My Ears Have Heard, My Eyes Have Seen....Irremovable Things

Death, violence and abuse...I've seen them once in reality and had them haunt me throughout my life.

Sometimes I can't sleep at night because of them. The memories. Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night because of them...I take medication that doesn't keep them from disturbing me. Most of my fellow believers (brothers and sisters in Christ) may say that I need to demand the enemy to return my peace to me...kick him out of my house. Although I understand where they come from, after being tortured with the memories since I've seen or heard the incidents, I have commanded that the devil flee and believe it or not, it didn't work. What has worked for me is to deal with the memories by talking and writing about them. I came to realize that, when real things happen to us, the only true release we have is to share them so that the enemy can no longer torture us in secret about them. I hope you understand what I'm saying. Every secret we keep isolates us and retards our growth. God has delivered me from sections of memories at a time simply because my storage of violent memories is so vast. Therefore, asking my heavenly Father what I could do with my very real and vivid recollections of past trauma has eventually freed me.

You may share this post with anyone you believe it will help. My story, according to my psychiatrist, is a unique one. I have found that sharing it renders the impact of my memories innocuous. Sharing them, rather than holding them in, gives me victory over them and helps those of us who suffer as I do and have.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For years they have tortured me. The memories and sounds of brutality and abuse: the man who held me against my will at gun point for 13 days. I was not allowed to wear clothing and was raped repeatedly as well as verbally abused while my life was threatened. I wanted to escape, but was told that I'd be shot in the head if I left the house...that someone was watching me. It was one of the reasons I became claustrophobic...one of the main reasons why, for 20 years, I've avoided closing the restroom door, why I close every door in the house when I'm in a room that leads to other rooms, why sometimes I can't stand in my classroom for a whole 90-minutes. However, I am sure that I have overcome the tears that accompanied the event because I've shared the incident both in therapy and to others. I am no longer held hostage by the memories and I see progress because I am not suffering, I am overcoming by sharing my story.

Recently, I lost five people who were in my life at some point. A couple of those people I vaguely remember, but three of them I remember well. Two of them murdered while one succumbed to a past similar to mine and died of a heroine overdose. The fact that I only remembered the last two vaguely didn't help to numb the pain I felt when I learned they died. They were family members and one of them was murdered. My heart was crushed and I began to feel a plethora of emotions the main one being an intense pain. Then, the flashbacks came...

There's something about watching someone die, especially if they are murdered. You never forget it: the sounds (gunshots, screams (screams that, at times, resonate through my head and ricochet through my soul), moans and gurgling...the struggle for breathing, the loss of breath) the blood, the contorted position of the body, the look of nothingness as the soul leaves the body, the aroma of death (it's more than a smell, it's something atmospheric a sort of morbidly hanging darkness). You never see life and death the same...all of a sudden the thought of murder immobilizes you. The more of it you see, the more it affects you later (if you ever get out of that environment). If you continue to live in an area where it is necessary to live in survival mode, your instincts protect you from the flashbacks, but, once you get out of it, a vehement battle ensures and that battle is for every ounce of your thinking space.

Anything around you can trigger a memory. For me, my biggest trigger is the sound of a popping balloon. When I hear a balloon pop, my mind goes back to one of many very tragic memories:

• The man I watched die when I was 11 years old. Shot in the head as I peeked through a window...like some sick voyeur, I couldn't stop looking as he absorbed bullets. I don't know how many bullets hit him, but when he was shot in the head while sitting in a car (I think he was trying to escape the bullets), I couldn't close my eyes. As the blood oozed from the wound down his chin and continued to run like a broken faucet, I tried to close my eyes, but somehow the were irrevocably glued to the act. I studied the unusual contortion of his face. My eyes were dry from looking as I continued to hear the gunshots around me. I was paralyzed.
• The day I was standing on one side of the projects talking to my friends joking around like I always did. Suddenly, a thought came to my mind with a jolt. A voice said "Go buy some potato chips." Not knowing the voice of God and doubting the existence of a God, I was surprised how easily I yielded to the voice and began to walk to Chandler's Drug Store. When my foot hit the dirt path outside of the small iron rails, in broad daylight, I heard a wild barrage of gunfire. In one instant, everyone on the side of the street in which I stood lie on the ground...some wounded...some terrified. I ran until the air burned in my lungs. I wanted to cry, but no tears would come.
• A day or two later, (in the same projects) I heard it start...gunfire...my first instinct was to run, but my feet were glued to the spot where I stood. I wanted to fall to the ground, but a voice had told me to be still. I did and one of the shooters, running and shooting at one of my friends ran past me as though I was invisible. As he fired, I heard bullets whizzing through my bubble. Two or three passed my face (one of them passed so closely that I felt the heat from the bullet). Had I moved I wouldn't be typing this; instead, my face would've covered an obituary, my name entered into the list of those we remembered for a smile or a familiar phrase. Moments later, the same shooter ran around the building shooting at his subject and his bullet entered into the corner apartment shooting a 10 year-old boy and killing him...I will never forget the screams inside of that apartment. No one knew how much I cried. The same little boy had rode by my on his bike the day before...I saw him everyday, but that day I felt it would be the last time. His birthday was the next day.

