Soulish Lethargy

I've been fighting it all weekend...tears...and the undeniable urge to lie around and feel sorry for myself.


I mean, I don't really want to do it (that's obvious because, if I wanted to I would have every reason to feel sorry for myself), but I still think about it. Who wouldn't?

I go to work and I feel as though everything I do and everything I am is nothing...for every child I make a difference for, I have two of my own who are missing so much of what I give to other people's children....consideration. And their mom, well, she hasn't received much of that either.

It all started Friday. I'd gone through my normal routine and was ready for the weekend. I knew that this weekend would be special because I had a friend coming to town to see me. I was elated. However, before this great visit would occur, I had to attend a meeting with the Case Manager of the organization that allows my sons and to stay in the efficiency apartment beneath their Durham-based office.

I knew I would have to recount my story just as much as I knew my youngest child would behave like a typical 2-year-old. I was aware that he wouldn't want to sit down and that his attention span would be short. However, what I wasn't ready for was how much of a toll the line of questioning coupled with my son's behavior would have on me.

I'll explain what I mean in a second, but I feel the need to explain something first:

When a person is homeless, that individual is traumatized. I know some of you reading this are saying "Duh, Yolanda, I know that!" Yet, I promise you that many of the same agents within the organizations that have pledged their assistance and support don't seem to realize that. I don't know. I guess so many people try to get over or have gotten over on them that they find themselves hype-vigilant. Whatever it is, it's so difficult on the person who needs the help, especially if they already feel bad that they have to ask for it.

I mentioned in an earlier post that I was asked a question about my 5 and 10 year plans and I was a little offended because all I could think was I'm homeless. Can I get on my feet? Both my children and I went from a three-bedroom house to nowhere and you want to know what I plan to do in the next 5-10 years?! Can I get through today?! I was caught off guard as I worried about whether or not the individual that asked me was judging me because I didn't answer quickly enough. Maybe that was why I was homeless; I didn't have a 5-10 year plan. Well, I knew that wasn't true. I have a plan for the next 20 years; however, my thought at the time was If I don't cure the reason why I'm homeless, I will never live out my future goals because, believe it or not, they don't involve us being homeless.

So, it was Friday and I came into IHN readying myself for the introduction of yet another person who could possibly look at me like: You moron! You're homeless and obviously not able to control your own life and destiny [long sigh] I guess maybe I could try to help you. [She puts down her papers and takes out an ink pen] Now tell me how you screwed up your life!

We were introduced and I gave her a firm handshake and a hearty smile. I smiled as well as I could through my tear-laden visage (to me, lately, my face looks like it is just waiting for a safe moment to explode into that deluge of tears I mentioned in a previous blog). I braced myself for the inevitable. I didn't want to think negatively, yet I knew that it could come, so I waited for it. I figured I wouldn't be as heartbroken if I was ready for it. She cracked a mild grin and began asking questions from her sheet. She began to record my responses on the sheet as I spoke: "So, how did you become homeless?" she asked like a detective questioning a suspect. As I began to explain, she began probing through my story seemingly attempting to poke holes in it.

Does she think I'm lying? I asked myself.
Jeremiah got up from his seat because being a well-behaved two-year-old for thirty seconds was about all he could take. It was time for him to see what was in the office and no one was going to stop him, not even me.

She continued, "So, how did you lose your place? Why did you move? What brings you here?...etc. As I attempted to answer her litany of questions, I was also charged with keeping my two-year-old from demolishing the place. My brain was taxed. My frustration level was building. Suddenly it struck me: I live in this world with my children and sometimes it feels like I really don't have anyone. I mean, honestly, I have a few friends (and when I say few, I’m not over-exaggerating) and the few I have are so busy living their own lives that they can't be a family for me…they can’t be ride-or-die for me. I might call them and, bless their hearts, depending on what their going through, they may not even answer the phone. I didn't even have someone who could sit with me to support me during the interview. For a second I wasn't in the meeting anymore. I was alone just like I had always been and it wasn't a good feeling. I fought the tears.

She asked me what agency referred me. I told her that I called them from a resource list provided an agency that was helping me with my son. When I explained how long I had been working with the agency, she proclaimed that they should've seen our homelessness coming and that the agency had provided bad case management. Although I didn't agree, I felt it wasn't necessary to comment any further since she appeared to be an expert on everything we talked about. When I told her about my youngest son's asthma, she even asserted that it was environmental and that she knew asthma very well and controlled her son's asthma quiet well. Apparently that was another thing I was doing wrong and she needed to guide me on the right path. I just listened because, when someone is helping you, it just seems right to give them all of the control they need.

