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Prison Door Heart 

It seems as though life seems to present me with this same door or as I call it my prison door to my heart, a door of distress.  I’m unsure about the saying  “when one door closes another one opens”, because a problem is right on the other-side of the new door or perhaps I’m going through the same door. That has to be it.

I wonder how many times I have gone through it,the very same door? That same door with its echo clanging sound of a prison door closing. When I’m on the other side of the door, I’m a nervous wreck, life seems to be consuming me, my heart races and every part of me hurts, but I feel safe.

Stress, anxiety and pain are the only emotions that are alive within my soul. Sleep, never comes as if the very thin nothing of a mattress that is offered to give me rest is keeping me awake, but it’s my mind. My revolving door of a mind that won’t let me rest.

A real prison may be a bit more bearable than living within the prison of my mind, with no real door in sight. My mind has become my very own cell. I have no choice, but to be aware of my actions, the actions of my heart that has me hostage here.

If I wanted to escape I could not, because my freedom is my reality and there’s no exiting that. I have thoughts of grasping the doorknob twisting it open to a world of self inflicted pain. Those thought keep me locked up, within me, safe in my personal prison.

I try to conjure up the strength to believe that there is another door, a different door leading to a place of peace. The thoughts of freedom are a quick relief to my soul until I reminded of Me. A familiar heat moves through my body reminding me that I’m stuck here with me. It’s so hot as if hell lives within me, tormenting my soul. I’m stuck unsure if I am deserving of crying, feeling sorry for what has happened to me. Maybe crying, maybe my tears could cool off the source of my pain, take away the heat, the burning within.

My pain at its highest feels like fever. I’m actually hot to the touch. When I do cry my tears dissipate as if a drop of water landed in the desert. There’s no release of steam, no midst as if I cried dry tears or maybe I’m just that hot. Years of crying a quiet cry has left me with a deep moan. My mouth doesn’t move, just a sound of pain from the depth of my soul.

Perhaps it’s best for me to be locked away, because being free is not freeing and living a life of love is unloving. I’m living a life, a cycle of repeating and being in emotional distress, heartbroken and unloved.

I have no escape, I have no other door awaiting for my entry, because I made it that way. I’m stuck on the other side of this door with me, away from you, away from love and away from your pain. That’s what I tell myself.

I’m left to wonder how I manage to resolve, help or fix others problems, but my own, I come up blank. I was raised on “Do unto others as you would want them to do unto you” it doesn’t work like that. My sister told me to stop thinking that it’s true. So, if Im loving and kind to you, I should not expect that in return?

I have gone through life needing to help and needing some myself, but later is just that.. I love being there for others. I used to answer the question to what my life’s purpose was, with my purpose is to be a help to others. I was born a natural caregiver. I am moved with compassion to help. I try to help everyone even animals.

Which reminds me of this one freezing cold Minnesota winter I dropped my daughter off at her bus stop, as I was driving I saw a small white dog walking in the freezing cold. I pulled over, called for the dog, opened the door and the dog just jumped in. It was a small miniature doberman pinscher with one missing eye and leg. It had a tag on it with her name, I drove around only to bring the dog home.

Long story short my sister who named the dog Demon Dog brought her to the SPCA after it was so friendly the 1st day, she turned on me days after on a daily basis. She was mad, because I put her out my bed, she jumped up inched from my face and growled with long fang looking teeth and that one eye staring at me and the eye socket that was sewn shut would puff out when she would bark. I saw the dog as an overcomer, a survivor, I was amazed that she was still enduring after so much loss, the dog had 3 legs and one eye. I thought she was special, but I couldn’t view her as such anymore.

 

The dog had me scared, but I didn’t have the emotional courage to bring her in myself. The dog terrorized my whole house, my kids and my dog avoided her at all cost. My poor Chances, my Pug of 12yrs would be scared to come by me when that dog was there. The dog may have been a demon, it surely behaved like on. My sister would use this incident for years to come to show me how much I sacrificed myself for people and animals.

I used to think I was a real life Super Woman and that I could save everyone. I really tried and I most often I was left heartbroken. My heartache wasn’t just from a relationship gone bad with a man, but with anyone I loved. Now I’m left with my imaginary Super Woman cape and real life pain, eyes of dry tears and a smile as turn the knob to my door and enter into my very own prison.

It’s hard being in prison, no-less a imprisonment within oneself. The only sentence I saw fit for Me was solitary confinement. I didn’t trust myself to be alone with another being. It got to the point where my heart could not be in control anymore. My heart has me cycling through this same door as if I’m blind or it’s true that love is. My love is so blind that my heart can’t dicern real love from the fake.

I can not escape from this feeling inside of me, the feeling of complete brokenness. I’m emotional and mentally broken and spent. I have no energy to pretend that I’m having a great day, no time to be who you want me to be, I have nothing I can give or do, because being, doing, giving is all for you.

If I tell them I’m hurting, that I am living in this prison, they won’t care, but maybe they will, because it’s sweetness to their ear. Delighted that I feel the pain, excited to see me suffer, hoping that I never recover. Even if I told them I’m in my personal prison, because of them or shall I say me trying to be everything for them, hiding my hurt just for them. I fear they will beat me with bitter hateful words. Words that I will attempt to, but never will recover from.

So, I’m in here with me, myself and I . In the dark,cold, alone, curled up, leaning on my door with nothing but me and hurt on my mind. Embracing the darkness means I there is no reflection of myself, but I clearly see me in my mind and soul.

We think the dark is void of light, but actually it’s full of it when it comes to You. As I sit in my very own dark space, I have no choice, but to see me.

