Y. Correa's Blog, page 13

Purging: November 30, 2017

There is a reason why I called this Blog Post "Purging". Trust me when I tell you that that's precisely what I am going to do. I indubitably need to clear my soul of this shackle and I intend on doing that today ... right here, right now.My heart has been feeling heavy for some time now; it's strange, though. You see, while my soul feels free and enlightened, my emotions are heavy and drained. Is it possible to be both spiritually enlightened and emotionally, mentally and physically downcast? I suppose so, because that is exactly how I am feeling right now.But, I am getting ahead of myself. To truly purge, I have to start from the beginning. But, the beginning is convoluted. It's a twisted string of threads, some older than others, worn and thinning, about to snap, while others are newer and still standing strong.
I know that I have to undo myself of all of the weight. Reason being, my PTSD has been raging at an all time high.
I can't sleep at night—bad dreams disturb me.
I can't be alone for too long—my thoughts asphyxiate me.
When someone does something that reminds me of the pain, it rattles me to the core—quivering nerves threaten to make me fall over.
I have been binge eating—I seek a repose from the anguish, food provides it.
Rationale fights against irrationality—neither win, it's a draw.
Focus feels like a myth or legend—something that once existed and is now gone

My personal hell is in my mind. It is the purgatory from which I am having trouble escaping.

Therefore, I purge. I expunge the restraints that want to keep me down. I let it go ... or at least try ... right now.

What I am currently dealing with is kin to a highway with many lanes all going to the same place but originating from completely different locations.
That place? My destruction.

In order to further clarify what I am getting at, I must start with the first lane ...





August of 2016 I took a job working for a nonprofit organization that helped special needs children and their families. I was passionate about this job because it hit home. Being that I am a mother of a special needs child, the idea of working for this organization appealed to me in myriad levels. Also, there was the added benefit that my son could actually be at work with me after school every day. It seemed perfect—just what he and I both needed. In my mind, I would be making money while helping in an area that spoke to my heart, and the added benefit was that I could do this with my child en tow. Not every mother has that advantage.The job proved to be a difficult one, but nevertheless, I woke up every morning—rain, sleet, or snow—and went to work because I'd convinced myself that this organization and the families it "helped" needed me. On top of that, was the fact that the organization would fall apart without me. I'd become the backbone that held everything together.Every week there was a new element of chaos that worked its way into the organization, and every week, like clockwork I would iron things out. To say that I gave MY ALL to this place would be putting it lightly. I gave MY ALL and then some . Willingly, I depleted every bit of reserved energy I had just to help this place function.I had a boss who was, in a word, horrific. This woman had no concept of common sense, business sense, etiquette, boundaries and acceptable behavior. She was the embodiment of a plebeian—no class, no ... shit, well, no nothing. How she functioned in this field was beyond my comprehension.Month after month, day after god-awful day, I trucked along; every day things got worse. The problems grew in the inner functioning of the organization with expediency and I had to sprint to keep up. Yet, I was never appreciated or commended. On the contrary, the boss always found a way of blaming me for THEIR (her and her co-operator's) mistakes. To say that I was perturbed ... well. Huh! You can only imagine. One day, it came to my attention that the organization was running out of money and layoffs were immanent. Before I knew it, like an avalanche of insanity, I was laid off along with the one and only colleague that I had any respect and love for. She and I were the hardest working individuals in that place, yet we were the first to go. I won't get into the logistics of why because if I do I will never finish this post.All of the sudden, like an unexpected punch in the gut, this enormous plight came to my attention. My ex-co-worker and I were being implicated of illegal activity towards the company. We were being accused of having disclosed private information and breaching HIPAA laws, of malicious plotting towards the organization, of defaming the owner's character, and innumerable other things that I don't care to get into.ALL! OUTRIGHT! LIES!And, the proof she claimed to have wasn't even proof. It was tidbits of correspondence that had been completely taken out of context. Truth be told, I had more reputable, substantial and tangible proof of her barbarous and unlawful acts. That is besides the point, though.The point being that I was wholly, completely, utterly and undoubtedly traumatized! This entire situation reactive my PTSD in a way that really, truly destroyed me.Next thing I know I am collecting unemployment, losing my son's Social Security Disability Benefits (which at the time was my only means of income), having to apply for food stamps (which was like pulling teeth) and fully behind on my bills. On top of it all, my health had plummeted to the point of no return.I am currently disabled. While I am attempting the process of obtaining Disability for myself, this can take six to nine months.I have YET to recover from all of the harm that this caused me, and I feel like I never will.
Before I knew it, I was being offered a job at an organization that did the same thing as the last place, doing the same job as the last place, but only offering me part time hours. The reason I accepted it was because I could work from home. With my disability getting so bad, I had no choice BUT to work from home. I've been rendered immobile.You are not going to believe me when I tell you that this place ... it's worse than the last. Now, it too is going under.
Still, I have yet to recover.
My finances are shot to shit, I have NO money, struggle every waking day with my illness, am consumed by stress, and worry every hour of the day about how I am going to pay my bills, take care of my son, pay my rent, etc ... ect ... etc!