Is this it? Unfortunately, no. I have had the displeasure of witnessing so much death and violence that I am certain I could fill volumes of books! Different things trigger different memories. I know there are more to come and I'm okay with that because I know I will overcome them ALL of them with time and I am mature enough to realize that my memories are painful, so I love myself enough to take the time and acknowledge my feelings and FACE my memories rather than suppressing them. I am grateful that God has given me the grace to tackle them in increments so that I am not overwhelmed; however, I know that, if I don't deal with them, I will never be healed.

 

If you are suffering from PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), know that you are not alone. While we cannot remove the memories of these devastating events, we can learn how to cope with them and use them as tools for victory. 

I have learned how to live with my trauma by relying on the Lord, but maybe you don't believe in God. In that case, I want you to know that the God in me loves you and wants you to be healed. Your sufferings are not as a result of Him preferring others over you; instead, they were a result of your environment. Believe this, if you're still here, you are strong enough to overcome it. If you are a Christian, take heed to these words: "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33

Remember this: No matter who you are or where you've been, God loves you and wants to help you (so do I). His desire is to help you overcome so that you can help someone else.

If you need prayer, please inbox me.

ILY <3 xoxo <3

A Pause for the Cause

OUR Children, My Cause:

 How can we ask students to compete with an ever-changing, technologically savvy world when they must navigate through a web of higher-order knowledge and expectations using computers that crash and laptops with missing buttons? If we sit around and do nothing we contribute to their broken hearts, crushed dreams and obliterated self-worth & esteem.

My students are a unique demographic of predominately African American and Latino students intermingled with a small population of Caucasian urban public school youth. They all have one thing in common: they love learning and accept each challenge set before them with the confidence and strength of a strong nation. Their command on English Literature and Literary conventions range from intellectually gifted to specific learning disabled; however, when I challenge them with higher-order tasks and projects, they ALL do their best to meet that challenge with confident vigor.

Our Need:

 Having fully-functioning high-quality 21st century technology in my classroom ensures that ALL students have access to the equipment they need to compete globally. Specifically, computers in my classroom will ensure that students who do not have a computer (or the internet) at home will be able to complete projects, essays and major assignments during tutoring/work session. Those who are accelerated learners, who complete tasks before others, will have an opportunity to work on advanced skills practice during class periods. Struggling students will be able to utilize intervention programs to enhance/improve literacy, writing skills, and/or elevated vocabulary knowledge and retention. Additionally, students will use the SD card and USB memory stick to store data making information portable to display work at conferences, obtain scholarships, and conduct speaking engagements throughout the school and community. In short, they can become the leaders I know they are internally.

Yes, many of the students in our demographic lack the resources that some children take for granted; therefore, the thought that perfect strangers would ensure they have the equipment to support their success gives them hope that they are worthy of the investment. By donating to this project, you encourage my students by helping them realize their worth.

There are Three ways to give (you can choose one or do them all:

You can donate finances directly to my Donors Choose Homepage:

http://donorschoose.org/ms.whitted

You can Change your Homepage to BING and they will give you a $5 donation code:

http://www.bing.com/gives/default1.aspx?v2#fbid=n392J7f2rcX&wom=false

You can vote for our project on Yahoo! Homepages for Homerooms (If we win the weekly prize, $600 goes to our project!): http://yahoo.homepagesforhomerooms.com

Our project # is: 479926

Help me, your homeless teacher, make the difference in the lives of my students by supplying them with the materials they need to be successful! We must engage them and want them to succeed.

Thank you in advance for your support! 

It's The Way Things Go!

I stood there startled. It was so difficult to believe.

I could see everything in my little home.

Everything!

The door spread wide-open like a gaping wound...
damaged!
It was the first time I'd ever seen such a thing.
I can't think of another time in my life that it had
happened.

They broke in...while I was at work.

No keys needed.

I called the police and started looking around to survey the
breech. The one thing I was looking for was my cellphone.
It was another first for me. I had left it home, something I normally
didn't do, and I was stupified as I frantically searched for it and couldn't find it.

