thought about how you would deal with it? Could you fathom how such a prognosis would affect you?

I received one such prognosis today.

Wait now...it's not what you might think, so hold on and let me tell you what I was told.

My story (the whole thing) is devastating to read, tell or live. This is not my first time being homeless. For those of you who are not aware, my homelessness began when I was 15 years-old. During my teenager years, I suffered my first brutal rape, being beaten and choked near death (feeling the breath leave my body as I blacked out from a strangling ordeal as I heard my mother laughing in the background and calling me numberous explicatives. Her laughter during that incident haunted me for many years and was a difficult memory for me to overcome in therapy), being held against my will at gunpoint for 13 days (the assailant wouldn't allow me to dress most of the time and had me perform unspeakable acts), watching others beaten and killed. So much for young eyes to see. I lived a life of a hundred victims and my mind was fit for an insane asylum.

When you've seen that much and had your body branded by men. Forced to do what your body was never designed to do under the fear of death. It is greater than hard to believe you are worth anything more than a toy for men to play with. My reocurring thoughts were of death. I dreamed of it and cut myself only to watch the blood trinkle down my arms. I burned my skin to feel the physical pain which hurt so good that it made me forget about the mental and emotional anguish...he shame, the smells, the tactile imagery. How my family thought I was nothing. I talked too much. I sang too much. I was "fast" or "loose." I was dumb. I couldn't read well. They didn't think of the time when I was six. When that Jason kid almost knocked my left eye out with a brick. No one had taken me to the eye doctor so I went through life seeing two of everything. I learned later that the muscle tissue behind my eye was permanently damaged...sandwich images everywhere. Layered images of everything on top of one another like pancakes. (mmmmm...pancakes...STAY FOCUSED, Yolanda!)

So you get it, right. Well, you get the few things I could share. I have some things hidden. Some things I don't feel are safe to share or even deal with. One could only imagine what a 15 year old went through walking through the streets of Chicago. Washing her dirty body in McDonald's restrooms. Walking from Harvey to Roseland like a zombie seeking a place to ravage flesh...seeking a place to belong...someone to love her...someone to care. How many men do you think picked me up and how many do you think I got in the car with? Where do you think they really took me and what fee was assessed for my fare? Whatever you imagine is probably only mildly accurate because once an over-developed girl tells a grown man that no one cares...that everyone has abandoned her, that man knows he will not be accountable to anyone (at least that's what he thinks) for what he plans to do. He can fulfill his wildest and most demented dreams. What man wouldn't take advantage of that? There are very few, and I'm certain I didn't run into any of them.

I sat there today, in my psychiatrist's office. I talked about the holidays and I told him about how I feel about this whole homeless situation. My doc began to talk to me about my memoir. I've had the manuscript for the last five years and everytime I complete any of the necessary documentation to publish it, I get an enormous lump in my throat. I begin to sweat. My body shakes and I feel flush. Then nauseous...then I cry. There are a litany of things going through my head and not one of them is good. All bad...when I'm done, I decided that this story isn't read or maybe that I'm just not read to share it. Nonetheless, when I begin to share bits and pieces of my story to help a student or to minister to someone, I just keep thinking that there is more to my story than just me. Therefore, my psychiatrist was one of the first people I made this confession to. merely because I trust him...why? He is bound by the LAW not to judge my fear. His job is to help me find ways to overcome it. Thus, as I began telling him my story, since there was too much to tell in 10-20 sessions, he asked me to trust him with my manuscript. I wanted him to read it because there were some things in it that I just didn't want to keep re-living.

Today was one of my most important sessions because I knew he had plenty of time to read my memoir; thus, he would come into our session knowing exactly how he could help me. Today was the day that we would finally have an opportunity to move forward. How can we fix what's wrong with me?  For all of my Christian brothers and sister, please understand that I do not rely on man for direction. I do not seek ungodly counsel, yet I strongly believe in therapy. I love the Lord and I know He loves me; however, God has used my therapy to confound the wise. My testimony is incredible and no one is able to understand why I am where I am. I learn new things about in me in therapy...things I have ignored...things I can no longer ignore. I learn new ways to cope with some of the tragic things I have encountered, yet one of the main things God has done for me during therapy is show me how strong He has made me.

