All The Kings Horses: The Tale of a Broken Woman

Hi everyone!!
Please take a look at an excerpt from the book I'm working on. I just want to take the time to thank everyone who encouraged me to write again after the experience I had with the last book I participated in. That experience broke me; I felt as though the biggest accomplishment in my life had been taken from me without me being able to properly relish in the joy of having done it. It discouraged me. In complete honesty, it paralyzed me with fear of having that same feeling again.
But God surrounded me with a team of angels who encouraged and motivated me to try again and who continously remind me of God gift when I become distracted or discouraged and I praise His name for that alone. Admittedly, it's taking me awhile, I get distracted with life, discouraged by self doubt, but I WILL do it... just because I want to prove my supporters right.
With all of that being said, PLEASE read and comment... I need your honest opinion ... I need it all!!
~neek

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It’s not over. You’re still here

The thoughts rang loud and clear in her head, awaking her from her 3-day coma.

Dammit.

Tamika’s eyes opened slowly to greet the starch white hospital room. She was very weak and groggy. The only sound in the room was the constant beep from the cardiac monitor that spoke on behalf of the life that still pumped through her veins. The life she tried to end 3 days, 2 hours and 17 minutes ago.
Tamika’s eyes closed again as she attempted to remember what happened.. She remembered needing relief. Wanting an out. She remembered her heart being heavy and her head being light as she watched a deep red river run across the bathroom floor; running as wildly as she desired to run. She remembered feeling empty, even though her life was filled with problems, regrets, and sorrow. She remembered asking God for forgiveness as she felt the life slowly seep from her body. She couldn’t endure life, so she knew she couldn’t endure hell.
The IV in her hand’s veins started to throb. The area of flesh around the insertion of the IV was very tender as she lifted her hands. Both wrists were wrapped in bandages.

Slit my wrists.

Tamika had lost almost too much blood when her sister Shayla found her lying lifeless on the cold ceramic floor. Shayla’s class was cancelled and she came home to ask her big sister for some money to go shopping. She followed the sound of the water flowing in the shower to find her sister, but as she approached, calling Tamika’s name, Shayla became apprehensive of the stillness of the house.. When she walked through the hall towards the bathroom at the end of the hall, she caught a glimpse of a limp well manicured hand, surrounded by a pool of blood. Shayla’s screams pierced the walls and alerted the neighbors to the tragedy. Tamika laid in her sister’s arms when the neighbors burst in to help. One applied pressure to her wrists and tried to console her distraught sibling, while the other called the paramedics.

Tamika began to focus on the door. Her first clear sight was someone walking down the hall, intently focused on getting to what ever hospital room they were headed to, bearing balloons and flowers. With her sight now clear, she looked around her own room. No balloons. No flowers.. No deeply concerned visitors waiting at her bedside for her to regain consciousness. Just white walls, white curtains, and an old outdated television.

Figures.

Tamika sighed a deep sigh that pulled so much energy out of her, she felt light headed when it was over.

How did I get here? I can’t even get this right.

The problems she tried to escape came rushing back to her; her mind began screaming the worries she tried to abandon. She closed her eyes again, squeezing tight, attempting to get the deepest darkness she could attain. She longed for darkness. Her heart ached for it. The light revealed too much.

Daddy's Girl.

It's no secret. My real father and I have a sometimes hostile, other times non-existent relationship. Sometimes I wish it wasn't that way, but it is. It's not something that bothers me a lot, but sometimes things spark the thoughts.

One of my very close friends shared a glimpse of her day at the beach with her son, and her son's father, when she sent me a picture of the two gentlemen together. I'm close with them all and I'm always a witness to the love and dedication that he ( her son's father) has to my "nephew". It's amazing to me. Only because a constant, loving relationship with a father is one that I have not seen since my mom and my grandfather.  But in thinking about a fatherly relationship, my heart always reflects on the man who stepped into my life years ago. He loved me as his own. And still does. He rightfully holds that special spot in my heart that no man could ever fill, not even the man who is supposed to.

Almost a year ago, for his birthday, I wrote just a little something to describe my love for him.  Being inspired by the fatherly love that came through my picture texts today, I decided to share that passage here today. Thanks for listening.

