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.

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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...