Overwhelming Journey

I felt a sudden rush of heat go through my body. I had just eaten lunch so I didn’t think anything of it. I continued to type at my desk and all of a sudden I felt dizzy. My body heat was rising. I stood up and walked to the office next to me and ask my supervisor if I could take a breather. I went downstairs in the cool air, took some deep breaths and tried to calm myself down but it wasn’t working. I stayed for a little longer to ease my mind. I was freaking out because this had never happened to me. However, there was work that needed to be done. I was getting ready for the Gala at my job and I had no time for this. I went back to the 38^th floor, sat down in my chair turned to my computer and with the strike of a key I felt the rush again.

I felt so conflicted but I was in tears and asked to go home. There was no way I could stay. I had only been at the job for 6 weeks and already I couldn’t perform my duties. So I drove myself home which was an hour and a half drive dizzy. I laid down when I got home. Maybe I was just tired and needed some rest. So I slept and then woke up to my mom and fiancé surrounding me and asked how I was feeling and I was still dizzy. It was the feeling ever. So I slept through the night and when I woke up the next morning my whole world turned upside down. I started shaking and convulsing and it was out of my control.  I was having a seizure. My history of seizures was non-existent. I was scared and I didn’t know what to do. My fiancé was too. I called my family nurse and told her what was happening. She told me to take an aspirin, drink some water and try some caffeine. I got off the phone and my fiancé gave me all of these things that she recommended and took them. I laid down to relax and I had the longest seizure ever. I wouldn’t stop and I couldn’t stop myself. I wasn’t in control. There was nothing I could control.

We rushed to the E.R. I was sitting in the car and began to cry. I was being comforted by my fiancé Devante who was telling me everything would be ok. I was convulsing throughout the car ride to the ER. A few minutes later, he started to call my name and I didn’t respond. I could hear his words but I couldn’t respond. Soon my body lay limp as I say in my seat. I could tell he was freaked out but my whole body was out of control. It was one of the scariest moments on my life. I ‘m sure it was scary for him too.  

When I finally got into the room, I remember Devante holding my hand with tears in his eyes saying that he didn’t want anything to happen to me. I knew he was scared. So was I. They hooked me up to machines and I took millions of test. The doctor came in and asked what I was feeling. One side of my face was completely numb and the other side I just had pain. After all of the test, they found nothing. Absolutely nothing. I left with two prescriptions to help with my numbness. That was it. I was so upset and confused. I was having seizures and I couldn’t control it. You mean to tell me there’s nothing wrong with me? Why didn’t the doctors find anything? I was in disbelief. But before I was released, the nurse on staff asked me a question. A question that I was not ready to be asked or even thought would cause this much havoc in my life. She said, “Has anything significant happened in your life recently?” I replied, “Yes, my dad passed away.” She then let me know that it was possible for me to have pseudo-seizures and that sometimes things like this happen when there are significant changes in your life. Still, I didn’t think anything of it. I mean why in world would my body react that way from my dad passing away?

After leaving the hospital, I felt no relief.  I was confused and disoriented; afraid that it would continue to happen and it did. It happened often. All the time matter a fact. I found myself in the ER again. Only this time, I was going in and out of consciousness. I was driving and all of a sudden I noticed myself closing my eyes at the wheel. I called Devante and said, I think something is wrong and then I stopped talking. Again, I could hear him but I couldn’t respond. He told me to pull over but I was super close to his house so I didn’t want to stop. In fact, we were on our way to counseling appointment in the next 30 minutes. I just stayed on the phone with him and talked to him when I could. When I got to his house, I continued to go in and out of conscious. I would be holding a conversation and suddenly stop and be slumped over. It was terrible. I found myself at the hospital again and the same thing happened.

