Raising Notoriety, Not Awareness. Narcissistic Tale of a Fake Homeless Man. WARNING: COMING TO A CITY NEAR YOU OCTOBER 1, 2014.

First, please watch these. There would only be one, but my idiotic feline decided it would be fun to walk across my laptop and shut the first one down mid-recording. If you choose not to watch these first two, as they are the least important, I'm basically expressing my feelings on the matter and letting you know that if you want copies of anything I mention in this article that I don't actually post, just message me and I will send them to you.

Here is one of the first media coverages before he embarked on his..... journey: http://www.wftv.com/news/news/local/orange-county-teacher-goes-homeless-30-days-raise-/ngX4G/

Now you know I can't post everything or this would literally be about 127 pages long, give or take 22 pages.

If you could have heard the very audible sigh that just escaped my lips, you would know just how much of a task this is going to be to write. Even though, like I said in the video, I'm not necessarily afraid of anything about my life coming out in the form of retaliation, because I'm an open book, I do, however, have my personal safety to be concerned with since the person I am going to be talking about knows as good as where I am currently staying. I cannot 100% contract or guarantee that I know for a fact I am safe.  I don't know him well; obviously not anywhere near as well as I thought I did.  Just the little bit that I DID feel I knew went high-tailing it down Interstate-4 on a giant purple elephant the day he made a video and posted it on his Facebook page that, at the time, had over 5,500 followers, where he bashed a handful of people that happened to include myself. 

Not just bashed, said my whole name, just as it is on Facebook, in slow, loud, and clear pronunciation, just in case anyone was hard of hearing, accused me of lying about things which I did not lie about, and pretty much defamed my character and falsely accused me of, ironically, lying about him.  He smeared the names of 3 other people that I am friends with, as well.  Three out of the four of us are homeless.  His Facebook page name? HOMELESS AND HUNGRY. His campaign? "Raising awareness of the issues with homelessness." It no longer says it on the website, since as of August 21, 2014, someone else has been made an "editor" or co-admin of the page (Tom still runs it), but from June 20 - August 21, 2014, it explained that Thomas Francis Rebman was a middle school teacher in Orange County, Florida, who would be "going homeless" for 30 days in order to raise awareness for homeless people. His goal was supposedly to experience firsthand what it is like to be completely homeless for 30 days, taking with him only his cell phone and cell phone charger, so that he could document his "adventures" every day and post them on FB, his ID, and the clothes on his back.  Oh, and his cigarettes, because as he documents with his posts and videos throughout his entire journey, if you decide to go through them, they were extremely important.

I would like to make it clear right now that I was a HUGE supporter from BEFORE day one. My encouraging comments are everywhere throughout the beginning of his journey, unless he has taken those down, too. I was encouraging his campaign before he even left his house. I thought the idea of someone purposely going homeless was a little nutty, but I was enthusiastic about the possibility that perhaps he would learn a lot about resources, be able to share them, and by through sharing his experience, disparage some of the stereotypes about homeless people (i.e. they are all active drug addicts/alcoholics/lazy, etc). Some of that has been accomplished. The negativity that began to show itself, however, and the obvious need for him to be in control of everything at all times, worked against him and, in my humble opinion and in my eyes, shattered his campaign... and his integrity. To me, he is the epitome of narcissism.  Again, just my opinion.

You can find most of his videos either on the Facebook page, which I link above as HOMELESS AND HUNGRY, or on his YouTube channel, at THOMAS REBMAN. The only videos that are missing from his YouTube channel and page are the ones in which he verbally bashed many of us. I have them on my computer.  If you want them, all you have to do is ask.  Actually, I may post one in particular at the end of this blog. You will also find his "Summit" video amongst the top listed on his YouTube channel, where he reported on the page that there was this great, amazing turnout to. He estimated 60-80 people. In the video, it looks to be more around 30 to me, personally, but hey.. I might not be able to count. 

What did strike me is the fact that a homeless guy -a distraught homeless guy, at that- apparently attended the Summit, and Tom addresses him, has him come to the front to sit down, and then pretty much pretends that he never said anything. The questions and answers are also missing, which I found interesting, unless they are posted somewhere and I just don't see them or didn't catch it. I will be completely honest here and say I did NOT watch the entire over-hour-long Summit video and only skimmed through it, because I really don't have that much time to waste. I was actually supposed to attend, but it fell on a day that I was not even in Central Florida, and to be honest, I'm rather glad now.

Moving on.

He also has a fundraising campaign set up at Orlando Teacher Goes Homeless for 30 Days! which it looks like was ended on August 21, 2014. Please note that is the same date that the FB page got turned over to someone else, because Tom couldn't handle it anymore. 

So, let's officially meet Mr. Rebman, shall we?

His own words: "My name is Tom and I am a Teacher in a Title 1 Middle School in Orlando, Florida. I am going voluntarily homeless for 30 days so that my students can see how difficult it is being without shelter and food.  I will start my journey with nothing but my ID card and the clothes on my back.  I do not know what will happen, where I will eat or sleep, we will al find out together.  Each day I will be posting a video and a blog describing the days events.  I will be interacting with my students and others on my Facebook page "Hungry and Homeless".  I am doing this to keep my students reading and writing during the summer. I intend to remain homeless for 30 days.  I am going to use only legal government services (Shelters, Food Pantries etc) to live.  I will be taking candid video to show how homeless people are viewed and treated.  I will talk to memebers of our community that are homeless and live as a part of their culture.  I will help my students analyze the problems they face and try and help come up with solutions to these problems. I need your support to get the word out.  I want to reach as many people as possible with this message and at the same time raise money so that my students can have a better chance in their life. Forty percent of the money raised will be used to buy iPads for Orange County Public Schools Intensive Reading Students.  Twenty five percent will be given to Second Harvest Food Bank, 25% will be given to the Coalition for the Homeless of Central Florida, and the last 10% to buy a vehicle for Ministry of Hope Food Pantry.  Our goal is $100,000 but the sky is the limit!!!"  [as taken from the Fundrazr story page at the link above, as well as what was previously posted on the Homeless and Hungry FB page.]