It was gone. That and all of my security. It was so much like being that homeless
teenager who lived in spaces where she couldn't remove her underware.
Had someone steal her panties before...went without wearing any for more than a month
until she found someone she could abscond a pair from.

It was killing me!

I didn't want this! All I wanted to do was go back to work.
Called the police on Jay's phone and held back the tears.
As I thought about how it now felt to know that I had been watched...
that they could be watching me now...I became polarized with fear.
Sick to my stomach...so sick!

I turned the house upside-down looking for my phone.
Meanwhile, Jay pointed out the things missing from his room.

When the officer arrived, he looked around, asked me what happened, I explained the story, he told me that this was the second break-in in my apartment...

WHAT?!

I had to go back to work and leave my children there...I hadn't locked the deadbolt when we'd left that morning, so the door did lock.

I needed to call my landlord and go to the school to retrieve my laptop (I didn't want anyone stealing that too). At this point of unrelenting hype-vigilance, I find myself overcome by anxiety as well as the feelings I missed...I still miss: love, affection, safety...something I've never had for any period of time...something I've felt, at times, wasn't real...unattainable.

I felt all of the wind gushing out of me and I wanted...strongly desired a good tight hug so I could cry.

"I can't have anything!"

I went to the school as quickly as I could.
Called the landlord...emergency line
When she called me back, she set-up a barrage of questions
until she got to the one that offended me to my core:

"Did you love the deadbolt?"

"No."

"So, we've learned a valuable lesson didn't we?"

"Excuse me?"

"Next time I bet you'll lock that deadbolt, huh?"

I felt the heat flushing over my body...all over me like a chest CT...
my face turned red, my eyes welled up...I was hurt and livid at the same time...
two tough emotions running together like a broken dam spewing out a deluge
of feelings.

I took my breath, collected myself and excused myself from that part of the conversation.
I explained how the door looked:

"The frame is off
Whoever did it propped it up nicely..."

"Well, can you prop a chair up to the door?"

"Huh?"

"I really don't want to have my man come out there to fix the door if it can wait until morning. Can it?"

My jaw dropped and so did my heart...

"I really need him to come tonight...I don't feel safe."

"Ohhhh, okaaaay..."

She sent him...and he came.

When he got there, he wasn't happy.

"This could've waited until morning. You can still close the door."


...

Just When I Thought It Was Over

It took a while for me to write again, but that doesn't mean that there hasn't been trouble. That definitely doesn't mean that our bout with homelessness was over...I thought it was.

I knew for sure that, the moment we moved into this place in February, the day my baby ran around this cute little town home in humongous circles, the day my oldest son looked into his bedroom and cracked a much needed smile. I just knew our struggle was over, but it had only began...our new struggle:



When we moved into our place, the first night I realized something. The place was infested with roaches.

They were EVERYWHERE and upon investigation, I found that there were nests in nearly every room. However, roaches and all, we were grateful and blessed, so I tried my best not to complain...I really didn't complain. I requested help for evicting my new visitors and the landlord seemed pretty reasonable and that made me glad. Unfortunately, it would take more time than I would like to get rid of the critters. Once we finally did, my neighbors moved out and I received a healthy deluge of them all over again.

The roaches weren't the worse thing to happen. That occurred in June when the organization that was helping me transition out of homeless had to abruptly cut funding. That's when the eviction notices started, and, they haven't started flowing. I've gained 18 lbs since then. I'm not able to provide my children (or myself) with adequate food and nutrition. I applied for food stamps and was denied...again. There is no governmental help I can receive because they look at my gross income.


 And now, that little place that brought us so much joy in the beginning, has become a burden that I must fight to keep because it is the best that we have right now...right now, I'm fighting to keep a place where I don't feel safe...You see, at the end of October, someone kicked in my door and killed all of the security I had in our new place and my landlord's reaction left me feeling both raped and molested...

Progress Occurs Quickly (Volume 2)

It wasn't long before I knew for sure that we would be moving.

I was elated, but my outward response was more subdued.
Somewhere inside of me I couldn't believe it.
It wasn't that I didn't believe God; It was just that we had been
in our predicament for a little while.

I had become accustomed to the smell of cigarette smoke each morning as the
residents upstairs had their morning cigarette.

I had become acclimated into my 2am laundry routine once a week. I had attempted to make our new place home...in my heart I knew it was temporary, but in my mind, it was a permanent arrangement. I had to get accustomed to the fact that we would have to live this way for a little while, yet I never dreamed that I would start thinking it would be more permanent.

I talked to the women at IHN and told them about the new places and I think they were excited for me; however, they were still a little doubtful that we would be able to get into our place as quickly as promised.