My doctor began to talk to me about what he learned thus far by reading my manuscript. "I just don't understand how you made it" he said. "You are a miracle, Yolanda. Do you understand that in all of my years in medicine I have never seen anyone who has undergone as much as you have and remain drug-free. You are amazing." I sit there, listening and trying not to wimper. I find myself fighting tears...this is good right? I think to myself. Why am I about to cry? What makes me have to cry when someone tells me I'm great? He continues and I dred his next words. I have heard them before. "I can tell that all of your life you have tried to live differently from the way things were when you grew up. You are nothing like the mother you saw growing up. You had no long term example; however, you strive to become something greater than what you saw...My only issue is...I am hoping I can help you...I haven't figured out how I can help you; your case is so unique. You have suffered so much trauma, yet you have done so well for yourself. I'm not sure how I can help you" The last time I heard anything like that from a psychiatrist it came out like this: "You will never be normal." That hurt more than what my current psychiatrist said.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking: "You know you don't need man's approval anyway and WHAT IS NORMAL? Girl, ain't nobody normal. Brothers and sister, I know and I understand. I have had to deal with the flashbacks, night-terrors, sleepwalking, night-sweats, hypervigilance, claustrophobia, panic attacks for the last 30+ years. The night terrors, sleepwalking, nightsweats and  panic attacks have subsided and I know how to deal with the flashbacks now. So, I promise you, I know I have victory over my past. I have dominion over all generational curses...I know I am an overcomer. However, in the end, it still hurts because I know that something I didn't do to myself continues to affect me. It is the main source my prayers and likely the major source of my struggles...Even though it hurts and at times I don't see my way out, I truly believe that God is ameliorating my character through it all. He is blessing me to be sensitive to the pain of others because I know what it's like to be permanently affected by unsolicited turmoil.

My Inspiration:

It took us a while to get here, but you probably know what I'm going to say. No matter what people do to you....No matter how they treat you, you can never forget how valuable you are. We have to fight for our sanity as well as our integrity. I've been doing it my enitre life. I silenced my flesh when it wanted me to drown my misunderstanding and pain into drug abuse. It was my choice to live a sober life. It wasn't what I saw in my family; instead, it was a standard I developed for myself from spending about three-weeks with a woman named Mrs. Janice Russell, who took me in at  age 16. She didn't know me. I was a drug addict when she took me in and she didn't know it. After I left her house, I only used again two years later when I was held against my will; however, even though I never went bck to her for help, the imp[act she had in my life was so strong that I never wanted to use again. I stopped when I was 18 and stopped smoking when I was 19. I have been sober from drugs for 20 years and tobacco-free for 19 years.

Can you imagine what you life would be like if you only found someone to draw inspiration from, even if that person didn't stay in your life through your struggle? What if you just decided your life would be better if you found inspiration in every little thing you didn't have to go through?

What God has spared you from...This is why I am so grateful. I brought this story to my blog today because I realize that my past is a significant part of my future. People have encouraged me to abandon it. Stop thinking about it....they have no idea how much strength I draw from it. Being homeless today is nothing like it was for me then. Therefore my past horrors evoke a feeling of safety and self-control in me that I am not willing to abandon. Also, We all know that we will never be able to control the way others treat us, yet we can control how we respond to the pain.

Are you having a difficult time understanding why you're struggling? Do you feel angry or discouraged about something you're going though? Please feel free to e-mail me your prayer requests. My e-mail address is yolandawhitted@msn.com I am praying you and your family through your situations and I ask you to do the same for me. If you've already sent me a prayer request and you have another one, submit it. I don't mind multiple requests. Thank you for reading my blog. Keep the comments coming. ILY and thank God for you! GBY!xoxo

Ode to that forgetful part...