He's decorated. He was a teacher (note the word was, please). Blah, blah, blah. Squirrel.

A very little bit about me, because of the role I end up playing in this: I am what is called "essentially homeless." Basically meaning that I am homeless, but at the moment I don't have to sleep outside on the cold, hard ground, like most of Central Florida's homeless population. Some essentially homeless are "permanent" residents at shelters, while others like myself find or have a place to sleep that is temporary. I have a twin mattress on the floor in the foyer of a friend's house, located right by the front door.

That's me. Literally, right now, working on writing this article. You will hear no complaints. I'm sitting on a mattress, not the actual floor. It's the same mattress I will eventually fall asleep on. That laptop, the one I'm typing on now, is also the one I use to work as a medical transcriptionist, so I do not have to travel to a job, which is good because buses take hours and I have no other transportation. I pretty much have nothing, except for a huge pile of medical and hospital bills, the need for more medical care, my clothes, shoes, a few other belongings, and my cat.  What I have left of belongings is sitting in someone else's house, and just because I have a mattress for the time being, does not mean I'm not homeless.  There is this not-so-little thing called the "invisible homeless" and I fall into that category.  Also, in a couple of months I won't have this mattress anymore, because I'm simply not making enough right this minute to save what I need for a place to live, and I can't sleep in front of their door forever.  It doesn't work that way. (Edit 09/21/2014:  At this point, I ended up both on the streets for a little bit and in an extended stay hotel for 6 months that I paid for weekly that was mostly occupied by drug dealers and/or prostitutes, because it was all I could afford to do in order to not be sleeping on a sidewalk.  Someone even got stabbed in the neck on the floor I was staying on one evening, and I can honestly say that some nights I felt like I would have been better off living under a tree somewhere.)  YES, I NEED A LOT OF HELP!  I have a lymph node that has needed biopsied for MONTHS now to see if cancer has returned. I'm sick. I'm tired. My hair is falling out. I'm uninsured and have been denied by Medicaid twice. I'm employed, but get paid by production, and when you are physically ill at times, exhausted, and struggle with bipolar disorder that is made worse by homelessless, it is hard to be productive! I am not ashamed to say that, and I know for a fact as my circumstances improve, I will improve. The work trickles in sometimes, as well, and you just can't make it come any faster.  I don't sit there and get paid by the hour for doing nothing like the majority of employees have the opportunity to do at one point or another.  (No, I am not saying hourly employees do nothing. Please don't take it that way.) I had it set up to where you can read my own story and was tempted to place some shameless self-promotion, but I just can't do it.  I have more self-respect and dignity than that.  If you would like to know how I got to where I am or ANY of my personal life journey, contact me.  Leave a comment.  Someone ask me.  I'm an open book.

Now that I've posted a horrible picture and videos of myself, let's really get going.  At least no one can call me a liar when I say I'm exhausted, because it's pretty evident in what I've posted!

Tom started out his journey credibly enough. I can call him Tom, because I've met him, talked to him in person twice, and had several private online message conversations with him. We were friends or, in his words about me, so I thought.  His videos were interesting. His insights were great. He was mentioning resources, showing people the false stereotypes. I think the first red flag for me was when he announced that he'd been accepted into some type of long-term, 1-year residential shelter program. It was already striking nerves that he was posing as a homeless man, no matter what the reason he was giving; but when he announced that he was going to be taking up shelter space, far more people began to ask questions, myself included. We weren't being demeaning, giving him a hard time, calling names, using profanity, or anything of the sort. We were simply asking questions. We were questioning how he got into a space so quick and if it were that easy to do so, why weren't more homeless people off the streets.  We were questioning how this would help him experience homelessness, the true experience, if after only a few days on the actual streets, he was ready to take a bed that an actual homeless person might need.  We were questioning whether or not he had to lie on the application in order to retrieve the spot, because case in point, he technically really wasn't homeless, was he? We were questioning a lot of things, mainly because of his original mission statement, and also because he had said that he would never, under any circumstances, take anything away from someone who was actually homeless. Unfortunately, you won't find any of those comments, questions, or otherwise, because no sooner had we asked them, than they were perceived as "negative" to the page and deleted. That was red flag #2. Why delete questions and comments if you have nothing to hide?

Soon after, he claimed to have given his spot at the shelter to someone who really needed it, but then he posted pictures of the inside of the shelter the following night, where even though it didn't show their faces, doesn't it bother anyone that he is going around taking pictures of actual homeless people without them realizing it? While they are sleeping? He made a statement saying something to the effect of [see, I'm not taking anything away from anyone who needs it, it isn't full]. I'm pretty sure I saw only like 2 empty beds in that short segment and he could have been sleeping in one of them for all I know.

Things calmed down, people seemed appeased, and he made some good posts. He got very defensive in a few, explaining how trying to get shelter is part of the homeless experience. I really won't talk about that much. He did some good things, brought awareness, so forth and so on.  It can all be seen on the page.