The representative for Habitat for New Hope informed me that all I needed to do was go to the new landlord and sign my lease. I missed most of my planning and my lunch to do it, but I got it done so that we could move in on Friday, February 12th. I had a ton of things to do. I thought we would be able to stay in the shelter until Monday, February 15th, but I had no idea that a new family was moving in on Sunday, so we needed to be out by Sunday the 14...Valentines Day.

On Friday, we had our meeting at the house where we were presented with the key. Catherine from IHN was there (glowing with excitement) as Jeremiah ran around in circles, then darted up the stairs. He giggled with an untamed laugher that echoed through the walls of our new place like a roaring thunder. Jay followed him; not because he needed to, I thought Jay just needs to see that room again...his privacy again...he's probably up there just staring at the walls. 


I stood there taking pictures with everyone. They took photos of me receiving the key, opening the door with the key, laughing as I held the key, hugging Catherine from IHN, hugging Catherine and Cynthia...I took so many photos that I felt as though there was some sort of exposé being written about me, the Homeless English Teacher. Somewhere inside I felt afraid and despondent. I knew my situation was changing, yet I still wanted something a little more than what I had: a family beyond my children.

Then I thought about it. I had to arrest myself.

Stop being so negative, Yolanda! I thought

Besides, we had been through so much, yet there were so many people who reached out to us during our time of need. I thought about it. I saw plenty of compassion from others. I received love from so many people.

I thought about how many people from home offered their assistance. I recalled how many people called me to encourage me, and, even though they were far away, their love had touched us right here in NC. Then I thought about the three organizations that helped us: Carolina Outreach (the organization that provided initial case management at the beginning of our crisis as well as a helping had (literally) when we needed to move our sectional to a warehouse for safe-keeping), Interfaith Hospitality Network of Durham (the organization that gave us a great place to stay and was determined to keep us in housing so that we didn't have to live on the streets. I appreciate them most of all for ensuring that we were able to obtain services from Habitat for New Hope), Habitat for New Hope (the organization that made sure we were provided with a place to live (in a timely manner) I appreciate Cynthia most of all for being so positive and giving me back something I had thought I lost through the process: the feeling that this situation was not my fault and that their organization was here to help me and not to judge me), Verizon Wireless even pledged their support by giving me 10% off of my cell phone bill for six months, last but not least my church World Overcomers Christian Church (where a litany of individuals reached out to me in  various ways, and, the church as a whole reach out and blessed my family with the funds to repair my totally separated manifold). Of course, I wouldn't have been able to think straight without my psychiatrist, Dr. Giragos, who, in all of his wisdom, helped me to understand how precious I was through this ordeal...He helped me see the diamond through the coal that was me. (That's my original stylistic syntax!)

I guess God showed me that, through all of these people coming together, that I did have a family...I had the support I always needed, and, even though I would have rather it been a husband in my corner, I found out that all of those people who stood together with me were just as good as a spouse.

The move occurred over a period of one weekend...
It was a busy weekend and we did it alone.
I can't tell you how many trips it took, but Jay and I did it.
We didn't mind.

I finally saw the excitement in Jay's eyes as he danced around in a shout of glee...He had a room again and it was empty and lovely.

He had space.

Jeremiah's dad finally asked for some time with him and it was a good thing. In the little bit of time that he had the baby, Jay and I were able to move out of the shelter and into the new place.

I blew up my bed, took a shower and laid down in my new room.

Yes, MY new room.
It feels so good to say that!

What I Already Knew: He Loves Me (Volume 1)

The following three blogs will explain what has transpired since my last communication with you. So much has occurred. Please be patient as I tell you the entire story of our transition; let me know if you are blessed by it. I welcome all comments and questions.

I knew it and I never doubted Him.
It was only a matter of time.
Now, your homeless teacher,
who is currently living in a
homeless shelter with her little family,
is no longer
homeless.


Let me tell you what happened
(This should increase your faith
tremendously):


I avoided positng anything on my blog because I was so discouraged. It wasn't that I didn't trust God anymore, it was just that I didn't want to express my mood. I was sad, sullen and depressed and didn't want to pass that horrible feeling on to anyone. I wanted to ensure that I inspired others, rather than making them feel as though their situations were hopeless.


I was given promises, but the people at the agency in which I currently reside, we're sure as to whether or not I would even have the opportunity to move into a place of my own right away. Their idea was to transition me and my boys into a transitional home. We would be able to stay there for six months and, as a condition of our residency, we would be required to have weekly "pizza nights" with the hosting landlord.