Okay, today's blog will be presented in two parts because the day has just begun and I am certain that I need to capsulize this moment. It's something I have been dooing a lot these days...losing things or rather misplacing them. Isn't that a horribly humbling feeling? Just think about it. I'm 38 years old, a professional and a single-parent, and everytime a day unfolds, before it ends I have lost or misplaced something.

Today, rather this morning, it was my keys. My mind flashed back to the days when we lived in that house on Gray Avenue. My keys hung on a rack near the door and, had I not had that rack, I would've never knew where my keys were.

There also used to be a time when, everytime I would lose something, I would become angry with myself and spue out a few bad affirmations like: "You're stupid Yolanda" and "Why can't you do anything right?!" I was my own worse enemy. I hated myself and I kept reminding myself that I was that same kid that who was constantly reminded by most of my family members of how worthless I was and how stupid I became my song and my mantra and I became my worse nightmare. This was my ritual for years and for every little mistake I sang that song "How could yoube so stupid" and it wasn't until I came in contact with someone who did't think that way about me that I thought there might be something more amazing about me and that every mistake didn't mean I was a failure...It meant that I was human.

The inspiration:

Today, I had to take a deep breath during the hour I sent scouring about the apartment for my keys (looking in every place I hadn't been) to think about why I may have needed to slow down to think for a moment. I had to remind myself that it was okay to lose my keys and misplace my debit card and even my purse...well, it not OKAY in the sense that I NEED to lose things. I mean, it's an indication that I need to be more organized, but not an indication that I'm a failure or that any opf the negative words fed to me as a child (or even as an adult) bore any credence.

Do you feel defeated by your mistakes? It may be time for you to both realize and embrace your humanity. We have to understand why we go through things. Many times, even the small things, will teach us a lesson of incredible strength. If you need prayer for any reason, you can send me an e-mail. I promise not to share your need with anyone except the Lord. You can e-mail prayer requests to yolandawhitted@msn.com ...Don't forget that I love you and I hope this post helps you in some way. GBY! xoxo

Bringing you up to speed

The Struggle (They won't all be this long; I have to bring you up to speed...Please bare with me):

I'd be lying if I pretended this was fun or a joke. There's nothing fun about knowing that you don't have a stable place to stay. Furthermore, it is even more tough when you know that your children are out there with you as you ride around during the holidays with all of your earthly possessions in your vehicle.


It's been tough. I've cried, but only when my children were out of sight...Well, except for yesterday when I had to pull out all of my bills. It wasn't like I had never seen them before...I guess it was just that I had to go over them with someone who is helping ME find somewhere to live. Sad. I sat there thinking about the entire thing and all I could think about was how it is impossible to fathom being a teacher, who loves what she does, and having to cart my children from house to house and from hotel to extended stay...I thought This is INSANE!  One day last week, all I could afford to give my sons were cookies and chips for dinner because the bank wasn't open (this past Saturday) and I had lost my bank card.

We had no Christmas...no tree...no Christmas presents and no family. I divided my day between lying around, eating, drinking , sleeping and looking up jobs, homeless shelters and searching priceline for deals. When the Christmas weekend was over, I immediately went to see Pafilvie at Carolina Outreach (she's our casemanager). We went over my budget and put a number on my deficit...it's $992 dollars...Can you say chasm? I think we've surpassed HOLE...Okay, some people wouldn't think so, but that's just the debt I owe from past due bills; that does not include student loans and my car loan, which I have extended four times in the last two years.