During all this time, we had been messaging back and forth. Our very first couple of message exchanges were basically me introducing myself, telling him part of my story, us becoming "friends" and him telling me, because he's so passionate about helping the homeless and those in need, that after his 30 days were done and over with, he would not only share my Fundrazr campaign, but would support it, as well. Looking back at that conversation, knowing what I do now and knowing the things he said during the following weeks, I'm fairly certain that the only reason he made that promise is because he really thought he was going to be rich, or at the very least have gotten a lot more money from the campaign than he actually did. I reserve the right to hold that opinion based on our interactions and his subsequent lack of following through. As I stated in one of the videos above, this is not a bitter diatribe to Thomas Francis Rebman because I'm a scorned little girl who didn't get what she wanted at the candy store.  It's about more than just me.

I will say this, however. YES, I was hurt when I realized I'd trusted someone only to find out he wasn't even the person I thought he was. You can't go through an experience like this and remain completely unscathed. But, I seek no revenge.  Not for that; not for me.  I seek justice because he is a fake, a liar, someone who has hurt AND exploited more than just me, and does not have the right to use the misfortune of others for his personal gain. Plain and simple.

Even with the red flags, I still agreed to sit down and do a short interview with him, because he had been trying so hard to get me to meet with him. He spent most of his homeless experience in downtown Orlando, which really isn't all that far from where I am staying, but on the city bus, it takes about 2 hours. He had started to donate plasma for $50 a pop, because panhandling wasn't making much and he had already decided he wouldn't go to the first real job opportunity he was given because he was so beaten down already. (Welcome to a real homeless person's life, bro!)

In my mind, because even after all that I have been through in my life, I still make the conscious decision to see the best in everyone and trust way too easily.

This has been a life-changing lesson in trust.

Here is the interview I allowed him to do the first time he came to the vicinity of where I live. I met him outside the gate, near a bus stop, and we sat on the sidewalk in front of the school bus yard, amid the flying insects and chatted for a while.

This was posted on August 2, 2014. Before that meeting, he had mentioned or asked to meet me 6 times already. The first couple of times I said to come if he was on this side of town, but he never made it for one reason or another. Then I was busy during other times. The day after this was made, he instant messaged on FB me and asked me if I was up and "atum" yet at 7-something in the morning. I didn't respond until after noon, letting him know I had worked late (graveyard), and he messaged me at 1 p.m. letting me know he was outside the gate to where I am staying. 

This was a HUGE red flag for me that I had no choice but to pay attention to! Yes, I still have the instant messages to prove this happened. We had just met the day before, why would he be here again? I was already uncomfortable before going outside to meet him, and as time passed and the more he talked, the more awkward it was. Every second that went by, I was learning more about him; his demeanor, what he really thought of people, what his real objectives were, the delusional state his mind was in, and that he was "smitten" by me. Yes... smitten. I gave quite a long pause to that, unsure how to respond. So, in my comedic defensive manner, which is all I have left sometimes in situations like that, I laughed it away, and away it went - for the moment, anyway. By the end of our conversation, the person that walked away from me to get back on a bus was NOT the person I thought I knew or had talked to the previous day. I suddenly felt like I was floating on an air bubble. One that was going to burst; I just didn't know when or how.

Our conversation that day. Where do I begin? I suppose I will start off with the fact that right off the bat he referred to my best friend and her husband, the people who kindly let me sleep on their floor right now, as my "captors." This divulged from several factors, I believe. One being that it was extremely hot out that day, as it happens to be during the Florida summer afternoons, and he could not come inside. Even if the house were mine, I'm not sure I would have let an unannounced, uninvited visitor with whom I'd only met once inside, quite honestly. He asked me, "Do they know whom I am? Do they know I am homeless?", to which I replied, "He is the only one home, and yes, he knows you are pretending to be homeless." The word pretending did not seem to phase him one bit, as he went on about how my "captors" would let a "homeless guy" sit outside in the heat.

To this day I regret my next action of letting him sit in the shade too near the literal location of my temporary home. He jeopardized the roof over my head, and I don't think he ever really cared about that possibility, looking back on it. He talked to loud, every other word out of his mouth was a curse word, talking about his wife and other people - all very unbecoming of someone I would want teaching any middle schooler of mine!  He wanted to smoke a cigarette and I had to explain to him we needed to move away from the building. He complained about that, too, because it meant being in the sun again.

This is the conversation I wish I'd had the sense to record; but then again, why would I have? I never realized I would need anything he said as proof one day or that it would just be a piece of a much bigger whole that extended far beyond me.

During this conversation he said the following things. This is not verbatim, but as close to the actual words as I can get them. He talked about his promise of sharing my campaign link and supporting it once his 30 days were over and done with.  It went from that to him saying he was going to be rich by the time all of this was over.  Something about putting Buddy Dyer out of business, and that he was going to buy all the homeless of Orlando houses, because Buddy Dyer was a joke and so were the local homeless organizations.  He specifically mentioned a homeless buddy of mine.  He told me to put on my seat belt, because we were in for a hell of a ride while he was bringing people down and moving himself up, whatever that meant. He told me that he doesn't really love his wife; the only reason he is married to her is because she has a good heart and she was there to rescue him when times were rough. In fact, he says he is still in love with his ex and always will be.  He told me he understood how I felt about not having a good relationship with one of my daughters right now because he is estranged from his, while in fact, according to public record, there is probably good reason he is estranged judging by the domestic violence injunction against him from 2003. He asked me why I thought he'd come all the way out here to see me again, and honestly I had no clue, so I sarcastically said, "because I'm awesome."  He let me know that he is smitten by me and I was special - that he felt we were similar in a lot of ways and that I was one of the only people he could truly talk to about anything, because I understood him. He told me that if I were to look up bipolar, it would have his face next to it in the dictionary. [I'm afraid you've gotten bipolar and psychopath mixed up.]  He said if his wife didn't stop in her jealous ways that she would get not one penny of what he earned and he'd just have to be dumped 6 times now, or however many it is he is at (it's either 5 or 6).  He talked about how she would never survive on her salary, because it was his $90,000 annual that made their family. Teachers make that much??  His delusions of grandeur and nonsensical statements, if not quite rude and rash, continued for a good 30 minutes, while I offered little to no input, mainly because I just didn't know what to say.

