My Pain Is My Legacy: Broken but Not Damage

2013 Alexandria Nolan. All rights reserved.

Portrait is original art by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 9/17/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1214-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1213-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-1215-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013915222

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

A letter to the hurt, and the curious too

About the Author

For we are still the children of our past, just a year older.

This book is dedicated to the following:

Primarily God, for sustaining me and giving me courage to get through every obstacle set in front of me.

I want to thank everyone that hurt me, because through the pain, I have become stronger, wiser, and open-minded. I have become a woman not afraid to tackle anything or anyone.

I want to dedicate this book to all the children who are hurt, or adults who sustained a lot. I want you to know I hear you, I feel you, and I love you.

To Oprah Winfrey—for being my number #1 inspiration. You pushed me when you didn’t even know you were. Your character alone means so much to me. Your story, your strength, and your journey are the light that leads me to success.

To my children—for being God’s gift to me and showing me unconditional love. You showed me I had another chance to live life the right way through you.

To my mate—for encouraging me to go forward

And finally yet importantly, to all my true friends and family members—you know who you are. Thanks for believing in me.

Introduction

At the beginning of this book, I was a thirty-one-year-old single woman and mother. By the end of this book, I am hoping to be an accomplished writer, through with school, and at peace with my inner self.

I have suppressed my inner self for so many years, and now I am ready to let go and let the words flow. I started to write this book before, but I could not quite get it. At this moment in my life, I am discovering peace, and who I am. I am no longer afraid of my inner self or speaking the truth. I am now ready to break down the walls that have darkened my path and shine through.

I know now that people have not because they want not. I want success, so I will go get it. It is now up to me. My life has not been a fairy tale. It has been kind of like a horror movie with a twist. There have been PG-13 rated sections, X-rated sections, and G-rated sections, but you will read and feel it all. So get prepared to share my world. I do not care about hurting anyone’s feelings, because I been hurting for over twenty years.

I will now break through the prison walls of my pain. As I write, I am writing off the top of my head. Freedom of speech is beautiful. With so much on TV being reality-based, I guess my book should interest a lot of people because it will be a reality-based book. I will be writing on a day-to-day basis or when I find the time. You all will go through my self-discovery with me.

It is a privilege to have you find an interest in my story, so follow me on my path of self-development, and please learn as you move along.

Let us start with a prayer: Dear God, in the name of the Son, the Father, and the Holy Ghost, in the name of Jesus Christ, please touch me as I write. Allow me to deliver my story in a unique and sufficient way. Please touch the readers and guide me on my path to success.

Chapter 1

My eyes have seen a lot, from light to dark to shades of gray,

from happiness to sadness to just living day by day,

yet my eyes shine so bright awaiting the day

Where the sun will have to wear shades because it has outdone the sunray.

Here I go starting to write again. Where do I find the words? I have been stuck within myself for so long, I feel like I am missing. Who will gain from the story I have to tell?

Where will it land me emotionally once I allow the surface of my past to unfold? I sometimes feel like a lost soul with no place to go except deep within myself.

A person can hurt the flesh, but he or she cannot take the soul. When I leave the world, I want my soul to live on and my legacy to outweigh my pain.

I guess a purpose so strong is what plays a major part in why I have stayed functionally sane for so long. The only explosion I want in my life is the one where my talent explodes. So that is where my story will begin from my soul.

Today is Tuesday, November 17, 2009, two days from my thirty-first birthday and the first day of the rest of my life. I decided that the other day. Funny how when you look back at your past thoughts for just a second, you only then realize how so much of your life has changed. Well, at least mine has.

I am about to go outside my home and write, while my day-care children are resting.

Writing for me is therapeutic. It allows me to express my deepest emotions without being judged. I love how I can go in a space and console myself with words that flow from my soul. Over the years, writing has become my best friend.

My name is Alex. I am currently the owner of a day care business. I have been running my business for over twelve years now. I enjoy my job and the many children’s lives I help to make a difference in. I am now in the position where I want more. I am ready to get on to the next level and grow in my field. My field can get challenging at times, but nothing is more challenging than my life. Hmmm, cut your phone off, get comfortable on the couch, grab a soda, and let me tell you my story.

At this moment, I am a thirty-one-year-old woman, living in the metropolitan area of Washington DC. For those who are unaware of where that is, I live in the DMV, about fifteen minutes from Washington DC, close to Virginia and near Maryland. You know about Washington DC, right? The nation’s capital, that is my hometown, but to me, it is not a town to write home about. I have been here my whole life. At this point, I am ready to move. Aside from my grandmother and my job, there is nothing keeping me here. My children can go to whatever school I choose if I move. Oh, sorry, I didn’t mention I have three beautiful children.

Yes, I am thirty-one years old with a fourteen-year-old. I’ve heard it before, but look, I did not allow my age to stop me from being a good parent. I never planned to have children that young. And I definitely never planned to have children by the person I once looked up to as a role model.

