~The disappearance of Layla Rayne~

Layla Rayne filled a room with her smile. She was tough like her parents and you could tell she would choose to live her life exactly the way she entered this world on her own terms.

Tina decided to get her labor induced when she discovered her OB/GYN was leaving on vacation right after her due date so two days before she made an appointment with her doctor to welcome her baby girl. But little Miss Layla had other plans & after 36 hours of excruciating labor absolutely nothing happened.

Doctor Bryan walked in with the bad news. There is nothing I could possibly physically do to make you physically have this baby today. I'll be back in two weeks if nothing happens while I'm gone we can come back and try it again. In the mean time I will let my partner know to be on stand by just in case. Don't worry you'll be in good hands.

As soon as Doctor Bryan walked out Tina couldn't help but to let her tears flow. Eric held Tina in his arms trying to console her. Baby as long as you and the baby are okay that's all that matters to me. We will just have to wait a few more days to meet our princess that's all. No big deal. Tina started to get up and get dress as she walked into the restroom she noticed there was blood dripping down her legs. At that same moment a nurse walked in and  Eric pointed it out to the nurse. Oh that's probably from the doctor taking out the medicine from being induced. It's fine.

But as Tina began to put on her clothes. Bam! A contraction hits her out of no where. From nothing to 100 in five minutes. Eric had to run back out and caught the nurse walking down the hallway. By the time Eric got back to the room Tina was punching on the wall ready to fuck some shit up.

The nurse tells Tina I just got your doctor she will be here in 45 minutes Tina just laughed and said this baby ain't waiting no 45 minutes. Luckily the doctor arrived much sooner. Tina's doctor said whenever you're ready lay down and push. By the time Tina laid down and placed her feet inside those ice cold stirrups Layla's head was already sticking out. Doctor Bryan was in shock! I can't believe this!!! Alright Tina just push whenever you can. Three hard pushes and baby Layla had entered the world on her own time. 

Tina was so relieved and so excited she was a mommy of a beautiful healthy baby girl. 

Layla!! Yes mama what are you doing out there? Oh nothing mommy just playing with my dolls. Ok well you have to come back in soon it's going to get dark. Awww do I have too? Yes you do. Okkkk mama. Tina decided to give Layla about another 15 minutes while she took a load of wash out of the machine. She felt it didn't take longer than five minutes when she went to the back yard to check on her and didn't see Layla where she left her. 

Layla!!! Layla!! Where did you go sweety? The yard wasn't that big there would be any hiding spots. So Tina ran towards the side fence leading out to the driveway. The fence was open. Tina could feel her heart jumping right out of her chest. She was screaming Layla's name out the top of her lungs neighbors started coming out of their homes too see what was going on and there was no sight of Layla. Tina ran up and down the street calling Layla's name and nothing no cars, no dolls, no Layla. 

What if we lived in a world where people just always said what they were thinking? If everyone decided to move forward with all of their desires and goals. I made a vow to myself back in January when God answered my prayer. I cried my eyes out inside of a bathroom stall at work and begged God to please give me a sign and the next day I was laid off from my job of almost six years.
I told myself I would no longer live like a robot. I want to love and learn to bask in every experience of my life. The good, the bad and the whatever the fuck.

But something has crippled me frozen and I'm still trying to make sense of all this. I recently started to resell some items I have in my closet and research a few other items to being in multiple incomes

I had a dream the other day with London. This dream, no more like a nightmare was so intense it literally woke me up with my heart beating out of my chest. I'm not going to give details because I've decided to make a story out of it.

A long time ago a strange woman came up to me standing online at Starbucks, she told me I have the gift of dreams. Immediately I brushed her off but lately I'm inclined to re-visit this memory. It's possible she is right. Maybe the answers are all in my dreams.

The house on Beach Avenue

Sitting on the bed chit chatting with my little sister, my aunt , grandmother  & my cousin about everyday bullshit, like we normally would, cracking jokes and of course gossiping about every or anyone we could possibly think of. This is what we happened during my sister's and I judge appointed every other weekend visits with my father. Though we never really spent time with him nor did we really care too it was all about seeing my cousin who lived with my grandmother. My dad was too busy with his own drug addicted life style to be bothered with two little confused girls.

Before you know it silence rung heavy once the door flew open & it was daddy with his new chick who happens to be the daughter of my childhood babysitter. She babysat us when my parents were still married and I absolutely adored her. She was a Spanish speaking, heavy set woman with smooth caramel complexion extremely religious woman and her door was always open to any and every lost individual in Castle Hill Projects. She had a heart filled with gold until the very day she passed away. I was shocked to find out her husband was an addict and it fucked me up even more to hear how she died. I miss her so much. She would talk to me in Spanish and I would respond in English. Everyone would make fun of me when I did so I refused and I never really tried to learn. Everyday she sat by the window in her kitchen and asked me to comb her long black hair. I would pretend I was a hair stylist. I would get the brush, blow dryer and my fingers were little fake scissors. She loved every minute of it. So did I. She would tried to speak to me in English joking around calling herself beautiful and I would crack up laughing.

