I'm not afraid to lose

Today I read the 4th Toastmasters speech I did in oct 26th, 2020 and it is titled: Why we hold on: a guide to letting go.

I spoke of the prayers that I made and the changes I wanted at the time in 2012. I spoke of how God answered each and every prayer. But it required me to lose everything, in another words, let go of the life I led.

I felt purposeless, meaningful and out of control in those circumstances as the change I wanted came from an outside force instead of myself. It's like being in the beach and instead of you swimming to the shore, a big bad mean wave comes and forces you into it. Sure, the wave with its enormity and powerful force got you there quicker but good God, that was a rough trip wouldn't you say?

And that's life sometimes, isn't it? I know I was shocked that I was having a problem with depression after I have my baby, more than a decade after having those problems initially at 17. I was shocked. The pain and trauma came with more pain and trauma. My life I led walking alone, teaching kids, open mics on Mondays and bible study on Wednesdays was all gone in a shift as I slipped on black ice. I did not make it home. I did not make it to bible study. I called for them to take me to the ER because I had already fainted while being pregnant and I already knew what commotion that could make. (the first time I was in a clinic and for being around doctors and nurses, everyone was freaking out.).  So, I was walking and slipped. got up, slipped again. got up a third time, fell again. My back hurt. I was 7 or 8 months pregnant. When I was there on the floor, no one around in this side of the street or the next to call out to. I felt weirdly vulnerable. My aunt had told me I can't have a baby and live alone. I said I live a block from the hospital. I will have this baby and walk home afterwards with the baby wrapped in my hands. 

I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT I DIDN'T KNOW.

My aunt said my life would change. She kept saying it and I didn't know what she meant. Later on, when I had the baby I realized what those words meant. My life was gone. MY LIFE.

Now I had a new life, a new thing to do that unlike a job a school or a boyfriend, was way longer than 8 hours or 2 hours or however many hours a day. This job was 24/7. My body was attuned to my baby's cries and they would induce milk to leak from my body. Stress closed off the milk ducts. I cried if I said the sky is blue and you said it was purple today. 

Nothing made sense and at the same time when I looked at him everything did. I completely changed my life around and still do. My love for my son and the vision I have for him, and our life is constantly at the forefront of most of my decisions.

Along the way, after giving up everything, I started feeling like myself again. It was when he turned 5. He walked now, couldn't talk that well but at least he didn't need me all the time. I could ignore him for 5 minutes and wouldn't have to hear his colicky cries he had for a baby that lasted more than 6 months. I lost all sleep. I took naps between 2-hour breastfeeding. I had my mom that every day like a big bad wolf would come and tell me all the reasons why we shouldn't go outside, that it was too scary, too windy, too bad for the baby. 

I kept telling her, why did you move to Bayonne, NJ if you are afraid to go outside? You lived in paradise, Caribbean, vacation spot with the best food women and culture and you came here. and you come in here every day after work in the little kitchen to ask me for my day and I answer and between my mumblings you take every chance to tell me everything that I did wrong that day. Which was everything because you always had a bad thing to say about everything. If I fed the baby, great but did i eat? You know I didn't so why do you ask?

One time I cried in the shower because I tried to take a shower and there in the shower, in the silence I heard the baby cry. I cried. I gave him everything, every moment, the boobs, the body that felt like I woke up in a obese body that did not feel like mine. I gave up my life and open mics and church going and bible reading and bible studying and left New Brunswick and gave up my pride too, moving in with my mom which I was so glad when I left her for college when I was 17.

I knew I had to step back, to launch forward. My hometown friends were there. they never asked about New Brunswick or whereIi had been. I felt like the prodigal son I the bible story. I thought they would reject me but they didn't. they just wanted me to go to their events and parties and go on like we haven't talked in the past 4 years. I went because going there in their weekly Thursday meetings was the only inkling of a adult conversation that I could have. I was home all day with my son and not sleeping and when he finally slept I would stay up on message boards reading every comment to find out how I can stop my baby from crying 24/7.

I went to the doctor. She said I wasn't connecting with my baby when I said stuff about breastfeeding. I instantly cried. I wasn't connected to my baby? excuse me? my baby started breastfeeding as soon as he came out of my body he was placed on my chest and he started sucking away. I felt vulnerable and tired and really thirsty because they don't give you water, they give you ice. I was in labor for 22 hours. I was falling asleep between contractions. 

and no one cared. more like no one had time. to hear my story. I told my story finally to the psychologist I was able to hire to deal with my post-pardum. One day I thought of getting the knife and killing the people in my household. I rebuked Satan, prayed to god and asked for help. last time i had asked for help, well I didn't, my mom did, they locked me up in a hospital for months, drugged me beyond recognition and when I got out I almost didn't graduate high school. I lost all sense of friends as i had become the chick that didn't go to school. my best friend Rosa said at the time that people asked not because they cared, but because they wanted to hear the gossip.Ii was gossip. 

it hardened my heart a bit. I thought everyone was my friend and they cared for me the way I cared for them. later on I learned that I have the gift of compassion. I want to help and solve people's problems and do it all. it comes out of my heart like water comes out of the ocean. I have also learned that this makes me perfect for abuse. and I have been around that. mostly my mother. and my absent father.