I was a teen mom. I had my first child when I was 17-years-old and my second child when I was 19-years-old. At the age of 20 I was a single mother, working 2 jobs and going to school in order to obtain some sort of education so that I could better me and my children's lives.At that time, I was living in Florida. I'd rented a 4 bedroom house in Fort Lauderdale (which I paid for) and my parents lived with me. This seemed to be a very convenient set up as my parents could look after my kids while I worked and went to school.Whenever I got pain, I would take my check, cash it and put the entire sum of it in my mother's hands. She was in charge of paying the bills, buying the food and things of that nature. I simply did not have the time. I trusted her to do it. My trust was misplaced, to say the least.But, that is a story for another day.One night, I got home from my overnight shift as the cleaning lady in the local old-folks home to find a note tucked under my pillow. At first, I thought it was a mistake. Maybe one of the kids had put it there. Regardless, I opened it up to see what it was. The note was addressed to me. It was not a note, but a love letter.
It was a letter professing his undying love for me. It carried on to say the things he "loved about me" and how he would want just one thing from me ... "a kiss". The letter dictated that he was convinced that this kiss would prove how we were destined to be together forever. After two sides of mushy lovey-dovey stuff, I noted the signature. HE, was my father. I was rendered speechless and sick to my stomach all at once. I didn't know what to do, what to say, how to act, or even where to look. I couldn't look him in the eyes, that was for sure.I couldn't understand it. I simply could not wrap my head around it. WHY, in the name of all things holy, was MY FATHER sending ME a love letter? Torn apart, as well as discussed, I responded, and my response was short and to the point. "NO! Absolutely NOT! YOU ARE MY FATHER!" Leaving the letter under my pillow, as I was instructed to do with my reply, I carried on with my day. The following day, another note."You don't understand, Yasmin. I don't see you as my daughter. I see you as a beautiful woman. The woman I am meant to be with. The love of my life. You are it. As a matter of fact, our connection is even deeper because we share the same blood."For approximately a month, this exchange of letters went on. He insisted that we were meant to be, and I insisted that he was a sick man who needed help. That would NEVER happen.Suffice it to say that tensions rose in our living arrangement. Things got funky. He would, "Accidentally" barge into the bathroom when I was in it. Due to a broken lock there wasn't much I could do about it. He looked for every opportunity to try and grope me. It was like living with a stalker, but this stalker was your father. How do you handle that?One day, my mother stumbled upon the letters. What transpired then was like a blur, all of it going slow and fast all at the same time.She screamed, cried, hollered and carried on. My father yelled as he defended his case. I held my children as I cried. And, before I knew it, fingers were being pointed at me.  I was to blame! It was all my fault.
My relationship with my parents was never good to begin with and now it was even worse.
Since that time, my father has never given up on his dream of being with me and it's been more than 20 years. My mother still holds a grudge towards me, blaming me for stealing my father's affection. And I keep my stance.

