Unprecedented Resiliency

To some people, my life story is amazing. Amazing by means that they only see what I have accomplished on the surface, and have no idea the circumstances of the reality of which, I have built myself.

The definition by Meriam-Webster of unprecedented is: having no precedent - novel - unexampled.

Unprecedented, such a strong word in today's world, mostly associated with the Covid-19 pandemic. Unprecedented - the way no one expected the world to flip the way it did - worlds within the worlds; more specifically worlds of people, including mine.

Resiliency, such a strong word on its own, much like me, strong on my own. Strong on my own with no other choice, but to be strong. Strong and exhausted. Strong and screaming internally, but poised on the surface, enough for one to simply say, "She's resilient." They don't say, "She's screaming inside, but look at her," as if no one would be able to tell whether I'm simply happy in whatever environment I'm in, or simply tolerating it.

I struggle with anxiety. I curl inside myself; sometimes I am screaming internally. Those thoughts that race to calm down, to breathe, to manage my breathing before I start hyperventilating with hot tears that jet from my eyeballs.

How did I get to the point of resiliency if I struggle? Easy, people simply think I'm resilient.

The second Meriam-Webster definition of the word resilient: an ability to recover from or adjust easily to adversity or change.

To be honest, they do not even think I'm resilient, they truly believe I am a beautiful woman whose life is together because it looks together. The reality of being me is that I hide every emotion of loneliness, emptiness and my desire to simply be wanted, cared for and loved, into my means of pressing forward.

Three years ago, those feelings that humans desire the most, and I was so desperate to receive, were channeled into an insane amount of cocaine, which hit my nostrils until I could not inhale anymore. I would drown myself in partying, dancing, blow, and alcohol in order to cover up years of bottled emotions.

There came a point, amid me slowing coming off and away from partying, where I struggled to make ends meet. I was a mere 26, hotel front desk nights, desk-job marketing day - receiving under minimum wage pay, and night-club, tight outfits, glow-sticks up my legs and stickiness all over me by the end of the weekend nights. I was over everything and everyone.

I got out of my lease in my small-tourist beach down, packed up my car and drove to start my life over. That's what I thought. I thought I would start my life over.

I was escaping. I was escaping from my mother, who I believed hated me and may twinge into jealous antics, especially when she herself, hit the bottle. A mother who was both physically and verbally abusive.

I was escaping my little brother, who I gave up part of my childhood to help raise, not that I was missing anything because the "odd girl out" was part of my identity growing up. The court system after him left and right. I remember one day, he showed up in tears because two cops had beat him up so badly due to a rumor. No evidence, just a rumor that "had to be taken seriously." I knew the cop who did it. I got on the phone, and I screamed bloody murder.

I had written an article about that cop for the newspaper column. The newspaper column that was weekly, and it was mine. It had my name with all of the fun things to do while in town. A column I believe I lost due to my spiraling cocaine addiction and party girl antics still at the age of 25.

I was not invited to parties, or asked to hang out with anyone. I believe that's why I had fallen for the party girl lifestyle, just to feel accepted amid the brokenness of never being invited to that party or even, senior prom.

An escape to become a different person. I so desperately wanted out of the party scene, and my escape was to a new town -- an upscale lifestyle with classier places to act completely the same.

I had booked a hotel for this weekend, for a Bumble date. Ok, maybe it would be more than a date, but he texted saying he was getting back with his ex. He would have been my rebound from the guy I had been seeing, saying he was not ready for a relationship.

Now what? I deleted my dating apps, simply to re-download them.

My dad told me not to give up on dating, even though I feel like it’s a tough market to be in. I have the sincere gentlemen, but when they back out … are they sincere? I have the men who ask for nudes.

Then, while on the stair master, completely drenched from a thunderstorm, half dry from sitting in the sauna – my phone buzzed left and right. Four matches in two minutes.

Myself, calming down from an anxiety attack I had had at work. My mascara ran and dripped onto my desk. The attorney I work for blowing up my phone with the same message four different ways; via text and email.

I had left work to walk down the Baltimore Waterfront Promenade, lightning striking amid the air, the way the coolness of the river mixes with the humidity of the air. My hair whipping left and right, small pellets of rain, to gobs of rain, to a full on storm; hence my drenched hair. Thankfully, I had already cried off all of my mascara.

I work hard. I take my work seriously because I have always had to work. I have been working since the age of 14 years old. I grew up lower middle class, and I knew my education would get me somewhere.

Somewhere … in Charleston it had me under sugar daddies. In Charleston … my education had me dating an intelligent narcissistic abuser until wine got the best of me, and I tried to beat him up while wasted.

My education eventually got me to the end of a lease in a Charleston apartment. My education got me a business license for social media marketing.

Education can get your places, but healing – healing you have to do on your own.

I eventually left Charleston, working part-time with social media and working part-time as a real estate assistant.

I did, however, become sober – sober for the sake of attempting to win back someone who I should have never stayed with.

The screaming. The MIA late nights. I was a Charlestonian housewife in training, and maybe God completely intended me to go through this period for me to share my story.

Baltimore is where my heart and soul lies, simply because I can heal myself, I can heal others with my story and my impact on the city is unprecedented; unprecedented with resiliency, much like the city itself.