When I started looking at all of the red on my budget, I burried my head in my hands and released a huge sigh. Way too much to think about, but it's hard when you don't have someone else to pass the buck to. I was flustered and it all made me think about my situation and how I got there...I had a baby...a sweet, handsome, amazingly loquacious baby boy (he's a toddler now...guess I should stop calling him a baby)...his dad promised me I would stuggle if I had him and the promise came to pass. He made sure of it. He refused to help me unless he felt like it and that feeling came upon him rarely. I, attempting to work with him, felt bad that I had inconvienced him, so I sacrificed my security and took on whatever he felt that I should bare...my struggle became unbareably priceless. The $100 dollars, he agreed to pay me, disbursed at a rate of $25 dollars a week, came more sporadically than I could have ever thought. Before I knew it, the payments became less frequent and my deficit grew. I moved in with him thinking that would help me, but it just got worse. I paid him rent and he stopped paying me anything. Pretty soon he began harrassing me and made it difficult for me to live there. So much stress and harrassment as my deficit only got bigger while I was there. It was no different than living on my own...honestly, it was much worse because I no longer received the sporadic support from him, but I did receive the harrassment...and the tears flowed, heavily.

So, as I sat there in the conference room at Carolina Outreach trying to take it all in, I thought about it all and blamed myself for not going to child support and ending all negotiations with the baby's dad. I blamed myself for the homeless shelters that refused to take us in because my oldest son is older than 10 years old and I thought: Where the heck do you go if you are homeless and have a teenager? Good Lord this system really sucks!

Suddenly, I received a phone call. It was exactly what I needed. One of the messages I left on Christmas had paid off. It was a representative from Interfaith Hospitality Network of Durham. She asked me several questions and concluded that my family was a perfect fit for an efficiency basement apartment.

I took my oldest son to the appointment with me. I was professional and organized. I held it together until somehow she asked had I gone home for the holidays. Before I knew it, I said "...my brother died in November and I couldn't afford to go home to his funeral, my niece's fiance was killed a couple days ago in a tragic auto accident and that his seven-year-old son, who looks just like Jay (my oldest son) watched hid dad die..." It all came spilling out along with a deluge of tears...she gave me a box of tissue. I had come unglued....

We moved in the apartment today. It took a while to clean it and things aren't organized yet, but at least we have a start...a new beginning and I know I have a place to both feed and love my children. I try not to think much about myself. I just don't want to cry about it anymore.

The Inspiration Through the Struggle:

I know it may seem sad...my story. Still I think about so many people who have to face greater challenges. I think about what it could be like if I was one of the millions of Americans who don't have a job. I imagine how they must feel. Many people with degrees can't even find a job. Now that's sad! Also, I think about how God has provided for us at every turn. We haven't had to sleep in my vehicle. There is someone, somewhere sleeping in their vehicle, so I begin to pray for them. As I pray for them, my tears will fade.

Are you crying about something? Let's pray about it together. You can e-mail me your prayer request at yolandawhitted@msn.com

Be encouraged and never give up. Be determined and survive...if you feel that your struggle is too much, think of how bad it could be and pray for that person who IS experiencing what you have been spared. It'll dry your tears...Well, at least some of them. ;-)

Welcome and thank you for following me

Thanks for joining my blog. I appreciate you more than I can articulate into words. This blog is therapeutic for me for two reasons: 1. I don't want to cry alone. I feel that crying and not sharing will just make me depressed and I do NOT have time to be depressed. 2. I'm a survivor. This is not my first time being homeless and I really don't think my tear should be wasted. If I'm going to struggle, I want you to relaize what you have and I want you to know that, if you're going through something, you can make it through.

My blogs will include two parts: my struggle and my inspiration through the struggle. I will be brutally honest about EVERYTHING. You can comment about anything and, if you ask me anything, I will answer you as acurately and as candidly as possible.

I'm an English teacher, but, from time to time, I will totally abandon accurate usage concerning grammar and mechanics. Please do the same. ;-)

Finally, I am not looking for any help from anyone. This blog is not a ploy for support; instead, it is a cry for understanding for people on so many different levels. OMG! We really look down on people and judge people without admiting it. Please take a moment everytime you read an entry to check yourself. I will do the same. I hope, by the end of this experience, I would be an even better person.

Well, check out the blog and have fun...I love you all and hope this blog serves the purpose for which it was intended. GBY!