When I left this time, we had to make a decision about whether or not I should continue to work and that was one of the hardest decisions ever. I was 25 years old. I was getting married in October, I had just quit one job and got a new one working in Seattle and was getting paid way more than ever. I didn’t want to leave but I had no options really. I literally could not function or give the company what it needed. I was also putting myself at risk because it was an hour and half drive from where I lived and I rode the bus. It sucked! I felt worthless. I wasn’t giving anything to the world; I was just taking away from everyone and couldn’t contribute to anything or anyone. I felt like my life came crashing down all in an instant. I was just a burden to anyone and everyone around me. No one should have to take care of me. I was grown. It was the worst feeling ever having to ask for money. Most days, I just sat at home, watched T.V or sat in silence. I could hear secret murmurs from my family and Devante’s family looking down on me. You weakling. Making my son taking care of you. You’re faking it. There’s nothing wrong with you. Suck it up. These kids are so weak these days. We used to be able to handle everything. Those are the words I heard around me. No one ever said them, but it’s what I felt.

Then one day, I just felt like I could no longer take it anymore, I was sitting in my bed alone around 2 in the morning ready to end it all. I could barely sleep nowadays and I just wanted to rest. I was so angry. I was sitting there pondering if life was really worth it. No one would care if I left anyway. I’m just taking away from everyone. I’m on Medicare. I have no job and no purpose. I live with my mom. My family is messed up and so am I. I have no reason to be here. That night, I made the decision to take my life once and for all. So I decided to write.

Here is the letter I began to write

I am sorry I am so weak and that I can no longer be a part of your lives. I can’t handle my life anymore. I think the world may be better without me. I’m not strong enough to be the daughter, granddaughter, sister, wife or mother I need to be. I hope everyone knows I love them and that my intentions aren’t to hurt anyone. But I’m not good enough to be here. I have ruined my life and so many others. I’ve tried my hardest to hold on but I can’t anymore.

            When I wrote the word anymore, I immediately put my pencil down and heard a voice inside of me tell me to stop. You’re not going anywhere. It’s not time for you to go. I just cried and cried until I cried myself to sleep. I didn’t call anyone. No one knew but me and apparently God. I just wanted the pain to go away. This moment, even though it was literally the lowest place of my life, showed me that God was with me. God is always with us. We can feel like the lowest of the low. That we aren’t worth it and God would say you’re okay. I’m with you. I’m in your corner fighting for and with you. You don’t have to leave this way. He has so much in store for us that we don’t even know.

I finally told Devante what happened. I was afraid and didn’t want to disturb him because he was working but he rushed over to see what happened and what was going on. He was the only one I could tell because he was the only one I felt fully supported by. He prayed for me and was concerned for me. And he’s still that today for me. Honestly, I have no idea why Devante stayed. I wasn’t giving anything to him. I felt like I was sucking the life out of him. But, I can say he was the only person I knew I could count on. He took time to understand me more than my family more than anyone. Little did I know this was time that we were creating our own little family. I was learning that I could trust him in bad times and that he wouldn’t just up and leave when it got hard. We weren’t married yet but we were becoming one.  

Now, almost two years later, I am able to give life to someone else. I can’t believe it. It was a surprise for sure and I had times where I was like I don’t know if I can do this but the miracle of it all is that there is more joy in life. Had I ended it then everything then, I would never have the opportunity to actually to live in this moment of producing life. I am nervous as heck about being a mother and all that means but I’m excited and honored that God is allowing me to give life in spite of the fact that I wanted to take mine. The road still isn’t easy. I still have pseudo seizures to this day but I am learning to manage it. I’m so grateful that I am here to tell my story because not everyone was able to make it through.

SPECIAL NOTE: To anyone who is dealing with depression, PTSD, anxiety, or are having suicidal thoughts, I urge you to get help. To talk to someone anyone that you can trust.  I know for a fact that I would not be here if I didn’t go to counseling and find someone that would be there with me with no judgement. I am thankful that the Holy Spirit stopped me. Truth is I could have been gone and I wouldn’t be writing this if I wasn’t getting proper help and hadn’t told my husband. This was so much more than me, bigger than I could handle on my own. We are taught to be strong and let no one help you. But don’t bare these burdens on your own. There is someone who is willing to help you. I rebuke the spirit of self-deprivation for anyone that is speaking death to themselves. You are enough, there are people that love you and want you. Believe. 

