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 dayWhere the sun will have to wear shades because it hasoutdone the sunray.

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

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

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

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

Today is Tuesday, November 17, 2009, two days from my thirty-firstbirthday and the first day of the rest of my life. I decided that the otherday. Funny how when you look back at your past thoughts for just asecond, 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-carechildren are resting.

Writing for me is therapeutic. It allows me to express my deepestemotions without being judged. I love how I can go in a space and consolemyself with words that flow from my soul. Over the years, writing hasbecome 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 myjob and the many children's lives I help to make a difference in. I amnow in the position where I want more. I am ready to get on to the nextlevel and grow in my field. My field can get challenging at times, butnothing is more challenging than my life. Hmmm, cut your phone off, getcomfortable 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 themetropolitan area of Washington DC. For those who are unaware of wherethat 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 atown 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 isnothing keeping me here. My children can go to whatever school I chooseif 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 itbefore, 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 plannedto 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 onSaturday. Seeing that movie gave me more motivation to write—to openmy 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 achild, but no one ever protected me. Even when the state got involved,you know Child Protective Services they didn't protect me. They keptsending me to more family members, who continued to abuse and harmme in ways that affect my life today.

I know my views on men and my hate toward the species that I loveso much have a lot to do with what they did to me, right down to myfather, 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 aboutten years old, and my mother either needed money or she was driving inthe area. Whatever the reason may be, we stopped at my father's crackhouse in the southeast part of DC.

I do not even know why she went there, because I knew he was ondrugs and I was very embarrassed by the sight of him from when I sawhim 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 manychildren all around the house. The woman he was living with was acrackhead, and she and my father had two of her six kids together. Thatmade me have two little sisters, one born addicted to crack.

After seeing this sight, even though I did not have a father growingup, I was happy I did not. I believe this would have hurt me more. I couldnot 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. Helooked 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'teven 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 arecoming. I am so hungry. I have some black-eyed peas in the slow cookerthat I bought and have not put to use till now.

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

The girls' father, Marsh, who was my first ex-husband, is a sorrycase. He even had the nerve to go and have another baby after twelveyears two weeks ago. That made six girls for him—what a sorry excusehe 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 thetimes the little kids used to knock on my door and ask if Marsh couldcome out and play. Call me crazy, but that is strange. As soon as I wasable to leave, I did.

Marsh had a lot with him. I mean, the guy was married to a fifteen-year-oldgirl 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 enoughto 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 theirstrength 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 maybeexpand my PI career.

Yes, I am a private investigator as well. That came about from anexperience I had with my ex Tim; I go to court next month,...