I began writing my blog “Fighting for Survival” not because I wanted sympathy or pity but because I felt I had stories to tell that some people could benefit from. My greatest misadventures occurred from my teens to late twenties.
Back then, I wished I had a manual or book with frame of references I could peruse for answers. Unfortunately, for me there was none. Unlike most young women, I did not have a strong mother figure of whom I could seek good counsel with.
Anyhow, I prevailed in my own time and manner. After years of diligently writing my blog, the feedback is rolling in and I am sensing that the general consensus is that a good percentage of people feel that I made bad decisions.
Although I thought I was diligent in detailing that during my crisis mode the decisions that were available to me were not varied and not from A-Z. They basically were right or left. Right meant you could take a chance but there are dire pitfalls, while left meant, my life would have imploded and there probably would be no coming back.
Given the choices, I often opted for right, praying and a-hoping that God would bring me through the other end unscathed and intact. I do not expect anyone to understand my journey. I know that many of the perils I have been through, a great deal of persons including my critics would not have survived.
A few of the comments entailed deep criticisms about me moving to Florida. I believe I also made it clear why it became necessary for me to move to Florida. However, I will get as blunt as possible since I may have glossed over a few matters.
To me, Florida was not all bad. It was the place that I healed my anorexia and emotional trauma that had accumulated all throughout my twenties. Let me explain.
When I was living in New York City in the 90’s it was a very prejudiced town. All people had to see was a hint of color and they freaked out. I would get harassed constantly, at my living quarters, at work, and even when I went shopping.
I could not do ANYTHING without people following me or harassing me. It became unbearable since almost every day in my life I was agitated from telling people where to shove it. After a bit, battling takes a toll on you. I started feeling as if my nerves were frazzled. I had become emotionally frail.
I needed to retreat to a place that was quiet and slow paced so I could listen to my inner wants, needs and desires. The rat race and divisive nature of city living, had gotten to me. It felt as if every little thing I tried to do was a battle.
I was working two jobs to make ends meet and at times I still came up short. Life felt impossible no matter how tenacious I would be. If I had a normal parental situation, I could have moved back home for a bit and regrouped.
But Mickey, Minnie and I were barely on speaking terms. Minnie had made it quite clear she did not want me around. Therefore, no matter what I was going through they were not a respite for me.
I had been running my whole life and it just seemed par for the course to run again except this time I was escaping to more beautiful surroundings. I could not have foreseen all the perilous situations that unfolded.
I did note though, that for the first two years while I lived in Florida anonymously giving very little information to persons of the Republic my exact whereabouts, I was drama-free. My issues began once my address was leaked.
After being discovered, all hell broke loose. My relationship took on a stealth tone. I had to be more mysterious about my comings and goings as I sensed I was being watched and followed. It was during this time my series of misadventures occurred.
While I lived in Florida, I met some very dynamic and astute persons who understood the culmination of my life. Some were instrumental in giving me sound advice that has served me well even today.
As I may have mentioned before, certain cites in Florida are Dianetics towns, or mystical if you will, so individuals are not always as simple as they appear to be. At times without explaining the histrionics I was going through there were folks who instinctively knew my plight.
In some ways, I felt if I had maintained my privacy, I would have worked out the growing pains of moving to a new city. Eventually, I would have settled in nicely. The bottom line was that there were folks from the Republic of Lena and King Cole’s camp (the biological father and family) that did not want me in Florida. They felt I would steal their thunder.
I do not expect anyone to understand the choices I made. I have reflected over a period of time and know beyond the shadow of a doubt it was the right decision for me at that point in my life. What I do regret is coming back to New York. For me, New York is not the same nor is my family. These findings have made me incredibly sad.
I have found that no one can truly understand another person’s reasons for doing things until they have been in the same or a similar situation. It is the age old cliche of “being able to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes”.
In life, we survive according to the coping mechanisms, tools and skills we utilize while going through chaos. Considering the odds, and all the things that could have gone horribly wrong, I am grateful that God watched over me and brought me through drug-free.
The local gentry will notice what a monster you have become but they seldom recognize the reasons that have taken you beyond your human capacity.
Fighting For My Life Memoir 