Miss Pronounciation

Let's just say that maybe I get stereotyped based on my name. Girl that's a ghetto name or why would your mom name you that? Sometimes I would just get confused looks and that's just from my people. Then you have the others who say they love my name that it's beautiful and wished their name wasn't so simple but pretty those same people see my name on a resume and look past me because I just have to be black. My favorite question is "is that French?" I simply say no but my moms name is Antoinette you know like Marie Antoinette. I giggle inside though.

 I'm constantly reminded of how uncommon it is. Ant-twa-knee-qua. Yes! That's how you pronounce.
After a few years of being in school, I would simply get ready for each one of my teachers to butcher my name. I didn't really give them a chance. I would just raise my hand and say "It's Antoiniqua" and then they ask again and I would pronounce it again. It got a little better in high school but college amazed me. Somehow my professors said it exactly how it was pronounced and it was amusing, yet gratifying that I didn't get the side eye or have to say 3 times.

 Somehow I'm still the dimented black girl because I speak too proper for the name I was given. Socially confused by people who thought I'd never be able to spell my name because it was 10 letters. But so is Charolette and Clarabelle. I know my mom got slack from everyone. They probably said "how is that baby going to be able to spell her name?". I mastered it before kindergarten my darlings. My abilities have nothing to do with my name or where I should or shouldn't come from. My name is not a position or a complex it is me.

Yes my name is made up. It was made with thought, love, truth and honor. My mom wasn't thinking about me being like everyone else, she wanted me to be different. I mean who else's name is Antoiniqua. And though you may find it laughable or absurd it's more than just imagery, it's a state of mind to be different. To not always follow but to lead and follow those who are more honorable. To be unashamed and unafraid of the powerhouse.

It is true that I just introduce myself as Niqua nowadays to avoid having to go the pronouncing my name multiple times but somehow even my condensed version is confusing too. I love it though .001% of people have my name. That is AMAZING JUST LIKE ME.

Declaration of Foodependence

Declaration of Foodependence 

Food is forever! I crave it. I use it. It defines us through culture. I eat it when I'm happy, indulge when I'm sad and allow it to ease my mind when I'm angry. A handful of this, a carton of that, a teaspoon full of sugar and we're on the ground. Feeling the drunken state carbodration. 

My food habits are the butter and bread that may kill me. The struggle of pleasure as I eat and the signs of obesity are constantly at war with one another. Trying to undo the 20+ years I've spent with my best friend and love of my life is like snatching the breath out of me when I'm already weak. 

There are days when I want to eat and other times when I believe food is my enemy. My body is no longer a temple it is a house where everything is welcome. Honestly if I didn't need food to survive I would starve myself in the mastery of reducing my weight to nothing. The world has me in a uproar constantly seeking beauty in myself that I may never find. 

Don't get me wrong I shouldn't complain. I am able bodied. If I put my mind to it I can lose it and eat healthy and workout and guess what I'll be skinny. Maybe even get an endorsement for flat tummy tea. I'll be the epitome of beauty. I won't be the laughing stock of the world. The girl you made fun of. The quiet mouse too ashamed to speak because of her bodily insecurities. 

I take up too much space. Boys don't like me cuz I'm overweight. Eat your greens and count your calories and make sure you eat your protein. I overwhelm myself thinking about what my body could be if I could eat healthy consistently. Notebooks are filled with goals of losing weight; 30

Day plans and two days later I'm off the boat. Write your food down it helps. Drink this and take this pill it will be alright. 

Everyone was concerned. Parents and grandparents constantly worried about my weight. I remember the day. The day my dad suggested I lose weight and workout. That day I did my first workout tape. Jane Fonda aerobics and I was only in the first grade.  I don't blame my dad at that time I didn't know I was overweight but he did. Maybe he was ashamed maybe they all were. There was another time when I was in 1st grade I asked my baby sitter for more top ramen she joking laughed with her friend and said you don't need no more you already and stopped and said I shouldn't say that. But I was hungry. 

Your flat tummy tea endorsement is a forgery! You get tummy tucks and stuff that I can't afford. You laser your stretch marks so I can't see them. I'm jealous of a body that is my unequal. 

