Moments that followed

So there I was, my mother had been murdered. My younger brother in a coma. My home was no longer. People either treating me with kid gloves or like a fish in a tank to be gawked at. Friends behaving as if they’d never known the real me. My then boyfriend in jail before, during, and after the tragedy of my life. And all I saw before me was the cold shadows of gloom that my home town had engulfed me in. The tall buildings caved in on me. The few trees were no longer colored in vibrant autumn hues. Smog overtook everything in my view. Not only was I buried deep inside myself but now the world around me wanted to swallow the outer parts as well. I couldn’t breathe.

Even the simple task of riding public transportation became an ordeal. A display of pitied eyes and over zealous displays of affection from random people became part of my norm. Imagine riding the same few buses for most of your life and sitting next to the same people each day, having casual conversations and random small talks before your stop to get off. Imagine those same people now unable to look you in the eyes or worse can’t stop looking. Imagine a new passenger getting too close to you on that bus which being public transportation is bound to happen. Imagine forgetting to shut your eyes to the bus stop that let people off right in front of your once apartment building, the very same apartment building you no longer resided in because your mom had been brutally murdered there. Imagine those passengers glancing over at you, anticipating a melt down once you come to that bus stop in front of that apartment complex. How did I forget to look away? Why did I not shut my eyes? Would taking the train be any different? Would it be more of a chance to bumping into people I knew? Who knows? It was unclear. Nothing these days was clear. Nothing made sense. Was this now my life?

Ugh, the feeling of uncertainty was becoming my frien-emy (friend and enemy), more so enemy, now that the thrilling spontaneity of the unknown was no longer part of its equation. Uncertainty, now was just that, uncertain, unknowing, unsure, unclear, fear-filled vagueness, and those qualities, those qualities, were not friends of mine. I was secretly afraid of them but my life now possessed nothing but. Everything was uncertain.

Isaiah 41:10 So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

…Letting go and letting God, what a concept. You mean I have to give Him those fears too?… I guess, no I’m sure, had I done that even just 3 years ago, I would be so much closer to fulfilling His destiny for me. So much wasted time holding on to stuff I honestly wanted to let go of anyway.

 

My once home

It was that time. Boy, how things moved along. We were in a special category since her death was what it was.  They couldn’t exactly kick us out in the streets. We were relocated to a much smaller apartment in another part of town. Our once 3 story apartment was to be a 3 bedroom, section 8 whatever. I had nothing against section 8 but it was just another slap in my already bruised up face. I am grateful however that we were at least of age enough to be on our own. Kinda. We all know early 20’s ain’t really adults, might as well have been 16, 17, but yea.

We had been staying with an aunt but it was time to clear out our home. The scene was no longer a part of the investigation or what have you. So my older brother and I set out to dispose, clean, and sort through 3 floors of a lifetime. As we got closer to our destination my chest reverted back to the puking feeling I dreaded, an odd feeling that resided deep in me since that day. The feeling I got the minute I was put in the back of the cop car, naked, wrapped in a sheet a female officer handed me from the house, and watched as they rolled my mother out on a stretcher. She was covered as well, completely covered with a sheet not from our home. My stomach twisted and turned. I refused to express the emotion, especially to my older brother who was dealing with his own feelings, I’m sure.

As we stood in front of the building before entering, he inquired whether or not I was scared. I said nothing. He assured me that our mothers blood should have been cleaned up. I said nothing. He then continued to say not to be afraid of ghosts or anything because if anything it was the spirit of our mother and she was all good. How I wish we had smoked before this. Or did we? That’s all I ever did anymore, well most of anything I ever did. It was whatever. So in we went.

We came through the bottom level, the living room, which I wonder if it was strategic on my brother’s part. The back door, the middle level, which we could have come in was the kitchen, where it took place. Maybe it was me, for having gone through the ordeal, but the smell of my once home was so different now. The faint smell of real authentic Haitian cooking was once a staple in our home. Now, the walls bled the odor of death muddled with the hint of bleach or whatever the city’s cleaning people used. I decided to close my senses to everything but the memories rushed over me like a wave. I wasn’t fit to ride this wave. My brother handed me an industrial sized black trash bag. I should’ve just jumped right in because that’s how I felt, like trash.

Psalms 34:17 The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles.

…I wasn’t ready to cry out to Him, not then, not the way He wanted. If I had I wasn’t sure I’d ever stop. I was a leaky faucet of emotion. A slow drip that made its appearance during appropriate times, nothing more. My few outbursts were reserved for me alone. Otherwise, I’d…I’d drown outwardly as much as I was drowning inwardly. I was fine holding it together the way I had been. I was… I was fine… I was fine.

…I held on to that lie for what seemed like forever.

3 Worse Things…Bonus Blog

Okay, so of course whilst in the midst of these various interactions with these people and having labeled them to be the worst things said to me post tragedy, I now can share with you what the three major points I’ve come to learn from those experiences, though there were many.