We would move into a two-bedroom home. The rent was only $300 per month, but we could only stay for six months. I was excited about being able to go into my own bedrooms, and I didn't want to appear ungrateful, yet I was having a very difficult time with the thought of another transition: we moved in with my ex,  we went into a hotel room, we moved to another hotel room, we stayed the night with a colleague from another school, we stayed with a friend in Rocky Mount over the holidays, we went into an extended stay, we moved to IHN.


Too much transition!

I didn't want to seem unappreciative, but I knew it would be hard on my family to move twice more. I took it all in and complied. I ac acquiesced to whatever they said. I knew I didn't have much of a choice because I wasn't sure how quickly the other agency would move for me. The people at my current place told me that they took sometimes as long as eight weeks to place someone. I didn't want to suggest that we stay in the place where we currently reside until she found us a place because I knew we might have to stay over our suggested time at IHN and I didn't want to suggest that. However, I still didn't want to go through yet another transition.


I went to the new agency and, as I walked through the door and explained my situation, once I told her about my income, she was almost sure I didn't qualify. My eyes filled with tears, but I held them back for the hope that maybe there could be a chance that I hadn't gone through all of this for one more person to tell me no, I wasn't good enough, I made too much, I shouldn't be in this situation, or bend to me because you need me.


I showed her my W2 and showed her that, even though DPS reports my income as $35,000+ per year, I only bring home a little more than $31,000... Poverty. Please don't deny me an opportunity to receive your help. Lord, I'm a teacher... 


I knew it wasn't the Lord's doing, but He was the only one I thought to would listen...at that point, it just didn't feel like too many people cared. I prayed inside of me. I needed God to grant me favor. I held my breath for a few seconds after she left the room to run things by someone else. When she came back in smiling, a sigh of relief came over me.


"You couldn't have made a dollar more. You're approved!"


Then came the tears, then the battle began.
In my thought-life there was a war raging.


Is someone really gonna help me? This lady is so nice.
She shows me respect...this is remarkable.


I gave her everything she asked for and she was impressed.
She told me that, with all of the things I had given her, she would
 be able to place me somewhere within a couple of weeks.
When I went to talk to the people at IHN, they told me she had never
placed a family that quickly...I didn't know what to feel...I didn't want to
believe she would embellish to someone who exhibited such need.


My heart sank.


I was afraid to hope, but I shook myself and realized that my help wasn't coming
from an agency...my help came from the Lord!


I walked away from the meeting knowing that God was about to do something soon.
I didn't complaint. I didn't fret, but I felt so worn out.
Everyday I wanted to cry. I spent entire days up all night and fighting tears.
I spent my nights shaking myself. Waking at 3am so that I could have time to shake myself.

I felt as though I was shrinking.


I remembered the days I walked around Harvey...walked around Robbins...walked around the city...sad...homeless...lonely.


I was completely isolated.


I talked to myself.


I conversed with myself.


I sat alone in dark corners having full conversations with myself. I pretended I was someone else. I pretended I was talking to other people. I told people what I really wanted to say to them and that became a custom for me. I eased my mind by pretending I lived with someone who loved me...someone who wanted me there. I imagined myself safe. I imagined I was cared for...I was tender, but the moment someone walked by, I became a lunatic. No one bothered me. They heard me talking to myself. Sometimes I acted like I was deaf and pretended to sign. I perfected different accents I heard from others and tested them on people. I was believeable...I was a kind pick-pocket...I learned the skill when I was young. Men were the easiest targets because they liked to touch me. Hug me. Squeeze my breasts against them and whisper in my ear. I'd grab him and laugh...run up against him and giggle.


I was glad that was over...I thought


I'm such a beautiful woman now.


You must understand what I mean. I don't mean surface beautiful.
I mean kind and not manipulative beautiful.
I may be homeless, but God has brought me so far.
I have integrity and a career.


I have a career!


I earn my way...ha!


I don't steal anymore....I don't have to!


PRAISE GOD!


I'm free from that now.


I'm a woman now.

Ha, ha, haaaaa! I'm a woman now!


Thank you Lord!


It's almost like I got a homeless do-over!


You may not understand, but I do.
I'm still a hustla; I just have a positive hustle!


I bless you Lord! Oh hallelujah!


Okay, so...I have to finish this.
The woman from the new agency arranged to meet me on Monday.


Then, the snow came.
For almost three days, I sat around unable to do anything.
It was icy all over and I couldn't drive.
I started sinking.
I talked to friend of mine who came by with his sister and helped me
shovel the ice and snow.
I tried to keep my sadness to myself.
I tried to control my feelings.
I did my best, so I didn't cry, but I
did tell him that I was feeling sad and
depressed.