I still walk around ashamed. I give up and find hope and then I walk back to shame and give up again. When shame gives in, I eat my life away. This yo-yoing will never end. I am the perfect blend of rice cakes and gluten free cupcakes; almond milk and Cold

Stone Ice cream. Yep that's me. 

Maybe one day I'll be lean and mean and not stumpy frumpy cow. I don't know. Only time will tell. I should accept myself though. There's only one me. There's beauty in the way God created me. I beat myself up everyday. I look at high school pics when I thought I was fat and tell myself man I would love to back.

 I know there are people judging me now. Telling me to go to the gym, change your mindset, stop whining and complaining. That's okay too. I hope one day I can be just like you. 

Guilty by Association

 woke up from a perfect dream about a little girl named Olivia. She was my shadow at the daycare I worked at. In my dream she remembered me. She remembered my name, gave me the ultimate hug, and hung out with me for a little while. She was my little baby. I loved her sass, cuteness, and her laugh. It made me feel all warm inside. 

And then I closed my eyes again  and felt guilt. Guilt about my father. Guilty that somehow I was wrong for writing a letter that spoke all my truth. I said everything I ever wanted to tell him. Things I held in for years all in the name of mending our broken relationship. 

"If you avoid conflict to bring peace, you create a war inside of you" 

Everything was playing in my head over and over again. How 24 hours later I found out my dad died from a call my mom received asking how the kids were doing. Not knowing we didn't know. My fiancé got a call from my mom asking us to come over as soon as we could. I knew inside what happened but was unsure. She told me he was gone. That day I was a step child. It was like I was the sickness that killed him. I thought he was getting better. So did everyone else I suppose. I visited him twice in the hospital. The first time he had just finished surgery and wasn't doing so well. When he finally woke up and He saw my face his heart monitor kept beeping. The nurse kept telling him to calm down as tears rolled down his cheek. I held his hand. I was the estranged unexpected guest in his room and somehow his pride and joy at the same time. I hated seeing him like that and I cried when I got to the car. Luckily my fiancé drove. I went again and I tried to avoid his wife but she was there. I wanted to see him. I loved him. He couldn't talk he motioned a lot and had a tube down his throat. It was sad. I couldn't imagine it. Another time, I called him. I could hear the happiness by way of tears in his voice and said that I always surprise him. That he was happy to hear from me. That was the last time I would hear his voice. Through a speaker. So I thought maybe if I wrote the letter, I would be able to speak my mind.  He wouldn't have the option of defending, he would only be listening but somehow I was not thinking of everyone else. I thought of my dad and myself. The turmoil, the anguish and the love I wanted back again. It was all real. All real to me at least.

After the letter was sent, I heard from no one. Everything was quiet. But God is amazing and my sister I found out about 3 years prior sent me a text message with an update about his status. But I saw my dad fight for his life before and he made it out. He left the hospital fine. That's probably why when my sister said he wasn't doing too good I thought maybe he would fight through. He's tough. He would make it through again. 

Perhaps If I didn't write the letter, I would've been loved on and been a part of the funeral. Yet I was told that's what my dad wanted. He didn't want my brother and I  to know and he didn't care about whether we came to the funeral or not. I'm not sure if that's entirely true but if it is I came anyway because after all I did love him. Maybe If I didn't write the letter, I wouldn't have gotten evil eyes rolled at me and looks back at me from his wife and her mother at the funeral. Instead I would've gotten side hugs and words of encouragement. That day I wanted to be just like my father.  I wanted to walk up and and punch her in the face. Yes the Walker way.Yes, his first born daughter. Thrown to the side and called a coward. The one child he spent the most time with. Me. I was angry and yes I think I had every right to be. Maybe they did too. However, in great Niqua fashion and in honor of my dad and my grandmother who was crying, I just kept looking at his picture on the screen saying to myself internally: you came here for him to honor him and that's all that matters. Maybe I was hated because I told the truth. That's okay too. Maybe they didn't know the truth and were okay with the lies. Maybe they felt that it wasn't the right time. Maybe all of thee above.