I remember time and time again wishing, even praying, that he die. Literally. I asked God to relieve me of the burden by just taking him to heaven already. Then there were times when I prayed, asking God to change his mind and heart. None of that ever happened. With time, I grew to hate him and resent him deeply. Yet, my emotions felt conflicted because, at the end of it all, he is my father. I love my father. These paradoxical emotions persist. The effects that linger are residual tidbits of anger and resentment. They towards me and I towards them.To this day, whenever I am with someone, my father acts like a jealous child. He does and says things that make absolutely no sense and, in turn, make my life twice as hard. Whenever I am dating someone, he goes out of his way to make our lives hell. He makes snide little comments, throwing shade, whenever I am dating or in a relationship with someone. It is the most hideous, heinous behavior any father can indulge in.I moved away from Florida about three years now. I needed and wanted to be far away from my family.

This morning, he called me under the pretense of asking me if I'd heard anything from my daughter. But, what it really was, was an opportunity to ask me about my new beau. Then, he drops in a convenient, "Well, I gave you an opportunity, but you didn't want it." Once again, I am sick to my stomach. It's a putrid way to live. The bile in my throat is the disdain and disgust I have for him as a person, for the hell he's put me through and for the bond that was severed.
As I drove my best friend to work this morning before using her car to go to the food pantry, I stewed.
Pure, unadulterated, ravaging hate and pain. This was all I could feel right then and there. Hate. I HATED him so fucking much at that moment for repeatedly bringing this into my life when I never asked for it. HOW DARE HE!Then, guilt. How can a daughter hate her father? Especially when, to some degree, he has been a good father her entire life. Or, has he? I no longer know.






As if I am not going through enough with the weight of my financial situation and my father's bullshit, I get hit with yet another "mistake" by Social Security regarding my son's check. Yet another fuck up that hit's me in the gullet.
Once again, my bills are going to be late, partially paid or unpaid. I don't know how much longer I can do this. I am out of gas. I just want life to stop for a minute. For. One. Goddamned. Minute. Please, for the love of Jesus, Mary and Joseph ... let me breathe!







I had to go to the food pantry this morning to get some groceries. This makes me feel like shit. I do it because I have no choice, but I passionately hate having to. I know that it's probably a pride thing. I understand this. That by no means subtracts from me despise.







My health is on a steady decline. I was diagnosed with 3 autoimmune diseases as well as a handful of other shit. Last I counted, 8 sicknesses. It's a wonder I even get up in the morning.
There is some much more to what I am feeling and thinking about Lane 5, but I will talk about that at another time.






Impending changes are happening to our (the one I share with my bestie and son) household and while I know they are necessary and not all bad, there is a large part of me that is feeling anxious. It is because a combination of factors which I don't want to get into right now. But, the anxiety is growing exponentially. I pray that my jitters are unwarranted.


With all of that ... My biggest concern??
I need to purge lest I altogether crash.
They say ...  Well ... that remains to be seen. Sometimes, I feel like God forgot that he only made ONE of me.

Born in Darkness but Submersed in Light

Can you be Light when you were born into Darkness?
That's the question on which I've been pondering the last few days. The inquiry was inspired by a comment someone made on Facebook that stated their life as a child paved their current path, which is a dark and hopeless one.
Of course, I immediately got to thinking about my own childhood as well as my current mind state slash perspective on life.

If I were to be completely blunt, my childhood was a bucket of shit mixed with a pot of crazy, scrambled with some ratchet and unbelievable. I came from the proverbial "dysfunctional family and broken home". This was my introduction into life. Yet, while I do suffer from Clinical Depression and Anxiety as well as a dose of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, I cannot say that I see my life as being hopeless or dark—without salvation or faith. Frankly, while I am not the most religious person in the world I am indeed spiritual. Perhaps it is that which allowed me to not fall into the pits of despair. I can't say for sure.
As far back as I can remember, whilst I had my "waves" of obscurity and negative thinking, at one point or another I rose above it and walked to the light. As a matter of fact, my sense of humor was a large contributor to my outlook on life. I mean, life was hard enough, so why take things so seriously and make everything about this universal conspiracy to destroy your life?

Some time ago I endeavored to start my autobiography. As of right now, I've still not finished it but I am inclined to share a snippet with you. I think it's important for you to understand what I mean when I say that I came from hard beginnings.When I first started to write my autobiography a title came to mind, and it was a simple one ...