He suggested that we all go to a movie so that I could have some
adult time and my children could have an outing.


It was one of the greatest things I could have heard.
Someone finally cared enough.
Someone wanted to spend time with us.
Our homeless stain didn't keep everyone away.
I breathed real deep and let out a tremendous load of air.
I felt evacuated and lighter.
We were going somewhere!


I felt a YAY in my spirit. (smile)

The next day he suggested that we all go to Chucky Cheese and then go out to eat...
sounds like an awesome idea.


We had a ball! My children were happy.
His sister came with her children.
We all had fun, and for a moment, I felt like I had a family.
It felt good, but I didn't hold on to that feeling too tightly because I didn't know whether or not it would last.


I wanted it to, but it seemed that all of the things that were good in my life always died.


I had to snatch that thought out of my mind.


He's a nice guy and gorgeous.
The best personality I've seen in a man in a very long time.
Intelligent, patient, caring and affectionate.
I enjoyed having him around me.


We played and laughed and I learned right then to enjoy the moment.
I just wanted to feel it. I loved it and I prayed that it wouldn't end even
though I knew it would (at least for the moment would).


After staying there and having fun, we had to return to our efficiency. I had never heard Jay complain, but he breathed an unhealthy sigh and said: "Man, I can't wait to get out of this place."


He had so much fun over my new friend's house that he was visibly sad that we had to go home. I felt so bad and my heart was heavy.


It was time for work and I did all I could to pull myself together...2-hour delay...I work that day and enjoyed my classes. Then, while on my way out of the school to get Jeremiah, I checked my phone and an unfamiliar number repeated several times...I called the number, it was the lady from the new agency. She had two places for us to look at.


Talk about excited, elated and enthralled...I'm sure there isn't a word!

We went to the first place, a town home, it was beautiful. Jeremiah came inside and ran around in huge circles laughing hysterically. It was at that moment that I understood how much being in that small efficiency had affected him. I thought that a two-year old wouldn't know we were homeless...I was mistaken...he knew.


Jay went inside with someone else. I knew that I liked the place, but consented to see the other one. The space in the town home stayed in my mind. I asked Jay how he felt about it and he agreed that it was a really great place...He liked it too.


When we went to the other place, it was even larger than the first one; however, it was a unit above someone. It had a washer and dryer, but it had a window unit for AC and baseboard heat. I knew I didn't want that.


The lady gave me first choice and asked me which one I wanted. I chose the town home and something inside of me doubted everything she said. As we went back to the shelter, I thought What if something happens and they decide not to do this for us? What am I going to do? I began to shake the surface doubt, but there was still doubt inside of me. I looked at my sons and instantly choked. I couldn't cry again.


A few days elapsed and the lady from the organization Habitat for New Hope called explained that I needed to go to Ready to Rent training and that we would move in that coming Friday.


"We're moving?"


"Yes, just turn in your application to the apartment complex"


"What if they deny me?"


"They won't deny you. You have the place. They knew everything. You're approved."


I wanted to believe her, but I reeked of pessimism!  I was beginning to get on my own nerves!


I went to the training and didn't want to say much to people because I didn't want to seem to be gloating. We were all homeless. I didn't want to make anyone feel bad. I was a pitiful mess and felt that I was becoming a fragment of what I once was. I needed to snap out of it, but I didn't know how to.

I needed some word and prayer!

I went back to the efficiency and, after my sons went to sleep, I told God about it. The same scripture kept coming to me:

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11


God reminded me that, even though my situation didn't seem ideal, He hadn't changed his mind about me. He still wanted me to be everything He ever said He wanted me to be. Suddenly I realized that, because certain people stopped reaching out to me and I felt that I was forgotten by some people, I felt forgotten by God.


My heart sank more and more daily because I felt I had no hope. I had very little interaction with people, especially my peers, and it felt like, whenever I really needed someone to talk to, if I chose to call someone, they sent me to voicemail or just ignored me entirely. People I used to spend time with when I had a place didn't even check on me. There were some people, that I thought were close to me, that stopped coming around me altogether. 


It was like a dark cloud had settled over our heads.


Most times the people who did contact me were guys who expressed a romantic interest in me and they wanted to go out and do thing, but I wasn't interested. Many of them tried so hard to see me that it was more annoying than anything because it seemed they didn't care how I felt about it. They wanted to see me whether I wanted to see them or not. I decided that, no matter how lonely I was, I wouldn't do it.


I became a recluse.

My Heart Aches Because of It: A Tribute to Home

My heart aches for what I've never really had.


I've known how it felt to be homeless; since I knew
I was alive; I've been right here.
It's a scary place to be especially when you have
little people depending on you.