But her daughter was the complete opposite loud, foul mouthed and just read seduction all over. During hot summer nights you would not catch her without a pair of high heels, super tight shirt, no bra and a pair of tiny ass shorts that I would now call coochie cutters where you would see the bottom of her but cheeks sticking out. I was so intrigued by her. Her confidence had me mesmerized the very first day I met her. Little did I know sooner than later she would become my stepmother.

 "Cion mami, que hace! "Nada aqui mijo hablando con los muchachas" "Ok mami me voy abajo llama me si necesitio." "Esta bien mijo" My grandmother was the super of a three floor house on Beach Avenue in the Bronx and in the basement were three furnished rooms. After my parents broke up my father decided to rent one of the rooms. He would go upstairs to eat in my grandmother's house and go right back down to his room.

Once my father walked out my grandmother noticed sadness creeping on to my face. I was holding back my tears so tightly and for so many different reasons. I was hurt but most of all confused. It felt like he just didn't want the responsibility of having a daughter let alone two. This man I adored so dearly would begin to act like we did not exist. My grandmother reached out and hugged me, looked right into my suffering eyes & began to say "no te precupre mi Amor si algo te pasa mi Casa es Siempre esta abreta para ti".

But come to find out over 20 years later that was never really the case.

Sometimes when I go swimming I get this shortness of breath inside my chest. It maybe a strong possibility of overworking the lungs.  But it was a familiar feeling when my dad's body was being carried out of that funeral home on Westchester Ave. That same shortness of breath ran throughout my entire body. An overwhelming thought came across and I couldn't believe what was happening. I would never get the opportunity to speak with my father. We would never get the chance to clear the air and I would never see him again. I never found my voice even as an adult when it came to my issues with my him. Now I'm grieving and trying to figure out all my frustrations and where we went wrong on my own.

On January 2nd, I'll never forget the call. I could tell my sister was crying and struggling to get the words out. "Trace dad died." Just like that sitting at my desk in my office wondering what the fuck I'm suppose to do with this information. Although we already knew he was suffering from depression and sick with a heart condition. It still gave me a shock of numbness.

Both my sisters kept trying to reach out to him. We heard so many different stories, he was being taken advantage, physically abused, getting high again and suffering from a deep depression. We were told he had made comments he was tired and ready to go with the lord. My dad suffered from a bad heart condition, he had two heart attacks, had an open heart surgery and he was supposed to take meds everyday. That did not happen. His first lie was he couldn't afford the medicine so my sister offered to pay he refused. Then she approached him about getting high again and asked him about his comments saying he was fed up and wanted to die. He denied everything. There was a point when he just stopped taking calls. I kept telling my sisters I would try to reach out. I kept convincing myself that I would call but I never did.

When I got the call on January 2nd all I could think about is I fucked up. I convinced myself I contributed to his depression by shutting him out and some how I was a huge part of his downfall. But the truth is he always suffered from depression which is one of the reasons he started getting high in the first place. I remember clear as day he says someone getting high on drugs is committing suicide slowly. But I believe his last marriage is what did him in. His ex wife and the mother of his youngest daughter kept my little sister her away from my dad. Until this day she keeps her away from all of us. I understand they had their problems but what the fuck does that have to do with the other brothers and sisters. She's just a real controlling bitch.

For my father's wake she requested to have a private viewing for her and my little sister. But my My grandmother wasn't having it and blames her for my father's death. She told her there will not be a private viewing and you are not welcomed. My granddaughter has every right to say goodbye to her father but you cannot come to the viewing. And just like that they were both a no show. As a mother I don't think I would ever take the chance away from my child to say goodbye to someone they cared so deeply about. I know my little sister had a strong bond with my dad. But her mom always has the need to get her way.

His ex wife is also a big part of why I stopped speaking to my father. You see I forgave him for all the years he was on the street getting high, I was willing to move forward after he abandoned us throughout those years but it was the abandonment after his recovery that I couldn't let go. He came out of prison, asked for forgiveness then basically disappeared again. He got custody of my younger sister and brother from foster care, got married and had another daughter. They went on vacations together, my full sibling sister and I were never invited. We were forgotten on the holidays and even our birthdays. I convinced myself I didn't give a fuck but every once in a while I picked up the phone to spend time with him or talk with him. There were times I left voicemails and he would he never got the messages. Which to me meant his ex was deleting them. I don't recall the feelings ever being reciprocated and I could never approach him on anything because he was always right or I was making a big deal out of nothing. But somehow in the end I always ended up hurt and disappointed. After a few tries I gave up, I was tired of feeling like I was forcing myself into his life and feeling like a I didn't belong. I was getting annoyed with the non existent birthday or holiday calls. So I convinced myself fuck this I don't need him.