When I was in the hospital, I said we never eat as a family (which was true). I spoke no lies. but again, no one wanted to hear me. it was easier if I was put into another institution: a mental hospital. No one could stay with me in the day and I was falling asleep in class as i lost my ability to sleep at night. my mom took me to some catholic priest for something like take a demon out of me. he just accepted a note on paper that they gave him and he nodded and he said he would put it in a prayer line.

in a time of crisis, you will try anything. for my mom it was giving me to the medical community and boy that was creepy. 20 years later and no one has ever asked me what happened. I was so out of it when i left the hospital I didn't have the words. I remember the ride back home. my mom driving and trying to talk and me with dry lips (side effect of the medication) and blurry eyes looking out the window enjoying the fresh air coming out of the window. i had been locked up in that building desiring fresh air for months. getting drugged up and being around people that jumped out of windows and kids that didn't shower. and a girl that was so skinny she was all bones. she was in a wheelchair and didn't join us. they gave her liquidated food, spoon by spoon.

the memory of her has haunted me and I have cried. the sight of her brings me to tears because I wonder what made her not eat and if she didn't like life and what happened to her? 

We were envious of the people that got to leave. I didn't know when I was leaving, there was no date. my brother visited once and he said I was acting weird. I asked to turn the lights off. the medications made me sensitive to light. I told him to stop taking me to scary movies (like that Jlo movie and that scene of the father beating up his son with an iron) that vision played over and over in my head nonstop and i wanted to know how to stop it. the movie ring that made me scared of stairs and showers. 

I was talking, but was anyone listening? I saw him this last summer and he said it's hard to talk to me because I'm too sensitive. I thought it was interesting because he doesn't know how much emotion I hide from him. but the little that seeps out he can't deal with it.

i feel things. I feel big things, they come over me likes waves. and my face, as you guys can tell cannot hide and reflects what I'm feeling. 

I have been called many things but accepted is not a word I would ever use when I think of family.

My first loss was the move from Dr to USA. in DR I had hugs, a loving mom that was actually my aunt, a brother that was actually my cousin and adventures every Saturday on the town. I won dance competitors, modeled in big events in the hotel. I walked by the white house where our blind president lived every day. It was at the end of our block. Greatness was always nearby. and even though the lights went out and we were poor, when everyone around you also has the lights out (except those neighbors that had a incubator and did not share) then you don't feel bad. 

I never knew poverty until I got to college in New Brunswick NJ. I went hungry. went to bible studies were the pizza would come out at 10pm and that was usually all I had to eat for that day. I experienced loss. I finally allowed myself to be open enough and vulnerable enough to let a guy in. Didn't judge, was there. I gave brought an umbrella for him to his job because it started raining. I met his sisters and his mother and his grandmother. I enjoyed his intellect and our conversations and I used him like a drug, a momentary distraction from my blinding insomniac, depression.

Did I know I was depressed? By this time did I even know the signs? I was always about to be homeless. worked as a substitute teacher by day, restaurant nights and weekends. and still it was a struggle to pay $300 rent. I know some of you are going to read this and be shocked. 

New Brunswick. the town that made me, broke me, and the place where I found God. Simultaneously. I was finding out what worked and what broke me. Running so fast towards ambition, education, my fears and towards all the expectations. I felt such a responsibility to finish. I took a toll of all our generation. my brother was the first one to graduate college. I was going to be the second. my sister was not interested and my 2 cousins in Paterson had long left the school race. Marcus wasn't into it and I thought of my uncle risking his life to come here to America illegally in a boat. I wanted to be worth his sacrifice. my brother was the only one to cross that line. I had the smarts to do it too. that's what we came to America right? to get the education. 

That's why i was ripped from paradise and love and a family that I called my own. in my young life, at age 10 my life was ripped into DR and US. I came November 25, 1995. I saw snow for the first time when I stepped out the plane. I remember my fingers in awe trying to touch it. I learned what a scarf was, and gloves and cold. that same month, Bayonne NJ had gone through the biggest snowstorm since idk how long. We had to put Shoprite yellow plastic bags on top of our boots to walk up the street to the grocery store to get food. School was shut down. Life was shut down. you couldn't drive, when you walk you step in the step of someone that already went before you. you saw each step on the ground.

My mom was never around. she worked double shifts in the factory. I was home. my grandfather was there and my grandmother and Tia-complains-a-lot about everything. If you walk in, she complains that you walked in. that you took off your shoes that there's now snow on the floor. the uncles would convene at the table at night. if you took a shower at night, they would complain that you should take on in the morning. If you took a shower in the morning, they argued that you should take one at night. Tio Dennis and Tio Aquiles had good points in both arguments.  I remember my poor brother trying to please them one time he took a shower both morning and night. I'm wondering if they still complained that it was a stupid thing to do. I also wonder if he actually did it or if that's one of those memories that you remember but you are not sure if its reality or just a thought. 

in that house no matter what you did, you were always wrong. they complained about my broth watching cartoons saying he was too old. he was a kid. they complained that I read too much. I'm kidding. I think I hid out and read. My grandma worked in a fabric factory, and she would come home with scraps of fabric. I would take these and sow clothes for barbie. 

My mom wasn't there. she married a guy that turned out to be a drunk later on and this is all before I learned that just like her father, she kept attracting drunks. 

10.28.2022 12:55pm

gotta go to the school, sign Alex out of it

go back to waffle house after Alex comes and pay the 12.25 or 50. find american express. get a ride there. call back Ms Pearl. Can I get some cash today?