"If you avoid conflict to bring peace, you create a war inside of you" 

Of course I wanted him to walk me down the aisle before I said I do. Of course I wanted him to hold my unborn babies. But not in brokenness. Not in fear that my children would have to hear broken promises as I did. Not in lies and deceit.  There was always a hole in my heart where my dad was supposed to be. People spend their whole lives wishing, hoping, wondering and even searching for their fathers. There were times he reached out and tried to make amends but still he couldn't be honest with me. He couldn't just say I messed up and I'm sorry. Everything was always swept under the rug. I really wanted to hear sorry. I didn't want to leave you. I could've done better. Just because I divorced your mother doesn't mean I divorced you. Maybe it just wasn't possible. It all hurt so bad. Not just his death but all of the things that happened in the past. I couldn't shake it, I couldn't move. 

As all those things played in my head, I cried. I wept. I wept so hard that I woke my husband. He kept asking me what was wrong and tried to console me. I just pushed him away. I didn't deserve to be held. I was a bad person. Guilt held me closer. I continued to weep, told my husband everything until I fell asleep. 

The guilt hasn't gone away but I would venture to say that one day it will. I will forgive myself. I've forgiven my dad. Every now and then he visits me in my dreams and it makes me happy.

I didn't honor my father when he was alive but now that he is gone I can honor him now. I can attach the broken pieces with siblings I didn't know I had and let them know about him. Honor him by singing which is a great gift he passed down to me. Although no one is given a parent hand book, I can change the way I raise my children and learn from both of my parents mistakes. 

God sometimes teaches us through experience. My dads death was a lesson I am still learning. I don't regret writing the letter despite the the hurt and friction it may have caused. The truth sometimes hurts but it always sets you free. 

Guilt is a part of grieving.

Aimless Anxiousness

Everyday I am fighting to stay alive. To keep my head above water so that I don't drown in my own sorrows. The things that keep me up at night that control and console me are the things I ask God peace for. I thought maybe my plans would work just perfectly. That I would go to school, get my degree , have this great job, be debt free and then pursue everything I loved. 

Now, I'm in a predicament where it seems that sometimes nothing I do feels real or tangible. I'm just making ends meet to pay the bills that life has handed me. Don't get me wrong I am grateful because the grasp that held me before was almost like death and this is somewhat manageable. But somedays I really just want to breathe. 

Everyday I sit and compare myself to others wondering if my life will get any better. In the freight of the night I am scrolling and reasoning with myself saying this could be your life you just do......and the list goes on and on. I drive myself crazy thinking of the endless possibilities of what I could and should be.   I see how easy it's been for them and envy their story while only seeing a glimpse of their reality. Nothing is always quite what it seems. Even when I hear their journeys, I am  ambushed with loneliness thinking yeah but look at them now. Their journey was hard but look they're happy now. Forgetting that that happiness is fleeting and the Internet has made me think that I want the life that others live. I crave it. They have no worries, they have money and they have pursued their dream. Wanting more but giving less. Watching faith opportunities pass me by. Feeling weak, afraid and ashamed. I am not so powerful. I am clingy. I have attachment issues to my dream with no work to show for it. Pleading and crying asking God to take the pain away and to be free of all the things of yesterday. My soul continues to crave freedom but I am left in a puddle of rocks and sand sinking to rise no more. 

As soon as I take a breath, I release the sadness and become more anxious thinking about what I could've been. Holding on tight to the imagery of strength. Smiling while my nights are filled with shatters of fear, death and toil. I am angry and sadness won't go away. I scream, yell and throw my hands up in an adult tantrum just to get a moment of pleasure. Yet, I am released to the rocks and sand again, sinking to rise no more. 

I am worthless. I am nothing. I have nothing to give and no life to live. That's what I tell myself at night. I am anxiousness repeating itself over and over. Telling me to be paralyzed and saying I am unwanted; not releasing me to peace. I am stronger than you and I just may take you out.

There is a small whisperer who can see the end of the chapter, telling you to breathe again baby. 

BREATHE.