Finally, she asked me, "What is your savings plan?" As I explained to her how I had made arrangements with all of my creditors and I continued to explain what I knew I was doing to relinquish the debt looming over my head. I felt empowered and excited that I had taken so much initiative and I waited for her to praise me for doing so. Then she looked at me with an incredulous stare and a very pernicious look.
I was dumb…stupefied…I knew it was coming and I’m so glad I prepared myself for it.
She, being the superior, pointed out that I didn't even answer her question. She did so with such an angst and austere tone that I asserted "What do you mean I didn't even answer your question?" Then she reminded me that I had only told her how I planned to pay my bills; I hadn't told her how I could or would save money. Before I knew it, I became visibly angry. My voice grew cold; my blood began to boil. My facial expression changed and I felt what could have been a huge hot-flash, but I knew it was just my blood pressure going through the roof, then, my story spilled out:

[Doing a great job of calming myself enough to talk]

"Ma'm, I know you don't know me, but I can tell you this: I know how to save money. At one point, I had saved nearly nine-thousand dollars (it had come from both a tax refund and a settlement from a car accident). My issue is not that I spend my money unnecessarily; my first problem is that I loved a man. I loved a man that told me, that out of all of the women he knew and had been with, he loved me. He actually loved me! I loved the man and I trusted him when he said, "Baby, we can do this thing together, you're the only one who has faith in me." He used to tell me "I know who loves me, I know who has my back, and I know who's there for me!" And out of all of the love I had for him, I used my money to help pull him out of a hole and I paid his bills to help him. He bought me things. He made me happy. It seemed like he loved me, but when the money was finally gone, he started seeing other people and began to sing a different tune: "I don't want a relationship with you. I don’t want a family with you. You can find somebody else because I don't want to be with you." I continued, "For almost five years I went back and forth with that man and anytime he needed me for anything, I helped him without question until I got tired of being his doormat and figured that there had to be someone somewhere that would love me better. Unfortunately, the man that put me through all of that drama and heartache was the only one who was there for me when I had to give up my place. He was the last person I wanted to live with, but I had no choice." I added “On top of my issues with the man, there is no way my teaching salary would allow me so save any money if I don’t relinquish the debt I have incurred.”
I was drained, exposed and hurt. I said very few words after that because I realized I had exposed myself and the thing that meant the most…the thing that most people in the public are not willing to face is that, no matter what I allowed a man to do to me, my teaching salary is not a livable wage.

Let me tell you guys something that I didn't tell her:

Going back to him (that man) to ask him to help me, hurt more than anything in my recent history because I knew I would suffer if I went back there. I knew that I wouldn't be able to go backward, but I didn’t see another viable solution.
I knew I had given up on my crutch of sleeping with him so that I could feel like I had someone. Over time I decided to wait until I wed to have sex and I knew I couldn't and didn't want a man touching me until that time. He wouldn't have that though. He would grope me when I walked past him and sometimes he would hit me on my butt. When I told him I wasn't interested, he would remind me that he knew what I looked like inside and out. "It doesn't matter!" I would say "I still don't want you touching me." Each time he would do it, I would have a flashback to when I was five and my uncle stuck his tongue out when I kissed him. How he licked my lips and I didn't have a choice. How he would grind up against me when I'd sit on his lap. I could feel his penis against my leg and I wanted to get down, but he wouldn't let me. He’d hold me so tight and laugh sometimes with a loose moan under his breath. I'd flashback to the times when I woke up, at age 15, with a naked man on top of me ripping off my clothes as I tried to sleep through the 3rd or 4th or 5th or 6th rape of the week.

What my former lover never cared to realize or understand was that everything he did to me proved that he didn't love me. He didn't respect me, to him; I was just a piece of worthless meat. My bold proclamations about my body belonging to me only meant something to me because it meant that I chose to stand up for myself rather than let him fondle me because I DIDN'T LIKE IT!

As I sat in the interview hearing and seeing all of these things I just shared with you ...there on the edge of insanity trying to explain that I wanted to get rid of my debt so that I wouldn't become homeless again...explaining that the situation was and is humiliating. She seemed to understand me better and asked me whether or not I knew about an organization that helped people with income that had housing issues. I told her I hadn't. As she clarified the details of the program, I began to see a light at the end of our homeless tunnel. At the end of her explanation, she informed me that she would contact the person who runs the program immediately.
She took out her cell phone and began to dial. Apparently she didn't reach the person because she began leaving, what appeared to be, a detailed message. "...yes, I have a client here who has income and is, in fact, a teacher who has found herself in a bind due to some bad decisions she's made [attempting to clean it up] trusting people, a man, that was not trustworthy...nonetheless, she finds herself in a crisis situation and needs your help. Could you give me a call back? I would love to set up a meeting with the two of you...."