I suppose my aim at the time was just keep things simple and concise. What I didn't realize then was that my life has been anything but. Nevertheless, the title seemed to fit the book, so I've decided to keep it.Following is an excerpt of my autobiography, " Just Me: And All the Me's In Between ".

⧪⧪⧪ 
Copyright © Y. Correa 2017  *No part of this work can be copied or altered.*





* When you learn to supersede the obstacles, life is a journey worth taking. *
Introduction
I've spent the vast majority of my life desiring acceptance. Even when I thought I'd gotten past that, now, in true interception and a large degree of retrospect, I realize that while the urgency to want acceptance is no longer prevalent, the need remains. Curbed as it is by reason, irrationally speaking, these thoughts and sensations have become an innate, defining part of who I am and how I function.
If I'm to be completely uncensored and truthful about myself, I'm a needy woman at my core.
Not needy in the sense of wanting a man around me all the time, doting over or coddling me. Nor do I mean being a leech for attention, or a vagabond for affection. But, needy in the sense of a yearning for "just being enough".
To date, as much as I'd like to say that I know what it feels like to be enough for anything or anyone, I cannot. Etched into the fibers of my very DNA is the sensation that no matter how hard I try, my best, as great as it might be, is never sufficient to satiate the needs of those I am so adamantly trying to please.

Adding insult to injury, is when I've done my very best and the other party still finds fault with the product I deliver. Due to this, I am led to believe even more that my hypothesis is correct. “Try, try again” is an adage that I’ve become far to familiar with. The hyperbole of “you aren’t enough” lies in my translation of others’ response to my most candid attempts at pleasing them.

I yearn to be accepted, wholly and without prejudice for all the things that constitute me. The good, the bad and the ugly and everything in between. From my best virtues to my worst faults. From my cooking to my flossers—only my best friend knows what I mean. An inside joke, if you will, but true nonetheless.

My faults, though many, are only a tiny portion of who I truly am. Me ... the real me, is so much more. And, sad as it may seem, very few have delved deep enough into my heart and soul to find the hidden treasures.

This, inevitably makes me look to the past to find a single moment in time when "just me" was enough. I'm hard pressed to find such a moment.

In this, my autobiography, I will divulge every bit of who I am and pray that I am freed of judgment and seen as an inspiration to those that might be going through or have gone through similar things in their lives.

Nevertheless, personal growth comes in the most unexpected of ways, if you learn how to look at life differently—or at least try.
Chapter One

Me, the Baby

In time, I’ve learned something—a truth that some cannot see, and many reject—everyone is damaged somehow.

This is the truth of life.

Now, to quantify the damage would be like fishing for a flake of gold in the ocean. Virtually impossible, highly unlikely, and extraordinarily noxious. The danger comes from the fact that most people do not want to air their dirty laundry, therefore, getting to the heart of pain can be painful.

What there is, however, is the ability to perform at a higher level than some. To operate regardless of the impediment. Some of us are simply higher functioning. Others, not so much. Of course, all of this is contingent on the level of hardship and/or damage of the individual.

The former is the story of my life. I learned how to function highly in a counterproductive and counter-conducive environment.

From whence did my strength derive?

From the constant inner voice that told me that I needed to push forward. Period.

I’ve concluded that this does not come from choice, but from the lack thereof.

When a person is left with little to no choice, the result is strength as there is no option but to press on each and every day. The alternative would be to not. And, for a person like me, in the circumstances that life dealt me, there was no alternative.

It reminds me of a line from the movie, “The Pacifier”; life says, “It’s MY WAY, no highway option.” This sums up the entirety of my existence, methinks. What I had to learn how to do was go with the flow and make choices that would change the outcome. All of this while dealing with circumstances that in any other situation would leave an individual in a very bad place; mentally, emotionally and physically. So ...

I suppose in the grand scheme of things, I can't help but ask myself ...


Can one be born from the Darkness yet live submersed in the Light?