Our relationship was never the same. Our conversations were short and always awkward.  Whenever I was around him my mind was always running a mile a minute but never not once said a word. I was left with so any questions, so many things left unsaid. Then when he died I was consumed with guilt and regret. I cried myself to sleep for so many days. I blamed myself because I never made that one phone call that could have possibly saved his life.

Introduction to holding myself accountable

Lately I've been trying to figure out what is my purpose. My true, honest to God lifetime purpose. Is there even such a thing? Something to make me stop wanting more for myself. 

Growing up I always wrote in journals to deal with emotions. I would release it all on a piece of paper. Trying to get rid of that energy tearing my insides apart. I had too. It was the only way I could hide the fucked up mental hell I was experiencing. 

As a young girl I didn't think anyone would understand and would think I was nuts. That's what people did back then, hide things. I felt lost. I felt alone. I felt worthless. I couldn't understand why I was so unhappy all the time. Especially during times when nothing traumatic was even happening. I remember talking to myself in the mirror pulling out my hair, telling myself no one loves me and just hating myself for even being born. I think I was 7 years old! 

Because of that I tell my babies I love them every chance I get. I want to make sure they know and always feel loved. Just in case there is a hint of doubt in their little growing minds they feel nothing but love from their mother. God has given me two babies to show me I can still have good in my life and  I can still have happiness. Even on my darkest of of days. 

Yes there are times I'll have a strong sense of shame. I guess you can call that years of learned behavior. 

What occurred to me is I probably don't have one purpose. My purpose is to bring awareness. My purpose is to be a mother. My purpose is to teach ME selfless love does exist in this fucked up world. My purpose is to show the next young lady everything she's feeling is normal after being violated. There is absolutely nothing wrong with feeling anger, confusion or even being silenced by the same people who should have protected me. My purpose is to tell my story.

My Precious Son

11-4-14

Hello my precious son,

 

We are going through another transition my love. But please believe anything & everything I do is to give you a better life. To make sure you have a wonderful childhood. I apologize in advance for the times I make you upset and all the mistakes I make.

 

My promise to you is all my doings will always be with the best intentions.

 

You and your sister are what matters the most.

 

I want to be a parent that encourages you to strive for the best and stay the best possible human being you can be. Stay strong and continue to chase no not chase but to live, live your dreams my hero.

 

You are my Angel in every sense of the word before you became my light my world was full of darkness. You taught me how to love, how to live and be a kid again.

 

I live through you and will continue my goal to make you a happy, extraordinary, young man. 

 

Love mama....

My thoughts on depression

Thoughts on depression

 

Depression is similar to that suffocating feeling being stuck at the bottom of a hole & seeing a light on top. You know that saying? The light at the end of the tunnel. Yeah almost like that except in a tunnel you can easily walk from one end to another. At the bottom of this hole you have to struggle to get to the top. You have to use all of your strength mentally and physically by using your arms and legs in order to see that light. This is what I call them an episode....it usually lasts about two to three days for me. But it takes a toll on me and especially my babies.

 

I sit in a mental dark space. I don't want to play, I don't want to talk I just want to lay there and stare at nothing because that's what I'm feeling...nothing. On occasion my brain will tell my heart it's just a few days Tracy then you'll be back to normal in no time.

Meanwhile it's my Little ones who have no idea what's happening.

 

Why are you so upset mommy? Because something so small as cooking dinner seems like a huge task and almost impossible to get through. So the kitchen stays dirty and the laundry remains undone.

 

Day 1 "Angel please can we just be quiet for a little while?" "Ok mommy I'm sorry."

 

While I begin to hate myself standing over a hot stove, tears streaming down my face trying my hardest to keep calm all while making an effort to pull myself out of darkness. Climbing & gnawing on the side of each wall digging out of the hole.  So I can get through this bullshit as soon as possible. But I'm not even halfway there.

 

Day 2 Angel why don't you get on the iPad for a little while until it's time to eat?" Ok mommy!

 

I could see my babies across the room. My heart wants to play, hug and kiss them but I'm emotionally paralyzed and can't move. Just one more day I think to myself...have to fight through this. 

 

My heart breaks they don't deserve a mom like me, they deserve better.

 

Day 3 the feelings are coming back to life & I'm starting to feel normal again. But the guilt is still there. So I Try my hardest to make it up to them. Because my heart when it's working properly belongs to them. Every day I fight this, every day I wake up & choose to live a productive life because of them.

 

Day 4 Finally in a much better mood.

 

But I can't help to think what if? What if one day an episode doesn't end? What if my feelings never get back to normal? What if I just decide one day to give up? What if I get tired of fighting my depression like my dad did? He just gave up made peace with God and was ready for Heaven despite his children, despite his grandchildren, despite how many people loved him. When I'm depressed I can be surrounded by so much love yet still feel alone in a mental prison. I'm terrified that one day something may push me over the edge making it impossible to be normal again.