Is that true?/school associate: 

People can be used to pull you back into the pit if you allow it. Now, I realize that sometimes God tries to grab our attention in various ways but there are other times where its the enemy using our situation to pull us deeper in the misery enough not to see God. Separating us from The Most High is his #1 reason for anything he does. Being able to decipher God’s call to us and the enemy’s plot against us, that key, that oh so important key,  is something we can only master or get better at enough to live in peace, through His Word.

Question to reader

Was my school mate being used to snap me out of my delusions, even for a brief moment, and perhaps turning to God in my broken state or was the enemy playing on my emotions, exposing me to people who once knew me before my life was shattered?

Not Nice/mom’s acquaintance:

My worth IS NOT  based on what others (any man, woman, not even myself) perceive me to be or what they say I am! I AM WHO GOD SAYS I AM! I am not not nice! Shoot, I am more than just nice 😉

Challenge to reader

Message me with your favorite scripture about you from God. Write or print it out and place it somewhere you’ll always come across it. The reminder of who we really and truly are is such a game changer in life. If you don’t have a favorite scripture, there’s no better time than the present 🙂

One so-called friend/a so-called friend:

There’s a simple lesson here but one that I tend to struggle with still, but that’s okay. I am a working progress and He’s not done with me yet. Amen to that. With this situation I learned and am still learning not to rely on others for what God is so capable of dishing out for me. It can be anyone, a friend, a husband, a wife, your child, my mother, and it doesn’t have to be a person. It can be a job, money etc. God wants and craves for us to rely on Him for all our needs and wants. For me that whole “in my life for a season” thing is a hard pill to swallow. I think because my nature is so awkward on the inside I tend to cling (not being clingy but just really holding on) to people I have in my life, good for me or not, because possibly exposing that awkwardness to new people is a dreadfully scary thing. But shoot, Jesus loves this dork so, so be it! It may hurt when people leave or are shoved out of your life for one reason or the next, but as long as you have breath you have the opportunity to have the best relationship with Him, who is so true and so loyal and oh so faithful. He is The Bomb Dot Com ya. Trust.

Question to reader

What’s one thing you tend to cling onto for whatever reason in place of The True Provider? (Keep in mind clinging to hurt and painful emotions count)

 

 

 

3 Worst things…part 3

One So Called Friend

I always had a feeling in the back of my mind that she wasn’t a true friend to me. I should’ve went with that feeling. I was one of those who held on to friendship. I need very clear signs to know when to let go, at least then.

It was about a month and half or so, give or take a few days, since the day of burying my mother. As you know living in blissful ignorance and whatnot had become my life. Anyway, it was my dear friends birthday. If I do the math, she was about 2 years older than I so it would’ve been her 22nd or 23rd birthday. I just wanted to bury myself and self medicate. But it was her birthday and she had confided in me that her boyfriend sold marijuana. Why not kill two birds with one stone. Support my “friend” and lift my spirits as well. Her mom gave her the run of the house for the evening. My one thought was on dulling my senses.

As the small gathering continued on and more guests started to arrive so did her boyfriend. She was aware that I was looking to get high and had intentions on speaking to him about it, so when I got the opportunity I spoke to him and gave him my number for when he had what I wanted. Soon after, I left with the people I came with and went home. As we discussed the nights events, and waited on a call in anticipation on getting high, my flip phone rang. “Yes”, I thought! But when I answered it wasn’t my dealer for the evening. It was my friend. Maybe she was making sure we got home okay, but nope! The question to me was, “Did you give such and such (her man) your number at my party?” Now, not that I had a reason to for any unseemly reason, but by nature I tend to tell on myself. I don’t know, I’ve just always been that way. Anyway, so I said, “yea”, and reminded her about what I wanted and reminded her of the fact that she knew. From what I heard and understood it was clear she had never discussed it with him that I wanted his services; so great job on his part for telling her that  one of her friends passed him their number at her party; but did you tell her what and why? Put him aside, #1 You knew because we discussed it, #2 Your “friends” in the background are pumping you up ruining your vibes at your own party and #3 which hurt me the most every time I thought about it, not only did I put aside my feelings to come to your party but I was raped not even 2 months ago and all I wanted to do was self medicate and you’re accusing me of trying to get with your boyfriend. Really? Was that really how this was going down? Was this my so called friend telling me how stank I was. So called was right. I was livid and since she clearly wanted to just listen to whatever was being sung in her ear, I told her about herself then hung up. She called back. I answered and hung up. She called back. I answered and hung up. That continued for at least ten pick ups and hang ups til I finally just turned the ringer off. It was either drive back to her house to really get into it or find another dealer. The dealer was worth more of my time.

Micah 7:5 Do not trust a neighbor; put no confidence in a friend. Even with her who lies in your embrace be careful of your words.