I would like to believe that, yes, that is possible. You see, for all of the heartache and hardships that I've endured in life I can only ever see myself  NOW (at this point in my life) as a beacon of light. I cannot sit and wallow in self-pity and self-hate any more. As a matter of fact, I refuse to. I can no longer harbor resentment to those whom have wronged me. At the end of the day, it does me no good. Do battles arise? Do I ever doubt my ideology? Do I ever question the Universe? ABSOLUTELY. I would be an all out liar if I stated otherwise.Yet, your victory lies in your viewpoint, as does your defeat.

You can have a wavering moment and still seek enlightenment. You can be momentarily bound by deception, disillusion, discomfiture, even disappointment ... but, you and only you can opt out. You can choose "to not" or "to, to".That is to say, "Not going to" or "Am going to".
I am NOT going to pity myself.I am NOT going to blame the world.I am NOT going to blame my childhood.I am NOT going to let them influence me.I am NOT going to allow that to consume me.
I AM going to succumb to negativity.I AM going to listen to what they tell me I am.I AM going to live frustrated at the things I can't change.I AM going to harbor pain over what's happened to me.I AM going to refuse to move forward in my life or transcend the unseemliness of pain.
Oh, it isn't easy! Hell, no, it isn't! But it IS possible.

I'll be quite honest with you. There are scars that will stay with you your entire life. Many of them will get nipped and reopened—they may bleed for some time. Trauma is called trauma because it hurts. It originated from the Greek word "traûma" which means wound. With time wounds can heal but scars remain.
I'll put it to you this way ...


RUB SOME COCOA BUTTER ON IT!
Cocoa butter doesn't make the scars disappear but it does make them less noticeable, a bit more comfortable to live with, and smoother than before. Plus, the pleasant smell attracts good things.

Stop blaming and start healing.
Some things linger forever, but it's up to you to use that for good or for bad.The best thing about living above the trauma is the view.

Get yourself a few free books!

Hey y'all! 
Here is a pretty great FYI for those of you who love a good book! The following titles will be available for free from November 28th, 2017 - December 3rd, 2017. Give them a look, a download and a share!
Amazon
Genre: LGBT/LGBTQIA EroticaBlurb:Winter Sensations …
Spring Overtures …
Summer Ruminations …
Fall Inhibitions …
The Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity is four seasons of discovery, lust, love and eroticism. A compilation of short stories that are sure to make you swoon in delight.
Through a collection of erotic shorts drenched in whimsical prose, Adonis Mann takes us on a trip through a thrilling and provocative year. Stimulating the reader with stories like “Tyronian Rapture”, “Prismatic Slumber” and “Metamorphosis”, Mr. Mann brings sensual delight to every season.
A jewel of an anthology for the LGBTQIA community, Syncopation of Ravishing Intensity is a must read for the lover of Erotica. Covering winter, spring, summer and fall, with one story for every month, Adonis gives you the gift of powerful diction and titillating tales.
Come, sink in to SORI. 

 
Amazon
Genre: Erotica FantasyBlurb:Erotic
Never underestimate the steam of a hot caffeinated beverage infused with the flavor of imagination. Wake up your senses while savoring “Kona”.

Experimental
A simple ad gives a curious skeptic a lot more than he was bargaining for. Check out the hair-raising experience while combing through “Tresses”.

Entertaining
Darbi has her share of bad luck. She is unexpectedly in job purgatory and has no chance of ever getting a promotion. Her online dating profile sat months without any responses. Why should she continue?

As she signed on to delete everything entirely, three responses catch her eye. All are different but each has something about them which makes Darbi want to meet all three. Ade appears to be the guy next door. Boyde looks like a supermodel. Choise looks like the rugged type.

When all is not what it seems, Darbi has concluded that her love life is mating with her job status in purgatory. Will anything come in handy to turn her luck around?

This version of “Handy” includes an epilogue, as well as Darbi speak.

Erotic, Experimental, and Entertaining—All come in Handy when experiencing a Good Release. 