After that visit and he left, the following day I left to spend some time with my children, by the grace of God. I'm so thankful that whole ordeal was planned before I became homeless and everything was mostly taken care of. What hadn't been taken care of yet, was provided for. I do not regret my decision to take 2 of my children on vacation whatsoever.

Even while I was gone, I'd get IMs, "hurry back, there's so much to tell you" or "as long as I'm breathing you'll never sleep on the streets." I never met with him again. After I returned to Florida, things on the FB page, Homeless and Hungry, escalated very quickly. People were starting to expose his lies, his motives.  He was deleting comments as soon as they would appear. Even if someone had a legitimate question, he would shut them down. He finally reached a breaking point and created a fake profile account under the name of Alice Castner, tricked me and several others into answering some questions, and after I posted a long response in a comment, got paranoid and thought I was going post every single thing he's ever said to me, in typing at least, so he acted nice under his fake profile and said he "had just moved to the area and just wanted to know what charities for the homeless were real and safe to donate to."  I have screenshots of him finally admitting it was him on the fake profile account before he deleted it.

He began posting all sorts of personal details about the 5 or so main people on his crap-crap list, on the Homeless and Hungry page. A lot of it was public record, but why go to the length and depth, and use so much time to gather so much on so many people, and post it on your public social media page that is supposed to be RAISING AWARENESS FOR THE HOMELESS and your former STUDENTS are keeping track of and watching over the summer holiday? I will tell you why: to take the attention off you and put it on as many other people as you can.  To expose the past mistakes of others in order to make yourself look as good in the light as possible. The more garbage you post about other people, the better you will look, right? Somewhat wrong. He lost over 200 followers within 48 hours, and while all the posts and comments are now gone from the page, I have screenshots of EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.

I must sound crazy at this point, like a screenshot-happy psycho, but if you had been verbally assaulted in a video posted for thousands of people to see, been visited uninvited and conversed with, been told so many things and then falsely accused of lying about what you say you'd been told, and had promises broken to you that involve your survival, you might be just a tad overprotective of yourself, as well.

I regret the day I ever met this person. I regret every single thing I ever told him about my personal life, because even though I blog a lot and I'm very open about who I am, I make a CHOICE when I talk to someone face-to-face or in private message about what is going on at that moment in my life, not expecting that choice to become a war of words in a public forum. Granted he didn't throw anything out about my mental illness issues or struggles when he decided to make that video, he may as well have, because he will never understand how much all this has affected my life; my mind. Simply calling me a liar when I KNOW and HE knows exactly what he told me is enough, knowing that he has enough followers to believe him and whatever he says about someone else, regardless of the proof we have mounted against him. That is something I do not get at all. It's right there in these people's faces and the ignorance overwhelms me. I will chalk it up to everyone wanting to see the good, much like I do myself many times. But, this... this has been so over-the-top, I don't see how the negative is possible to ignore.

Raising awareness is great. Lying to and taking away from the actual homeless is not. 

His page category, if you will, has gone from non-profit, to community, to social/culture, and is now back to non-profit organization again. He changed it from non-profit the first time when people started calling him out and asking for proof of his 501(c)(3). He would promptly delete those comments and ban anyone who questioned him. Someone finally did a little research. There are no non-profits listed for "Homeless and Hungry," so a search was done under his name and "Dollars 4 Scholars" came up, which is the name he wanted people to make a check out to if they decided to go that route instead of donating to the online Fundrazr campaign. However, it came up as Dollars 4 Scholars, LLC. And it is inactive.

Is an LLC corporation non-profit? If it is inactive, where did all the money go? He shows pictures of his supposed account deposits and WePay checks being made out to the organizations he promised donations to, but only AFTER all the hype about him being a fraud. Everything was supposed to be done when his 30 days were over, yet he waited to make everything out until August 18, 2014, 2 weeks after his 30 days were over and after so many people started questioning his motives. Also, he posted a link supposedly from the IRS about his 501(c)(3) status becoming active (shouldn't that have been done way before this actually started?) with him stating "doesn't matter now," but the link only took me to a survey. Now he complains about being broke and facing bankruptcy, and even goes as far as to state that he is facing homelessness now. Did he know beforehand that he would be going broke? Also, when did he really know that his teaching would NOT be renewed this year and he would not be back in the classroom for the 2014-2015 school year? That's right.. FORMER teacher. He claims he did not know that was going to happen before he set out on his 30-day adventure, but found out after he returned home. I have no choice but to question whether or not that is the truth, and if this whole thing, while possibly really wanting to raise awareness for the homeless, was really more a stunt to make sure he had a future income of sorts in the place of what he would be making as a teacher, had he been renewed to teach for the year. Another question that arises is why is he not teaching this year? What was the reason they did not bring him back? Several people have inquired with Orange County Public Schools and to be honest, I don't fully know those results nor do I pretend to. What I do know is that I'm tired and have no intention of doing any further research on the matter, because just defending myself to people I don't even know has become quite exhausting. 