I just hung up the phone from a conversation and immediately had tears streaming down my face crashing into my smile. Not sad tears, but bittersweet tears. The man I spoke to is a man of distinction, a man of honor, a man of love, and above all things, a man of God. That man is my DADDY… Harris Farlough.
Now when we disconnected the tears that fell from my eyes were tears of gratefulness and gratitude and they were accompanied with the words, “God thank You for him.”
Today is my DADDY’s birthday and as tired as I was, my day would not have been complete without me calling him. As I talked to him, my heart began to recognize the love and comfort I heard in his voice and the guidance and encouragement that always laced his words. Now, this man is my Stepfather (technically twice removed, as my mom has been married twice since) but I’ve always felt like one of his own. And I praise God for that.
See, as tough as I portray myself, I’m very fragile. My heart has a hairline fracture from the dysfunctional and sometimes heartbreaking relationship I have with my FATHER. My FATHER is a man who I feel only spoke of his love for me when he was in need to impress others or convince himself that he was doing the job he was supposed to do. A man who may have very well done the best he could have for the person that he is, but just fell short as we all do sometimes.
And as much as it may hurt to say it, I can’t honestly say that I believe my FATHER loves me… but I’d bet my life that my DADDY does.
My DADDY is a mastermind. The way that he balances sternness and gentleness, love and discipline, encouragement and admonishment, teaching and learning is amazing. I always feel at ease when we speak and I feel like a DAUGHTER when I interact with him. Something I sadly haven't felt with my FATHER in over two decades.
My personality, my spirit, my soul, needed a DADDY like him. A protector, a leader a comforter… loving and kind. And as always, the Great Lord provided. And while the Word demands that I “honor thy mother AND thy father (and trust me I do) I simply ADORE my DADDY. :-)
Happy Birthday Daddy!!! I love you more than my heart can stand. You mean so much to me. Having you around, throughout it all, and watching your love for me remain faithful and constant makes my world alright. Thank you.
~neka 

Only what you do for Christ will last.

“Have you ever been taken advantage of?” 

This is a question I posed to a friend of mine. He had done something that didn’t sit right with me and I realized that it was because I felt like he had taken advantage of my kindness; my willingness to help.   When I asked him that, he was slightly taken aback. He didn’t realize that his actions were coming across that way. He couldn’t relate to what I was feeling because he himself had never felt that way.  At that moment, I realized I couldn’t expect people to react to or feel the same way about things as I did.  That I had to do things out of the kindness of my heart, out of love and out of love only. 

Fast Forward.

Tonight, much to my surprise, my wonderful church and organization that I proudly sit on the Board of Directors of, Set Free with Divine Intervention, recognized me for my contributions to the organization. And in that very brief moment of time, I felt more appreciated than I had felt in a VERY VERY long time. And then those words, spoken by Teresa, affectionately known as  “Auntie Breezy” were etched on my heart .

“Only what you do for Christ will last.”

It’s amazing how God teaches you things. His method isn’t always the same. Sometimes, things hit you in an instant.  Sometimes, you have to piece the lessons together.  And here’s what I’ve gathered. We are all put here with a purpose. And in some way, you were meant to be an angel in someone’s life. Whether, it’s support, or encouragement, or motivation, or even to be the bearer of harsh love;  God makes no mistakes and He WILL use you. So I motivate all of us, myself included, to continue to bless others. Continue to do God’s work in other people’s lives. You’d be amazed at the difference it makes to bother lives involved, yours and theirs. And if you do it, do it out of love. Because God is Love.  And after all….

Only what you do for Christ will last.

God Bless.

The Race.

Ever felt so down, that’s all you could see? Bright darkness. Ever felt so alone, you heard millions of voices?  Crowded loneliness.  Ever wanted love so much, you hated it? Walking contradiction.

Sometimes, most times, you feel out of place. You never really belong. Feigned coolness.  No one’s like you. No one relates. Your feelings are unpopular, your thoughts the outcasts of general opinion.  You operate differently than anyone you’ve ever met.

Eventually, you become your best friend. You give to everyone as much as you can and the room for reciprocity is vacant.  How do you become someone you can feel proud of? How do you bypass the awkwardness? How do you embrace it? 

The quest for self discovery is a longer race for some than others. Watching those around you seemingly laps ahead makes exhaustion a familiar accomplice. But when they come back around you realize they’re in the exact same place as you are in life. Take it all in stride.  Peace of mind is at the finish line.

a-mour

a·mour

   /əˈmʊər/ Show Spelled[uh-moor] 

noun

1. a love affair.

I began this love affair with writing over 20 years ago. Always secretly shy, unable to truly express myself, for fear of whatever, rejection, ridicule, judgment, not being understood. I never found it simple to allow the words to flow from my mouth. But the pen was my translator. It understood me. It translated my thoughts, my fears, my worries, my ideas and made them fluent enough to be heard. To be understood. To be noticed.

We broke up for a while. Writing and I did. He knew me too well. He was able to say the things I was afraid to say. People thought we'd be together forever. I tried to walk away from him. I endured heart ache and pain and confusion and darkness alone... never wanting to return to him, because I knew he would make me face my truth. But he was always there. And he loved me. Infinitely. Without limits or boundaries. He let me say what I wanted. Be who I was. Or at least who I dreamt I could be.

Now, I'm older. I know what works for me. I want to know who I am. I no longer want to be afraid of who I could be, where he could take me. Take us. Baby steps you say... but little progress is still... progress. I'm ready. 

Amour. Infinitely.