Alone.

Don't get me wrong, I have my faith. I trust and believe God,
yet I know where I am.
I know I'm alone and sometimes I feel the walls collapsing in on me.

People expect me to be strong; therefore,
many of them don't take the time
to see whether or not I'm okay.

For the last week, I was not.
Oh how I pushed hard pass that feeling
resonated through me like a disturbed
tuning fork...vibrating through my soul.

Every meeting, every conversation with a
bill collector, every moment a new bill came up,
every dispute I had about what I owed, each time I had to correct my children...
I began to feel boxed in. I had no adult interaction (except for at work).

I think it was greater than soulish lethargy; it felt like a                deep unavoidable sadness.
I longed for someone to share with...to spend some time.
I wanted to go somewhere other than work and to the shelter.

I had some really great things to happen. I found out that an agency
would pay all of our start-up costs going into a new place as well as
assist me with finding a place in a safe neighborhood. When I went to
the meeting, that's when I started noticing that I was doing it again.
My eyes would swell with tears and, somehow, I would dry them.

I never knew how I did that. I used to do it every time I told my story (an excerpt from my memoir When Feather Died):

...When he pointed the gun to my face and told me I wasn't going anywhere, my insides froze and suddenly I was immobilized. I wanted to beg and plead for him to let me go. All of my hard exterior crumbled. I wanted to be free. I didn't care if I had nowhere to go; I just wanted to be free to go outside...I just wanted to walk around and be free. I wanted to go back to my apartment above Chandlers and sit on the couch that grandma Richardson had given me. All of a sudden I missed my friends and my family (not matter how they treated me or discarded me); I needed to be free, but he wouldn't let me go and my nightmare and  claustrophobia began. The incident confused me.

There were times after that when I wanted to go outside so badly, yet others when I was afraid to go outside. He told me there was someone outside who would shoot me if I left. There was a car outside everyday with a guy in it...he sat there everyday and drove off when he got back home. I was terribly afraid to go outside after that; however, if I stayed in the house for too long, I began very nervous and started to cry as I left;  the fear built when I approached the door....

Each time I told this story, there were a few things that happened: I felt a flushing come over my body, my breathing increased, my body froze (just as it did when he told me I couldn't leave), and I felt as though I would cry, my eyes swelled with tears, but (just as I did when he told me I couldn't leave)  I couldn't cry...my tears went back where they came from.

I knew where it came from. The negative things people had said and done to me since I could remember: the constant molestations (from gropings, to grindings and disrobing to things even more vile that I will, for this memoir, say...etc), the lack of concern for my feelings (I was told I was nothing and I would never become anything more than I heard my own name...oh, how I needed to hear my name...it's such a beautiful name), the constant secrets and my family's charge to be tough and not to let people see me cry. My tears were trapped inside of me and that made me hard. I don't think I became a sweet, soft woman until I knew it was okay for me to cry...it took me years to do that and I still have problems with crying.

In all of my many negative memories...the trauma...I understood why I couldn't cry. I was taught it was a sign of weakness.

So I sit in our little shelter apartment and feel so bottled up and closed in. I want to go outside. I need adult company, but I can't find anyone I trust who wants to spend time with me...except for on Facebook.

Facebook saves the day. Yep, Facebook!

Sure, I went to God and prayed about my situation. I told Him how lonely and abandoned I felt. I let my tears flow and He comforted me. Then, I went on Facebook and started talking to my fam from Robbins, Cal Park and inner-city Chicago. All of my friends that knew me when I was growing up, yet somehow never knew my sufferings. I got to talk about those greasy Mary's Diner polishes and the even greasier fries (I used to get my polish with extra jalapenos, but when I couldn't afford that, I would get the cheese burger...the guy in there always gave me extra fries) and how you could get  Mrs. Presswood's amazing freeze cups (I loved the ones w/two flavors) flipped them upside down in the cup and walked around all day long with blue lips from...Man, Mrs. Presswood was the neighborhood grandmother of the old projects and didn't mind throwin' her shoe at you if you did somethin' wrong...and you knew she would tell you family everything you did because she cared enough to keep you in check. I started remembering the hot pickles (Shannon used to get a dill one and put a peppermint in it...ewww) or some hot hog-head cheese at Mr. Mickey's or the penny candy at Chandlers; my favorite chip combinations included Okee-Doke popcorn and Hot-Stuff Jay's potato chips (my all time favorite chips were Evans Hot Corn Chips (they don't taste the same now). If you had a dollar, you had a bunch of candy...enough to make you sick...I loved Mr. Chandler and Mr. Mickey (they were so good to me when I lived above Chandler's store...they really looked out for me)! I miss them even now.