It is a wonderful thing to want to help the homeless. Even though it may sound like the blind leading the blind, so to speak, I'm actually having a friend pick me up on Monday evening so I can go out with her to hand out clothing and items to downtown Orlando's homeless. That does not make me a hero by any means whatsoever. It simply makes me a human being who has compassion for others in that situation, even if I am struggling with it myself.  When I am helping others in need, I get out of myself and have the opportunity to GIVE, and that's what is most important to me.

You can't keep it if you don't give it away.

That applies to just about anything; love, strength, compassion, courage. Being selfless in a selfish world is hard enough as it is without people like Thomas Rebman throwing himself into the mixed nuts. He is a perfect example of why people don't trust charities and why people don't WANT to give to the homeless, because they never know the true motives of that person that is taking their well-earned money.

What is not a wonderful thing is taking pictures of actual homeless people sleeping on the streets without their permission and/or knowledge, and posting them to your Facebook page; taking videos of homeless people that are obviously mentally ill, not in an effort to show the faces of the homeless, but to exploit them; making promises to homeless people that you either cannot or have no intention of keeping. It is not okay to talk to me about another homeless person, tell me that person has some serious issues and isn't who they say they are, and then that homeless person then tells me that you told him I'm a whack job and you don't know why you are wasting your time with me. Did you really think I wouldn't find that out? That people don't talk to each other when our suspicions are raised? You went on a Facebook war-of-words-photo-bombing-personal-information-video-bashing-posting rampage, and I'M THE WHACK JOB? I might have bipolar disorder, Tom, but I'm not crazy. I'm not anywhere near stupid, either.

As I was working on this article, I got a message that really disturbed me. So much so, that I had to take an overnight break from finishing this. Even after all of this, after me talking to his wife personally through private messages [which I also have, by the way], knowing that the first time he did this almost split them apart, knowing he needs income now, knowing how many people he has hurt and lied to, including homeless people, after listening to him degrade his own wife and slander the local homeless organizations, and still having so many questions remain unanswered, I find this out:

You have got to be freaking kidding me. I don't care if it says (tentative) or not, the mere fact that he is entertaining this idea bothers me, a lot; it should bother other people, too. Notice he says the first $4108 will go to pay his teaching salary. 

**Update: I took those last 3 screenshots of him stating he is tentatively going homeless in another city late last night. It is 12:15 a.m. on August 25, 2014 and that post is GONE. There is now a video pinned to the top of the page. It looks like he really is looking for another place to "go homeless!"

Maybe I should just change the name of my Fundrazr campaign to "Pay Barbara to be homeless and tell you what it's like every day!" 

Yep. You really took the high road, there, buddy. Congratulations.

I hope I don't need a restraining order after posting this.

**Update 2: New video. He has decided he is going to either Houston or Los Angeles (among other top choices you will hear in his new video) next for his homeless adventure. Please keep in mind, regardless of whatever "awareness" he thinks he is raising, he is going to be getting PAID to be homeless as he uses your donations to pay what would be his salary for teaching! Personally, I feel it is unethical. If you feel that way too, you should spread some REAL awareness of this person's fake persona so more people don't get exploited, used, and possibly hurt in the process.

New video:

**Update 3: 06/14/2015:  He has now gone to several cities to be "homeless."  It amazes me that he has actually gained so many blind followers when he was actually losing them before.  I am guessing that is because there are no longer people around the page actually speaking the truth.  I just don't have time for that nonsense and I have also discovered it is in my best interest as far as health goes, both mental and physical, if I refrain from getting too upset at all the BS he is constantly posting. However, I HAVE gone through some of his posts, and there have been several people, still, in some of the cities that he has gone homeless in, calling him a fraud and saying he is only doing this to make a name for himself. Hallelujah, not all the masses are completely blind. He hardly ever has anything good to say about a place and my gathering is that if he were truly homeless, he would never, ever find anything to be thankful for.  Nothing.  

He also has two, TWO, fundraisers running simultaneously, but both stating the same purpose. Isn't that a little shady? No, it's a LOT shady. So what if the last donation was a month ago. The fact that people got duped into donating to one or the other is a super sad crime.  That's just my opinion, of course.  I'm just glad it wasn't a whole lot more money than he got, because GoFundMe money goes straight into your bank account. I just think that money could have gone to actually helping the people who are 100% already homeless.

I hope he enjoyed his cigarettes.  I mean, after all, that is what he seems to worry about getting most when he is in homeless fantasyland.

My Paper Story, Part 1.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

My Mother.

*Disclaimer: I have my mother's permission to write everything in this article.

This is definitely one of the most beautiful women I have ever known. Today is her birthday. I have the privilege of calling her mommy. Yes, I'm 40 years old and I call my mother "mommy." Sometimes it's mom, but the older I get, the more it's mommy. Backwards, I know; but our relationship has grown backwards, so it fits.  It's similar to The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. You know, the movie where he is born as an old man and instead of aging, he just gets younger and younger, only to die as an infant? Granted, neither myself or my mother are getting younger, but we are bonding more as we get older, and the more years that pass, the more I get to know my mom; the more I love my mom. It hasn't always been that way, and I'm here to tell you why I'm proud to call my mom "mommy" today.