When I was young, it seemed like trouble just followed me everywhere. I kind of felt like Precious from the movie my kids and I went to see on Saturday. Seeing that movie gave me more motivation to write—to open my mouth and tell my story, paying no attention to whom I might hurt.

I was always trying to protect everyone’s feelings ever since I was a child, but no one ever protected me. Even when the state got involved, you know Child Protective Services they didn’t protect me. They kept sending me to more family members, who continued to abuse and harm me in ways that affect my life today.

I know my views on men and my hate toward the species that I love so much have a lot to do with what they did to me, right down to my father, who was a drug addict and did not even recognize me.

I still remember that day as if it were yesterday. I think I was about ten years old, and my mother either needed money or she was driving in the area. Whatever the reason may be, we stopped at my father’s crack house in the southeast part of DC.

I do not even know why she went there, because I knew he was on drugs and I was very embarrassed by the sight of him from when I saw him a couple years before.

We were sitting in my mom’s gold 1990-something Toyota Camry, and my father came around the corner.

As we were sitting there, I started to observe the area.

It was full of crackheads. The house was a mess. There were many children all around the house. The woman he was living with was a crackhead, and she and my father had two of her six kids together. That made me have two little sisters, one born addicted to crack.

After seeing this sight, even though I did not have a father growing up, I was happy I did not. I believe this would have hurt me more. I could not imagine having to hide my VCR or living as my little sisters were.

All of a sudden, my father appeared at my right side window. He looked a mess.

I was thinking, Mommy, tell me this isn’t my daddy. You were joking, right? This is just another crackhead passing through, right?

Tears were boiling inside of me, and I felt so empty inside.

Alex, Alex, he said as he started to knock on the car window.

The thing about it is, I was sitting on the other side of my little sister, who was six years old. She started to scream like she saw a monster—well; by the looks of it he sure did look like one.

My mother intervened and said, Alex is on the other side. You don’t even know your own child.

Good, I thought. If he does not know me, if I ever see him in the street, I won’t have to claim him.

Hold up—it is pickup time at my day care, and the parents are coming. I am so hungry. I have some black-eyed peas in the slow cooker that I bought and have not put to use till now.

My son keeps running up the steps to get ready for his grandmother’s house. He calls her G’ma. Even though that woman can get under my skin, I truly appreciate her for being there for my son. She even helps from time to time with my girls, unlike my mom. It feels good to get help with one of my children’s fathers and his family.

The girls’ father, Marsh, who was my first ex-husband, is a sorry case. He even had the nerve to go and have another baby after twelve years two weeks ago. That made six girls for him—what a sorry excuse he is for a father.

What makes it worse is he’s always around someone else’s children, and he always has many little kids following behind him. I remember the times the little kids used to knock on my door and ask if Marsh could come out and play. Call me crazy, but that is strange. As soon as I was able to leave, I did.

Marsh had a lot with him. I mean, the guy was married to a fifteen-year-old girl who was also his fourth cousin, and he was twenty-three. As I look back as a grown woman, I get angry how no one cared enough to prevent all that I endured.

I used to ask myself why I suffered so much pain at such a young age. I now know that God picks certain people to live certain lives due to their strength and endurance, and I am one of those people.

It was the end of my day, and I was getting prepared to go to school. Yes, I am currently enrolled in college. I am studying criminal justice. I plan to use my degree to further my child-care business, and maybe expand my PI career.

Yes, I am a private investigator as well. That came about from an experience I had with my ex Tim; I go to court next month, hopefully on the eighteenth, to finalize that situation.

Well, that is a completely different story. We’ll get to that one soon.

As I am sitting on the bottom of my steps daydreaming and waiting for my last day-care parents to arrive, the movie Precious pops up in my head.

Seeing that movie on Saturday saddened me, along with strengthening me. Precious had her whole present and future dictated to her, and even though I had my past dictated, I never realized how it still played a major part in my present until now.

It hurts me to know that I am still letting men hurt me. There are no harsh feelings to the few good men out there, but I am talking about the souls of the men who I now realize are also hurt.

In the area I live, there are only a few good men, and I am starting to think I need to move to another state, but I hear it is everywhere so maybe I need to move to another continent. I mean, around this area, no one has values. Women think it is normal to have baby daddies and work long hours with no father figure to help raise the children. Men think it a sport to gather up woman like they’re in an auction. It is sick these days. It seems like my children will endure even worse situations unless we as people raise the upcoming generation with values. Well, don’t get me preaching.

Well, it is officially one day away from my thirty-first birthday, Wednesday, November 18, 2009. After my last child left yesterday, I went to school. My son’s grandmother came and got him; she even kept my middle daughter overnight. My middle daughter is practicing at Southern High School. I have no way of getting her there. My baby girl is enrolled in a performing arts school; her major is drama. That little girl has so much talent.

I just wish I had someone else to help me with my girls. Their future suffers because I am not able to participate in helping them get to practices or different events because I either have to work or