I was mortified. That's when it all started...this soulish lethargy. I thought about just crawling into a ball, hiding under a rock...Is that why it doesn't seem like I have any more friends? Is that why people don't call me anymore? Am I that much of a moron? A feeling began to come over me and I felt sullen and sad. I had been fighting depression since this thing had started. Surviving three years in silence was good for everyone...no one knew, so no one had to help me. No one knew the times I took money off of every bill to buy food and no one knew I couldn’t eat for days during the last week or two of the month because, if I did, the food wouldn’t last. As long as I kept it a secret, people didn’t have to pledge their support to help us because no one knew. No one had to sneer and look down on me either. It was the perfect type of suffering and no one had to be bothered but me. I thought, Why did I tell anyone? Why did I even try to get out? I could’ve just stayed in and died.

Then I thought about why so many people suffer in silence. They don't want to endure the feelings of worthlessness that comes from asking from someone when you know they will make you feel empty, insignificant and valueless.

When I thought about it, she wasn’t the only one. After a moment, the focus came off of me. I redirected my focus to the other families in the program. To the three women in IHN who have to sleep in churches with their children. The women, who come in early in the morning, tend to their children and search for jobs, eat their dinner then go back to the church to sleep. I thought about how my brood and I stayed in one spot and, although it is small, we have all of our things in one place. I thought about how it must feel to hear that same song from someone and not have a job (let alone a career). All at once I was praying for them and felt a stream of gratitude flow through me.

Lord, help them first. Me last.

My mind went back to the day I went upstairs to wash our things and broke down in a river of tears as I took little girl clothes out of the dryer: little panties and socks. A little girl is here...just like my little Miah. How I began to pray for them as I took the clothes of teenage girls out of the washer to put into the dryer, I thought about how their mothers must feel. I thought about their stories. What they must have endured. How they must feel.

Over the weekend, these things have troubled me. I was leaving Saturday and one of the women asked me for a jump. I gladly consented and began the process of jumping her vehicle. As we waited on her very weak battery to charge, I met her son. He's a teenager just like Jay. In fact, he's an upper classmen, extremely handsome, well-groomed and very polite. I wondered, How does he feel? How is their homelessness affecting him? Seeing him made me think about Jay, I wonder how Jay feels.

Throughout the weekend I had bouts with my soulish lethargy. My heart had been bruised by all of the flashbacks and the realization that I could be to blame. Was it all my fault? My friend could tell because from time to time my head would drop. I wanted to cry and at times I did with my curly locks covering my face so that no one else could see my tears. I sobbed heavily each time I went to the bathroom. Oh how I'd sob, but not just for me…for them too. The families that went through what I battled and the mothers who looked over their 30+ years of life and wondered where all of the years went.

"If you don't pick your head up, I'm gonna go home. This is supposed to be a happy time! I'm here. You can't be moping around while I'm here. I came to cheer you up!" I understood where he was coming from and, I've told you so much of what I've been through, yet I guess you'd have to be in my shoes to know how I feel. I mean, I'm homeless and I don't think that means a whole lot to people who don't know what that feels like. It's like wandering around without being able to predict when you'll be. If you're a person who likes stability and predictability, that's a scary thing. Sure, we have a warm place to stay now, but I have clear all of my debt by the end of February. I have to find a place before March 1st and I still don't see my teaching salary covering a place that is decent. Therefore, I realize the mistakes I've made aren’t the only things on my mind and that was a real bummer.
By the time Sunday rolled around, I still didn't feel myself.

I had been fighting that lethargy all weekend. Miah's behavior was horrible and I was at my wits-end. I knew that, if I could just get to the house of God, I would be okay. I wasn't looking for anything more than being able to worship God away from the noise. I just wanted to remind Him that, through all of this I knew He was and is Lord and that, if none of these events ever changed, I would still love, worship and adore Him. I reminded Him that I needed His continued strength to make it through it all.

We were late. The church was packed and we had to sit in the overflow. I knew what would happen: very few of the people in the overflow participate in praise and worship. In the end, being in the overflow is like watching our pastor at a friend's house with a lot of other friends. Most of the people in the overflow don't praise and worship God; in fact, some of them just sit there and talk.

I stood there with my hands raised high, the weight of my world on my shoulders and a heavy heart with unbelievable unbridled appreciation. I began to worship and the tear I had been holding since this entire ordeal began flowed outward. I apologized for any sorrow that leaked out through my tears and worship the God of my salvation as I reminded Him that He was and is an awesome God even if we are never delivered out of this mess.

I felt the heavens open and a breeze blow on me and the anointing of God rest on me. A tremendous peace followed and my life would never be the same. Pastor prophesied that a blessing would come tomorrow (Monday) and I held on to that with every fiber in my being. I received that word because I know that God is with us just as He is with us.

If you need any prayer, please send me a prayer request to yolandawhitted@msn.com. I'm praying both with you and for you. For those of you, who read and follow my blog, thank you for all of your encouraging words and sentiments. I thank God for you and love you for hanging on in there with me during this very difficult time, ILY guys! GBY!