I was born in 1974. Her first baby girl. She really wanted a baby, but my father (who I have never met, as he chose not to be in my life after the fact) would not have a baby with her unless they were married.  So, they married, and approximately 10-1/2 months later I was born. I have no hate toward my father, as most people know, but why he even bothered is something I will never understand unless I get the opportunity to sit down with him face-to-face one day and have all my questions answered.  I doubt the existence of that day, but stranger things have happened. I am okay with it, either way, and I am thankful, regardless, because obviously I would not exist if things had gone differently.

My mommy loved me. Always has, always will. But there were times growing up when I didn't believe that. See, I wasn't raised by my mom for much of my life. I have very little recollection of my own life before the age of 8 years old.  I have a vague memory of being 4 years old and having my then-step-sisters (there were lots of them) each grab one of my limbs, and swing me back and forth, letting go just in time to where I would land on the bed in my half-sister's dad's bedroom.  I remember when I was 6 years old and we were supposed to have a birthday party for me, one of two birthday parties I can recall ever in my life growing up, and before everyone was to come over for the party, one of my step-sisters broke a bone and we had to take her to the hospital. We left a note on the door explaining to everyone where we had gone and why, and that we would be back, but by the time we got back, almost everyone couldn't come anymore. My childhood best friend, Shelley, who lived down the street, was getting her hair blown dry by her mom when I knocked on the door. She couldn't come. There was only one single girl, who I can't even remember the name of now, who ended up being able to come over.  All I can say is that my mom's intentions were good and we made the most of it. I also remember us living in an apartment complex that possibly had the word "Tiffany" in it and the dumpster being on fire one night, and us going to the pool in the middle of the night. I'm not really sure how old I was when that transpired.

I can't honestly say I remember the exact age I was when I went to live with my grandmother. Seven? My mom would know better than I would. I do know I was already living with my grandmother when I was 8, because of specific events related to that age. I can also tell you that even though I'm incapable of recalling the exact moment when I did leave my mom's care, I felt completely abandoned and unloved.

I grew up loving my mom so much, while at the same time never wanting to end up anything like her.  As far as I was concerned, she was a psychotic drug addict who chose a lifestyle that I didn't understand, at the time, over her children. I wanted to know why my mom didn't love me. I almost lost my mom when I was 6, because she decided to drive while drinking. She ended up hitting the cement barrier on the middle of a highway, breaking her nose and completely shattering her heel as her leg went through the floor of the car. If that is incorrect in any way, I will allow my mom to correct it.

Thankfully, it was one of many times that God would spare her life, just as He did my own later on in my adult life. It didn't stop her from living a dangerous lifestyle, though, as it just doesn't for some of us in the world of addiction. I envy those who learn quickly or from their first "serious mistake." Others, like my mom, and eventually myself, have to go all the way to the bottom and slam into the cold, hard ground in order to completely wake up.

I lived with my grandmother and my step-grandfather until I was 13 years old. The years I remember, from the age of 8 to the age of 13, consist of barely seeing my mom.  Again, I'm not sure how old I was [it could have been before 8, I don't know], I remember my mom sneaking my sister and I from my grandma's house in the middle of the night and driving us to Louisiana. I was born and raised in Houston, Texas, by the way. We went to her then (and ironically all these years later, now) boyfriend's house.  The only crisp memory I have from that trip, besides being woken up and wondering where we were going, is that I caught a butterfly. I loved butterflies. I was running around where Kevin lived, chasing the butterflies, and was so happy when I caught one. What I didn't realize at the exact moment that I caught it, I had killed it. I was devastated. Seriously, I was crushed over the fact that I had just killed a butterfly. I was so ashamed and sad that I went and sat behind Kevin's recliner, holding the butterfly in my hands. I don't know how long I sat there or when I finally came out, I just remember being sad about the butterfly. I don't even remember going back to my grandma's.

Through the rest of the years, I remember seeing my mom a few times a year after that. It may have been more than what I recall, but I mainly remember birthdays and Christmas.  I would anxiously wait by the window, waiting, and she would come and spend some time inside, bring gifts, and I would cry every time she would leave.  However, each year, even though the longing for my mom did not go away, the crying became less and less.  Instead, I was angry along with the sad.  She had this whole life that didn't include me and I didn't understand why.  I didn't understand what drug addiction was.  At that age, my opinion was that if you really wanted to stop using drugs, you could just stop. Just stop, already! I would find out later in life, that is so NOT the case at all.

The story varied through the years as to how my mom came to "give me and my sister up." I was told that she just decided to sign us over one day. I was also told that she was deceived and thought she was signing over a car, only to find out she had signed over her children. I was told a lot of things. The type of things you just don't talk to the actual children about when they are still young and impressionable.  God knows the truth and I no longer care what the actual truth is on that exact matter, and that's ALL that matters.  In my heart, because I'm a parent now and had to make a similar, very, very difficult decision, I believe that my mother did what she thought was best for me and my sister at the time; not because she didn't love us or wanted to spend her life doing what she wanted to do.

Mommy, I'm sorry for ever thinking you didn't love me.

I was the angriest when my mom ended up moving from Texas to North Carolina, and then eventually Florida, where I now reside. By moving, she truly abandoned me in my eyes. I cannot tell the story of the day she left right now. Even though I was 12, it is still one of the most vivid, freshest memories I have of my mother. The tears, the terror, the pain, and the fear.  She didn't fully understand what she was leaving, but my sister and I did.  Watching her drive away as my sister and I stood in the driveway crying was exactly like what it must look like to see your very last hope for survival leaving your life forever.  She was leaving us to a life she really didn't know we were living; but she would find out once she was already living in North Carolina.