No one knows that in the process of living a life filled with so much love and compassion to share with others, comes with the price of pain. They don’t know that my love has been my offense, my love is my pain behind my door.

My soul has been trying to reach me, wants me to not think with my heart, my mind is telling me. Reminding me that my purpose is to love to. Whispering that I will get over the pain and to let my loved ones know all that I have been enduring, they will not only understand, but will care and will relate to why I’m hiding behind this door. There’s no need to stay in my prison, there’s a door. There is another Door and if needed a few more, but it’s up to me to be willing to get from behind this one.

It reminding me of the kids movie Monster’s INC with Sully, Mike and their co-workers are go through different doors that lead to different kids, cultures, lifestyles and all over the world. Sully and Mike made a bond with a child who lives behind this certain door that has them going through excruciating heart breaking process of protecting her and her door from the bad snake or whatever that thing was only to have it destroyed in the process, so that they could never go through it again. If you saw the movie they piece the door back together and reunite with the child again and they live happily ever after….


Not sure if I will have a fairytale ending, but I feel deep down inside of me that I am not deserving of my very own conviction.

I would never give advice to another person to live the life I live, but that’s just it. I am my very own hypocrite. I can not give myself the very treatment I give others. I have lived with being yelled at, cursed out, demeaned, basically just flat out abused and I have typically received this treatment trying to be of help or finally had the nerve to speak up for myself. I am afraid to have an opinion with my loved ones. Advocating for me is a No, so I became ok with being being in my personal prison on the opposite side of happy. I thought by giving up material things, would help with attaining what I thought would attract real love.

I’m so sorry that I am not the next Momo, that I’m not Super Woman, that I’m not who you need me to be. I wish I could be all that for you. I wish I had a door I could open and be all that you need me to be, but I’m locked here in my prison alone, because I am afraid of not being all that I’m supposed to be for you.

I’m afraid that the next mean word from your lips will cause my heart to bust open. I’m too fragile to let myself out of my prison cell, because I afraid of what’s outside of that door is something worse than what I’m dealing with on the other side of it.

My  mind has  always been fully aware of the consequences of love, but my heart needed to take the chances. My heart is willing to endure a life of hurt, a life in my very own prison just to love you, but my mind will not let me open the door, but I can no longer allow fear to consume me.  Fear is the prison of my heart and mind and its time has been served.
I’m free!

A native of New Orleans, who left her beloved New Orleans to spend twenty years of living in the land of Minnesota Not So Nice. Minnesota was full of opportunities but would learn that the soul of the state and the people who made it was just as icy cold as the temperatures. After the years and my 40th birthday flew by, I decided it was time to pack up my youngest child and come back to my roots, my birthplace the city that not only birthed me but gave me life. I would not be who I am without my New Orleans beginnings. I am all things that would challenge the belief of growing up in New Orleans. I was a 16yr old teen mother of a premature baby born with a severe medical disability. And only With the help of my mother, was it possible for me to BE! I was able to endure and survive the obstacles laid before my child and me. In a city that was built by my family, but did not allow for us to reap the benefits I overcame. Charity Hospital was my second home — a building filled with miracle workers who made it possible for my daughter to have life. I have lived a life of rainy days with peeks of sunshine, that are my children, including those not of my womb. I'm the proud mother of three and a grandmother of three. My dream was to live the life of the nursery rhyme of ”The Old Lady Who lived in a shoe,” and for the most part, I did. I cared for several children over the years as a special needs foster parent. I would learn that my love was not enough for some children, but I loved them through their pain. I'm not sure if I ever had a case of true love or came close to what love looks like on television, but I had my share of men and the mirage of love. I survived two abusive marriages. Though I longed to return to New Orleans on a daily bases, I must admit my move was one of the best decisions made for me. I am a college graduate; I was a successful entrepreneur. I coowned a soul food restaurant and catering company in Minnesota for 12 years. I developed the talent of creating custom cakes after the murder of my beloved cousin Melvin Paul. He survived Katrina only to go to Minneapolis six months later to be murdered over a parking spot dispute. But with the challenge of creating a simple wedding cake, I was able to find healing. I created the House of Cakes in honor of him. Minnesota life had me pretty materialistic. I worked to the point I do not remember much, but work and handing my children love money. I thought by having the big house on the hill, a husband, having a family, the ultimate provider and being involved in all things that matter, plus having the funds to match would cure me of what I was told was a generational curse of lack of everything from money, love to even self-love. But for the most part, that life poisoned my heart and soul. I was blinded by visions fed to me by the media. I was told I wasn't anything unless I was better than the Jones's. I lived being ok with a broken, bleeding heart. Life like this did not exist in my family while living in New Orleans from what I viewed with my eyes and soul. We may not have had all the things I acquired over the years, but we were happy, we were together. Family outside of New Orleans wasn't family anymore. We lived separate lives and had awkward moments when we bumped into each other in public. I hated living in Minnesota even though life their helped me in so many ways. I felt deep down the only way to repair it was to get back to my roots, my soul, my home, myself, my New Orleans. I'm here, and I love it. Even being in the so-called Blighted Area of New Orleans and not having all the financial and material security, I'm happy. I am determined that She, yes, New Orleans is a woman is just like me; together, we will overcome and will rise from all that tried to kill our spirit. Nothing like starting from the bottom and making your way back up!. I just know in my heart that New Orleans will provide for me. There's a bank account with funds in it owed to me by way of back pay for my ancestors. And I will receive my inheritance, and I will continue the traditions and customs of the old to keep the heartbeat of New Orleans beating. I'm down in the boot, living the life that feels right to me awaiting my destiny...

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