Did you not enjoy the last issue? Was it the use of damn?
This may be my last issue.
Because after today, I may give up hope.
What A Life Coach. You know, how can a you be a life coach or motivator if you speak of giving up?
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. What about not giving up? As failures and life becomes more bleek and unchangeable…to continue, again.
Ladies and Gentlemen… Call me ‘over and over again’… I’m quite tired of being insane. Because the number of times it takes a person…it takes me, and people like me, women like me, to get back up is insane.
My 1 year old dog died yesterday morning, two weeks shy of her second birthday. A year and a half after her brother died of heat stroke, four months after I rescued them both from early deaths.
See, in 2017 I was needing something. I believed that a boy puppy would help me achieve what I needed; In addition to moving my mother and 15-year-old brother to Houston to live with me and my now Ex “Fiance” (It was a half baked shotty proposal…). With my four-year-old girl doggie who acts like she was only born yesterday. This should assist her (and us all) in regular sociability and responsibilities.
Through a work contact, I got news of an expected litter of puppies.
Pursuing my illustrious career as THE Number One Environmental Engineer had been atrociously, yet masterfully railroaded…never the less, Winners Keep Going! Anyone want to hear about racism? (Did she have the audacity to mention racism as if it still exists?) How about sexism and misogyny? (Christ, If she mentions black on black racism next…I will see her to her grave) No need for my grave digging…I typically do my own 😒… frequently.
My mother who has been an opiate addict for most of my life (For two of the four children she birthed) and my brother who grew up with my Great-grandfather, who passed just a year prior in 2016, seemed to be adjusting quite well until my opiate addicted mother took a trip to New York (my home state) and never returned. Leaving my incredibly obese, incredibly hormonal, behavioral issue prone, but very intelligent teenage brother in my care and whom now, I must treat as my son, which I began to feel dually about my… “fiance”.
As a person who keeps their word. Despite my changing and quite stressful circumstances, I proceeded with the puppy, who’s litter was dying at an alarming rate. With periodic visits between February and March.
By March of 2017, four of thirteen puppies remained alive. The owners did not care for their dogs properly and the mother (probably the father too) had heart worms. There was one boy left to three girls. I hurried to pick him up, but when I arrived, I saw two puppies, no bigger than each of my hands. These puppies were eight weeks old. The two of them needed me to take them as well, in addition to their brother. I told the owner to give me the larger of the two hand sized puppies. Leaving the other, smaller, plam sized puppy to her fate. The plan was to rescue this one and adopt her out. I wasn’t in the place to have three full sized dogs.
I raced to the veterinarian who treated me like I was possibly the scoundrel who neglected to properly birth these puppies into the world, especially after I mentioned adoption assistance of the smaller puppy. They weighed my healthy boy, Meetu, at 6 pounds and Lailah, the unlikely contender at just 2.4 pounds. No bigger than one hand.
For Meetu, aside from one or two easily remedied health concerns, was a healthy and happy boy. For Lailah, who was very timid and unresponsive, things we’re more serious. So were the vet bills.
From February, until my brother’s departure, I had numerous calls to the police to my home and a call regarding department store theft that took me away from my job. (Working two hours from my residence) My brother wanted to prove he was big and bad enough and he wanted sympathy for it.
Breakdown occurred. By sometime in April 2017, I was alone with three dogs and a lot of resentments. This was not the end of the struggle. I worked to improve the circumstances of my career, passionately hating the environment and very work I was tasked with, and reviving my musical aspirations. In May of 2017, I was laid off after relocating to Houston for threat of layoff. Peculiar, but only with details. (Not Selected For Today’s Issue)
Meetu passed away in June at an event I attended to “remain a winner”, succeed, and showcase my musical talents.
In August, I had quite had it. By this time I had been taken advantage of and misued my multiple people (in attempt to gain friends and counter loneliness and feelings of inadequacy…). People including a liar, cheating on his girlfriend. My home was violated, and I couldn’t stop loving someone it seemed, didn’t want to have anything to do with me (No, it certainly was NOT the cheater…he was old news long loong gone. He didn’t wanna be though, heh tough). Spiritually, I was having an incredible time. I was seeing and feeling things that were not validated by anything or anyone…I was really losing it.
September 2017, I was greeted by Houston police department entering my home and showing me who was in control by sledgehammering my bathroom door, me inside (actually feeling the sledgehammering as my back was on the door) with nearly no clothes and in “women’s time”.
My Ex (ugh) called them after I texted him to pick up the, now two dogs. (Yes he was with me when I got the first dog at 9 months…and aside from a courtesy lunch, I had not seen him or received any kind of assistance, since he moved out.) This was his response. He was also there for a one or two of the domestic violence reportings.