For reasons I will not go into in this blog, my sister and I were taken away from my grandmother (whom I love dearly, as well, let me please add), when I was 13 years old. We were both sent to my sister's dad, because I had no other relatives to be sent to other than my mother, that would take me, and it would be a process for my mom to get me at that point. I lived with my former step-dad for a year.  During that time, my mom and I wrote letters back and forth, and talked to each other on the phone.  It seemed like she was doing better in life, she was with my second step-dad -the man I will always call my step-dad, or "Gene"ric dad (his name is Gene)- and she wanted me to live with her in Florida once they got settled.  After a long process of home inspections and all the other stuff she had to do, I moved to Florida during the beginning of my freshman year of high school, 1988, and I've been here ever since. I lived with my mom again, from the age of 14 until I was 18 years old.

Things were great the first year, with the exception of the fact that my sister had to remain in Texas for 4 more years. I later found out she felt like I abandoned her, and that will always sting my soul, as I spent most of my life taking care of her and trying to protect her as much as I could. I hope, as an adult, she knows that in her heart now. My mom and I got along great.  It was a little awkward at first.  We were literally trying to get to know each other.  I wanted her to love me so bad and felt like I had to be perfect in order for that to happen.  I was raised feeling like I needed to be perfect and it took a lot of "unlearning" to change that.  If I was hungry or thirsty, I would ask permission to get something, and she'd quickly tell me I didn't have to ask for anything. I could just take it. I learned how to have more friends. I had sleepovers and slumber parties, got to go places - all things I was very rarely allowed to do before that, having been overprotected and sheltered my whole pre-teenage life.  I was extremely naive and trusted way too easily, even after what I'd already been through.

I was 15 years old the first time I walked in and found my mom talking to herself. That's when things very slowly began to go downhill in her life, again, and subsequently, mine to an extent. I say to an extent because around the age of 16, I learned very quickly how to tune certain things out of my life and become somewhat numb to my surroundings. It was the only coping mechanism I had left, and at that time I swore I would never resort to using drugs or alcohol in my life. Remember, I never wanted to be my mother.  I knew she was using drugs again. I knew she was smoking pot, because I witnessed it. I wasn't aware yet that she was abusing prescription drugs, and that was the reason she talked to herself, didn't make any sense a lot of the time, and her behavior was so outlandish and bizarre sometimes. I literally thought she was just going crazy. I was clueless.

I won't say those 4 years of living with her was hell, because it wasn't. It wasn't fun, and a lot of it sucked, but it wasn't purely disastrous. During the times when she was "normal" it was fine.

When I was 18, I moved out of the house. I was pregnant. My soon-to-be first husband and I got our own place. After I left, my sister moved to Florida to live with my mom, and for me, so much is a complete and total mystery and/or blur from that moment until the moment when things started to change for the better. My mom would flake on me and not babysit my son when I needed to work; or I just couldn't get a hold of her. She started using other drugs; cocaine, crack, and heroin, though I'm not sure in what order.  I would visit and hear her pretend sneeze in the bathroom so she could snort a line, and find the bloody tissues in the garbage. When I'd ask her about the bruises on the insides of her arms, she'd tell me she had her blood drawn that day for yet another illness that she supposedly had. She came to my baby shower for my second child with a black eye. She didn't see my second child until my daughter was 2 months old. After that, I rarely saw my mom again for several years. I wasn't really a part of her life and she wasn't really a part of my life, and my growing family; and I didn't want her to be.  I went back to being angry.  I didn't even care if she loved me or not anymore, on the surface. The inside of me was screaming, but I could no longer hear it.

It wasn't until after the birth of my fourth and final child in 2000 that I began to reach out to my mom again. I had started to miss her, and of course deep down I still loved her very much. I was getting divorced, soon to be a single mother of four children, and I really needed a mom.. again.  It was no use. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't fix her. I couldn't get her out of the lifestyle she was in, and I still had yet to experience any of it on my own. It wasn't until the end of 2004 through the middle of 2008 that I understood what true drug addiction was for myself, and ultimately understood my mom.

Yes, I became my mother. In every sense of the word, from how much alike we look to the severity of our addiction, to the decision we both made to put our children in a safer place; I was the epitome of my mother. My addiction was to cocaine and heavy pain killers, no crack or heroin; but, it really makes no difference. Addiction is addiction, and it can be strong no matter how much, or how little, you are addicted to.

My mom and "Gene"ric dad eventually moved back to North Carolina in an attempt to get away from everything that had practically, and ultimately did, destroy them here in Florida. I don't remember what year. I was some time in the late 1990s. The reason I remember that is because one of the times I went to visit my mom, I was almost 9 months pregnant with my third child (yes, I drove from Florida to North Carolina while almost ready to pop; I had my reasons) and when I got there, my sister and I were laughing so hard, and my daughter was sitting on my bladder, and I had to stop in the middle of the sidewalk that lead up to my mom's apartment because I had to pee. Stopping didn't help. I still pee'd on myself. The worst part was walking in and finding out my mom had company.

Awkward!

See, even in the midst of everything, there were still those moments that my mom and I connected. Most of all, we have always been able to laugh together, because we have the same wit, sense of humor, and, in my humble opinion, freaking awesome personality. Oh, and we laugh the same. Extremely loud and totally obnoxious. Like, the next city over can hear us.