When I moved to the new projects, the war-zone, it was all about Mr. Tony at Jets Food and Liquor. We'd take that book of stamps over there and go grocery shopping and prices were marked up on most items about 300%...gotta love those little stores right next to the projects. It was no Mickey's or Chandler's, but it was the place to go if you lived in the new. During late nights on the weekends, if you had the money, you could have some rib tips from Blanchard's; the sauce was so good that you could eat it with the fries on a piece of bread and you could swear you had some of their famous rib tips.

If you went to DDE (Dwight D. Eisenhower) you went to the Card's Nest (right across the street from the school). Their specialty used to be the cheese fries (chilli-cheese fries if you like chilli). I used to leave campus everyday (if I had the money...they were only a dollar). And who could forget good 'ol Beggars Pizza?!

When I left the south suburbs and moved to Chicago, my main spots were Wiener's Circle (near the Cabrini Green's infamous red buildings off of Clark) I visited Cabrini frequently and went to Wiener's Circle on my as I journeyed down Clark to the intersection of Clark and Sedgwick, Home of the Hoagy on 111th near Rosland (I used to stay on 114th and Calumet...the crazy things I went through over there) and Giordanos (I like Homerun Inn, but Giordanos will always be my personal favorite).

Grant Park, the lakefront...Rush St, Water Tower Place, the Esquire...How I used to walk from the Magnificent Mile to the Gold Coast and then to Hilton & Towers on Michigan and Balboa...How I rode the L all night sometimes so I could have somewhere to sleep...How I used to wash myself in the restroom at Mc Donalds and hide myself so the police couldn't see me as I slept under the stars. I felt safer there for some odd reason...away from people's homes where it seemed I was such a bother.

I started remembering Evergreen Plaza on 95th and Western (where I could get multiple outfits for $100 dollars) and Sharlenes (or was it Charlene's) Unisex salon "It's the look of a star...Charlene's" (how ever you spell it)...I got my first professional relaxer and geometric bob done there. I was so fly...just call me Yo Chilla! Okay, just kiddin' please don't call me that.

Talk about nostalgia!

I became overjoyed!

As we chatted on Facebook and shared my blog with my Chi-fam, I realized that we all made it through rough time, and I was better aware that the only people who understood me were the ones who saw it, lived it and were damaged by it just as I was...Finally, some people who understood my struggle. They may not have been or known what I was going through, yet each one of them had a and still have a story...For many of them, it is hidden in halted suppurations within their breasts (or chest). Then a new feeling came over me...

I really missed home.

There is a good side to that though. At least I was able to access those good memories: going to the parties at teen club that Sgt. Parks started to keep us out of trouble, I remembered him yelling at me saying : "I don't want to hear I don't care from you girl; I'm not gonna let you give up on your life...You have a future! I know you've been through some terrible things, but you have to take your life back!"

I was reminded about Mrs. Russell...she is still and always will be my mom...

She saved my life.

Who would pick up a child she didn't know who had nowhere to go? She made me get in her car! She wouldn't take "no" for an answer and, when she took me home, she treated me as though I was one of her own. She loved me and her children followed suit. I remembered talking to Jerry and telling him my story. He told me he would protect me and he was the only guy his age that hadn't tried to touch me or have sex with me; he was my brother and he listened to me as though I meant something to him...I wasn't the toy that men played with...that was raped nearly every night for two years...that was awaken out of her sleep being raped...clothes ripped off...ravished...I was a human being. I was a girl. For the first time, I became a teenager and I hadn't ever known what that felt like. I got sleep and it felt so good.

It was the best three weeks of my teenage years. My best teenage memories were in that house staring with Art, my one and only middle-school crush who became my brother. Shawn, their little sister, pretty much tolerated me and I think eventually liked me...maybe even loved me (I appreciate you for giving up some of your girl-space for me) and Mike, well, he was just sweet enough to say three words a day...he was so quiet. I never felt like I was out of place there and I was so glad to be safe.

Now, I'm 38; I'm the homeless teacher and sometimes my heart aches because I was never really close to my family. However, I know God is doing something during this dispensation. He has reconnected me with some people for a reason. He has taught me both to honor and value myself...to see myself as a diamond...that I am truly as soft as a flower.

I dedicate this entry to all of my friends and family from Robbins, Harvey, Cal Park and Inner-City Chi. I love you guys from the bottom of my heart and I thank God for allowing you to come back into my life. You make my heart full. You are invaluable and, when I get out of this, when I publish my first book project (shortly), my first stop will be home...I both love and miss you guys!