There I was. In my own home, being scraped away.
I was in the bathroom because I believed that it was time for me to vacate this place you call life. It’s funny…not much has changed externally, even though I have. Externally, not much at all.
I was admitted to the hospital and spent 24 hours on watch until I was released scurredly, to out-patient therapy, where I waited three hours for a woman to enter nonchalantly and ask me ‘what I wanted to do’. After I replied, I wanted to go home, she quickly obliged and asked if I wanted medication for my journey. I declined.
But I was in a deep deep depression with no aid…except for…my ex. Ugh.
I had come so far, just to feel degraded and alone in a city that I had not grown partial to… I felt as though I let people down. More so however, I felt I let them make too many decisions on my future because they were “more competent and experienced” than I was. That’s how I was made to feel. I was alone, but when I ran out of money and great ideas to earn money…I moved in my ex’s newly rented, affordable housing type studio, with my two dogs and the belongings from my, fort bend county townhome.
See, I had broken up with this ex twice…but it seemed to me that I couldn’t sever the relationship…quite frankly it was a fear that resurfaced to serve.
I also had a devastating car accident in June 2017…that the insurance company decided not to pay out on, after weeks of calls, emails, and conversations. I began fixing the car myself…and I was also scammed twice. I Lyft Now. However, Houston Metro will always have my best wishes.
After nearly a year of immense depression, false starts, and close calls, I finally started to see an alignment. I started to see my experiences completely differently.
I started to understand that I supressed my power and my will to the will of others. I began to know that I was quite powerful…like really powerful. Powerful enough to warrant multiple attempts on my life (the attempts do continue).
Powerful enough to need to be broken down to understand the makings of my absolutely immaculate being.
Powerful enough to get everything and anything I want without someone telling me when, where, and how I could have it. Powerful enough for real love. I SAID Powerful Enough For REAL Love.
See, I never thought I would live very long…my life didn’t start out that great and and although I wanted to love greatly…I never saw it as something I could, or would truly have. Not me and if so, not for long.
I’ll let you in on a secret… that was why I was with my ex 😋 Self Esteem Check.
Not me, not me with my background, not me with my history, not me with my looks, not me with my body type, not me with me ethnicity (don’t get me started), not me with my hair. Just, not me for any and every reason society puts me and women like me on the lowest tier of the totem pole (Uh-Oh).
Side note: There is a woman, who looks just like me, that owes +$1100 to my bank account. Again, placed on a tier unbefitting of my class, honor, and work ethic…so then there are those types of issues.
So We Are Here. 2019. And here is The Enrichment Weekly Newsletter, and The fourth Issue…Freedom To Be.
However, where is the freedom?
In 2011, very, very good friends of mine were married, and during their reception, I somehow caught the bride’s bouquet. I raised my hand and it flat out planted itself into it. I’ve already shared my thoughts on my perceived future at that time, so, you can imagine how surprising and awkward this felt…and a little unworthiness, if I’m being completely honest (Queue reel of completely honest moments extending to the first moment I began speaking)
Nevertheless, I kept the bouquet as a momento and symbol of hope. I am no stranger to hope. I was born to a mother who chose addiction. A father who chose beating, and a family of complete and utter dysfunction. I barely graduated high school, I was bullied and assaulted. By the skin of my teeth (teeth have skin?) I made it to college, failing out the first time… returning to the house I worked so hard to get away from… I had …only hope.
I clipped small part off of the bouquet even, to add to my hairstyle. I wore one larger piece at my graduation, when I introduced the ex to…family. Somehow that piece was lost that day, December 2013.
I no longer wonder about it.
I wore a new peice yesterday…I looked amazing. I had planned to meet the man who, for almost two years, I tried desperately, to stop loving AND “secure” in my life. Unsuccessfully, on both attempts. Perhaps for my double minded doubtfulness or other reasons. I had felt like an absolute rodent to him…he never made an effort to me make me feel one way or another…maybe a little more rodent than I’d like to admit.
He has received this newsletter.
Somewhere in my realization and belief in my presence on this Earth, I began to believe in true love being a gift from The Creator just for me and that If I could subside my fears about being worthy…and being pushed aside…that we would reunite.
When I woke up yesterday, I felt amazing… I knew that it was coming to pass this day… The tears I shed daily would be no more. I took Sheba, the oldest out to potty and returned to Lailah, who often wails at this time because she is alone and jealous of Sheba getting to go outside.