 
AmazonGenre: Dark DramaBlurb:DISCLAIMER:

THIS BOOK CONTAINS ADULT MATERIAL AND IS NOT SUITABLE FOR YOUNGER AUDIENCES. 
++++
Papyrus is a small town that’s not a fan of anything different. Here we meet four long time friends. Hiphen is the observant one. Rod is the laid back one. Point is a girl that acts like one of the guys yet is a proponent of action. Simi is the leader of the squad.

When transfer Komma Plush arrives, Simi takes it upon himself to show her the ropes of a new town yet at first she is not open to it. What follows takes Simi on this journey that threatens the balance of his long term friendships. 

  Amazon
Genre: Romantic FictionBlurb:Even the moon has secrets …

Traversing the globe—from Louisiana, USA to New Zealand—on an enterprise to discover the hidden secrets of the moon, Nethanyel finds that everything may not be as it seems. Accompanied by a consequential companion named Jax, Nethanyel is taken to a place … even a time … that he would have never expected.
Set in the year 1940, is Nethanyel’s Lady Lune exploration, fate or both? 

  Amazon
Genre: Historical RomanceBlurb:The year 1585. The Anglo-Spanish War. England’s greed for Spain’s crops, land, and supplies gives birth to the inertia of intolerance on both sides. Yet, even then, Love surges forth.

MarcoAntonio, a Spanish gentleman and knight, defied all boundaries of color and culture, when setting eyes on the English lady Amaryllis. Although to others, he may be a bit reserved, he dares to lower his defenses solely for her.

Amaryllis is an English lady. One with an open heart, gentle spirit, and shining eloquence. She knew that she should not desire MarcoAntonio. Still, a love feeling so right couldn’t be so horribly wrong!

Travel with MarcoAntonio and Amaryllis as they duel with internal and external forces threatening to tear their powerful love apart. In the midst of troubles the likes of which have no compare, MarcoAntonio and Amaryllis find themselves having to fight the most unexpected of adversaries, just for the right to love each other.

Discover why their LOVE is the result of ALL things conquered! 

 
Amazon
Genre: Paranormal DramaBlurb:When Lilith fails to comply with the plans of Man and The Creator, she is punished to an existence that costs her the fruits of humanity. Every moment becomes a never ending spin cycle of memories mirroring profound loss, recalcitrant rage, and immeasurable suffering.

During a Halloween party at the Arcadia Chateau, the blue-green eyed brunette Jet leaves an impression which shatters the equilibrium of Lilith’s cloud of darkness. Is this a temporary aggravation or the start of a much needed resurrection—the fire of love in a heart iced with hurt? 

So, there y'all have it. Now, go get them while the gettings are hot. Woot!
 

Saying "Bye Felicia!" to WordPress

Okay ... so ...Here is the deal.




Maybe it's just me, but I have noticed a substantial increase in what WordPress will "no longer" do for free. And, in my own opinion, it's too damn much. I mean, if I wanted to PAY for EVERYTHING, than I would have gone with WordPress.ORG and not the free version of WordPress.Funny enough, I think I have come full circle. Here is why:I first started my writing/blogging venture utilizing Blogger but down the line opted to start using WordPress because it was "what was in". Plus, at that time, WordPress offered a lot of options that Blogger didn't and that included a wider range of readers.Now though, simply put ...THEY ARE DOING THE MOST!
And it's making me feel like that are trying to take advantage of the little people. Those struggling writers that can't even afford a gallon of milk but would be willing to make a sacrifice just to obtain some sort of exposure. Nope! Not this chick!
I'm sure it has something to do with the growing popularity of WordPress, but still. Why are you now charging double digits, somethings triple, for things you provided for free just a year ago. Come the hell on, WordPress. I ain't no sucker.Writers--unless their book has become a movie--are not rich. Shit, I sure as hell am not!So ... with that said, here I am once more with Blogger. Good old, dependable Google. Simple to use and, guess what? YEP, you guessed it ... STILL FREE.Unless of course you want to purchase a custom URL, which you'd have to pay for. But, that is something that is actually worth the money as well as reasonable.
At any rate, this is a PSA for all followers of Author Y. Correa (that's me):

BOOM, BABY!
So with that in mind, please, by all means, follow me on here!
Thanks, y'all!