…Nothing else need to be said.

Now in reading these latest posts on the worst things said and possibly future posts, I need you, the reader, to understand that I no longer hold any negative feelings towards the people it references. That’s one of the best things I love and appreciate about God, when He gives you peace it truly surpasses all meaning and understanding. People are people. He can move mountains, surely He can move hearts to forgive.

…And He has.

…In hindsight He was really teaching me not to rely on other means for comfort. I was a bit of a slow learner in that aspect as you’ll come to learn as you read on.

3 Worst things…part 2

IS THAT TRUE?

So this was kind of ridiculous to me but please read on. A high school acquaintance, whom I hadn’t seen since those days when the only things that mattered was if I remembered to bring my homework assignments, bumped into me at about a month or so after. I had been drowning. Drowning, almost willingly in any and everything but the truth and reality. I was doing just that when he noticed me, bumped right into me as I was headed to dance and grind away the horror that was now my reality.

It was a club we’ve been at before. It was a club in which my mothers murderer had been to as well. I never actually felt comfortable or safe there even before the incident. The people there were a little aggressive. Well, no, the women there who enjoyed the company of other women were a little aggressive, correction too aggressive. Anyway, this high school acquaintance saw me and without a breath or missing a beat he asks, “Hey is what I saw about you on the news true?” That was it, his words. With every careless word he spoke in that one question, which was more of a statement, a harsh shove and kick back to reality was what I had to endure. I wished he hadn’t been so long winded with it? I mean he could’ve just said, “Sup, you good?” His words made it clear to me that yes Goretty you are a statistic and yes people all over know about it. You can’t escape. “Yea, its true”, followed by a walk to the make shift bar was all I could muster up. I had to get away from that blunt reality he shoved me into and quick. The spot where the murderer had sat then danced was becoming all to clear to me.

Proverbs 29:20 Do you see a man who speaks in haste? There is more hope for a fool than for him.

…Again, I’m just sayin’

 

3 Worst things said to me post tragedy…(3 part blog) part 1

NOT NICE

She was an associate of my mothers. I don’t remember exactly who this woman was or how my mom knew her but her words ring clearly to this day. The circumstances was nothing major. I wasn’t arguing  with her or anything like that. Perhaps I was too nonchalant about her presence at that moment or too aloof to whatever she may have been saying. I don’t know but she said to me, “You’re not a nice girl anymore like when your mother was here.” Mind you my mother went to Paradise in October and I moved out of state in February. So her judgement, her assessment, her analysis of me was based off of a less than 4 month tragic event. Not to mention, I didn’t remember this woman, not then at that moment in which I was probably still living in shock, so it had to have been someone whom I only met a handful of times. I was 21 years old, just turned 21, barely an adult. She had known Goretty in pigtails perhaps, which a fun fact I use to call doo-doo braids lol. Anyway, the fact was she didn’t really know me, not truly. And even if she did, was that something to say? Those words penetrated deep in my mind. I carried those words.

My mother’s death was full of first for me. I never had experienced true lost, betrayal of a close friend, or had I ever experience real disapproval of an adult before her death.

I’m not nice anymore, hymph…I wondered what else I wasn’t.

Matthew 12:36 But I tell you that men will have to give account on the day of judgement for every careless word they have spoken.

…I’m just sayin’

What I need.

Right after my mom passed and everything was fresh and happening, various people and relatives feared that I wouldn’t speak after the tragic end of my mothers life. It had been a few long muted and deaf hours. I was a zombie-like form. Things moved around so fast around me. Noises blared such a high pitch that I heard nothing. My pulse raced. I knew why but didn’t at the same time. The word statistic was all that rang deep within me. Was I really that girl? Was this really happening to my family? Has what surrounded finally touched me?

After what felt like an icy cold eternity, had passed, the things slowed down. They were people. Doctors, nurses, relatives, policemen and women, and of course lets not forget the bystanders. The deafening high pitched sounds became audible. The nothingness ceased for the moment. It was the various conversations, cries, prayers and questions. I remember being shook to speak. From what was said, someone from the various groups of people desperately needed me to speak that instance. They feared I would never speak if I didn’t utter a word right then. It was the thought process of a relative. More so to stop the shaking and prompting and the being touched, I said something. Something quick like, “I’m fine.” I wished to be deaf again. That’s what I needed, or so I thought. I was too aware. Too aware of what just occurred. Too aware of the smells. Too aware of every conversation about me and my brothers. Too aware of the freezing cold that crystallized every atom of my  being. I was too aware. I hoped whatever the nurse was going to give me could minimize that feeling. That restless, overly alert feeling. No such luck. I wanted to shower. I was refused. I wanted to escape everyone, this whole moment, this whole ordeal. And where was my younger brother? None of this. None of this was what I needed.

2 Peter 1:3 His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness.

…I didn’t realize it then nor was I willing to accept it but He was all I needed.