Meetu, my precious, left Lailah with a gift that made me furious. While I know he completed this act as a puppy, Lailah who was different took this on as a life practice. He taught her to eat poop. She. ate. poop. She ate all poop. She ate it fast and nearly whole. She ate it all the time. She even fought me for the poop and because my depression came during critical potty training time…she would poop indoors and gobble it up. I would take her outside to potty, I would bring her inside and take Sheba out and Lailah would have used it again when we returned. Lailah would hold her poops outside and only poop a single turd so she could come inside and feast on the rest. She was diabolical and she was dedicated. She also needed to be spayed. She began to again, have problems. I often cleaned up behind her, but soon Sheba…my oldest…highly trained dog, began to do the same actions as her younger sister, who assumed the control she wanted over Sheba. I was fucking losing it again. A tiny studio, that ex subtly vacated, again leaving us to fend for ourselves, with two dogs using the bathroom EVERYWHERE, REPEATEDLY. I had to confine them in the bathroom just to breathe…and Lailah wined continuously…without courtesy. It became tremendous.
Nearly every time I entered, I cleaned…until finally, it all caught up with my youngest. Due to circumstances beyond me, despite my effort to remedy, she passed away in the night.
I thought of sending an email to my Heaven sent soul mate and back out of attendance to my superiorly coordinated, movie level, coming of age, heavens do answers prayers rendevous…but I decided to proceed…to not give up as far as I had come. Believing my perseverance mattered. I didn’t back out…this time. This time, I meant to change things. This time I wouldn’t be casted down or aside.
This time, I was disappointed, again. No sign of the fruition I believe was to occur and I had on heels.
I returned with less than I needed, thought, and departed with. Surely, I must be a fraud. Surely, it’s been a lie from beginning to end. Surely, my life should have ended.
Too Drastic A Thought Process For Those Who Never Had To Cross Them, But It Makes Perfect Sense. I Don’t Match.
Generally, For everyone to live in their bubbles of false pride and harmony, I feel diminished. Where is the freedom?
False pride deems me unfit to be who I am. But surely this is just a negative stinky paradigm that further proves my inability to coach anyone on their paradigm of thought, no matter what lives they trample over to get to their “goals”.
How about corporate etiquette? If I do not follow your version of corporate etiquette, does that deem me unfit? What is your reaction to what you deem unacceptable to your trained way of operation? Would it allow someone who has different experiences, energy, and practices to freely progress? Who in your life progresses versus is deemed unfit?
I’ve been deemed unfit for just about everything I am or have been subjected to. I wouldn’t need to say it otherwise.
So, since I am so unfit (and I like being unfit because frankly the culture of “fitness” turns my stomach) and being this person, leaves me with more pain than can be conveyed through one small post or email that gets ignored for unfitness to your illustrious state of being, shouldn’t I take that as a sign and run with it?
Shouldn’t I leave a man who, even though I’ve seen visions with and I pray daily for (him, his three month old daughter and the woman he birthed her with) that I prayed before I met, that I prayed to meet, and that I prayed the day we met, alone? To let my unfitness consume me in this…because I clearly must be praying and hearing wrong. It must be unreal and unfit.
Is there any freedom to be unfit?
Not really, so what is there freedom to be? I suppose, if you knew you would be. I wonder who’s closer. (?) See, because the dictation of money is where people see the residence of freedom. I admit…after the last two years of my life…I ain’t got it. But I can tell you how to increase your job income by 27%, cuz I done it. I digress however.
Nice things, travels, accolades. Freedom. Everyone praises you. Freedom. You answer to no one (I mean No One). Freedom.
Even the lions, the tigers, and the bears answer… faithfully.
Even the air, the sun, and the moon answer…faithfully…
Even the Universe Answers, faithfully
and whom else more free then our very universe?!
Still, we expect weather to answer to us. Why? We deem weather unfit to our varying sentiment and operations. If the elements reflected how many times someone complained, what would our days look like?
How much more is it, when a man or woman challenges your sentiment and operations? How much more, when we need diversity hires and cultural sensitivity programs? How much more with boys and girls clubs of immense and deep exclusion and rigidity? How much more without a single, note, hint, or glimmer of favor.
Is there any Freedom To Be?
This Issue Is Free.
All the best to you and your freedom.
Life Coach, Motivational Keynote, & Owner Of A Secret Truth
The First, The Unprecedented, Self Enterprise Ambassador
The Corporate Culture Annihilator
What You Thought You Knew Wasn’t Ever Me, Cheers
Thinking Of Claiming My Spot In Heaven…on a slim technicality but,
Interested To See Visions Come True For Me Too (The Big Ones)