After North Carolina, they moved back to Florida, but it was 2-1/2 hours from where I live now; the general area I've been in since moving to Florida in 1988. Her addictions became worse and worse, but she was in complete denial.  Our addictions coincided in 2006, when I went to Bradenton for Christmas with my kids. We didn't do any drugs together, but we were almost in the same physical condition. I still feel much shame when I say that I barely remember anything about that Christmas, except for the fact that I was sick and not mentally there for my children.  No one will ever understand the pain I feel when I look at pictures or sit and think about it too much, of the times with my kids that I missed during my drug addiction, the time and consequences that it has cost me after my drug addiction.. except, ironically, my own mother. She understands.

Our communications became rare again. Our relationship was very off and on. Then I found out that her and my "Gene"ric dad were splitting up for good. I want to say that was in 2010, but I'm not completely sure. All I know is it was very hard for me and my sister.  We cried.  But he is still part of us and we love him, and we always will, regardless of his own character defects. We all have them. My mom had moved back to Texas, where she remains and I think is the best place for her, even though I miss her more than words can say.

It took me until I was 36 years old to actually have a mommy. But I can honestly tell you that it was well worth the wait. It was worth all the pain, the tears, the experiences, the letting go, the anger, the confusion, the desperation, and the praying.

My mom checked herself into a rehab in Houston, TX, and it saved her life. She completely detoxed off all the prescription drugs she was on, and then put on only the few she needed for depression and anxiety. No more what seemed like hundreds of prescriptions for pain killers that she was finally ready to admit that she didn't need. This picture was taken in 2011. It was the first picture that I saw of my mom since she had gone to rehab.

I will never be able to describe what I felt when I saw this picture. I cried. And I cried and cried and cried, and I sat there with my mouth hanging open. Then I prayed and thanked God, and I cried some more. My mother was beautiful again. This picture will always hold an unimaginable amount of significance for me, because it marks the day I consider having found my mommy. When I talked to her on the phone, it was the first normal conversation I could remember having... ever.  I don't think I realized I HADN'T had a normal conversation with my mother until we talked after she came out of rehabilitation. She didn't talk over me. She didn't repeat the same thing 300 times in one conversation. I didn't have to put the phone down for an hour, only to come back and find that she was still talking. I could talk about me, my children, my life, and she was listening and responding. I had a mommy!

I've had a mommy ever since. I am so incredibly proud of my mother that I could write it every single day and it would only gain in meaning and never, ever lose an ounce of truth. My mom is a gorgeous, wonderful, compassionate, talented, intelligent human being who has overcome obstacles that many could never even comprehend. She is a voice that needs to be heard. She is a face that needs to be seen. She is a story that needs to be told. My mom went back to school and got a degree in medical billing and coding; an ally to my profession of medical transcription. Just another similarity between us. She has held a steady job ever since she finished school and is an asset to her company.  She has a life that she has always deserved to have and is someone that I can talk to about ANYTHING. She is always there for me, and I will always be there for her.

If anything could describe the kind of relationship we have now, it would be this picture. We are happy. She is mommy, I am daughter. We laugh at everything when we are together and have fun no matter what the circumstances; although I kind of look like I'm about to burst into tears or have an aneurysm in this picture, because I'm laughing so hard. It has taken time, but as I've said before, anything worth it takes time and effort.  Our relationship is worth it.  I forgive my mother for not being there when I needed her as I grew up.  I forgive her for the choices she made.  We all mistakes. Some of us make really big ones. I love her for who she is and I'm proud to call her mommy.

Dear mommy,

I know we have had it rough.  I know you never intended to make me feel like I was abandoned, just as I never intended on making my own children feel that way during my own years of mistakes.  I know you didn't just give me away, but you put me somewhere you thought I would be safe.  You did the best with what you had at the time, and didn't really have much guidance in order to do better than that. I want you to know that that's okay.  I forgive you and I am forever thankful that, no matter how old either of us were, you made the decision to put yourself somewhere in order to get the help you needed.  You made a great decision and you are living proof that a tiger can change it's stripes if it's determined enough to do so. Thank you for having me, and thank you for being my mommy. I love you. Happy birthday.

Always,

Barbara

Little Girl Sixteen.

She may be 16 years old, but she'll always be my little girl. She will always be my little girl, even though she doesn't want to be my anything right now. Some people tell me it is a phase, that it is just the way teenage girls are. I'm sorry, but I will have to politely and completely disagree with you on this one. My 16-year-old daughter actually despises me. She doesn't just treat me like I'm one of those dumb moms and she is like, "oh my god, mom, I know everything and you know nothing." She doesn't treat me like anything. I don't exist. I almost quite literally do not exist.

My Karah [kerr-uh; noun]; nickname: Kara-Bearah:  Skinny, pretty, blunt, sensitive, tall, creative, health food junkie, dancer, soccer player, writer. She was born in October of 1997. She's been loud ever since she came out of my womb. She lets you know what she wants when she wants it, and she is not afraid to say anything - at least not to a stranger. AND I MEAN ANYTHING. When it comes to personal and intimate feelings deep down, she has more of a difficult time sharing those feelings and thoughts with the people she loves.

She definitely does NOT get her height from me.

Her strange eating habits began when she was just 9 months old. She grabbed a red onion off my plate while we were eating at Outback Steakhouse and promptly took a huge bite.  I cringed, half covering my face, fully anticipating the tears and screaming to start. Instead, she chewed it up, swallowed it, and took another rather large bite; then reached for another one. Thus, came her first word from whence she grabbed the onion: SALAD. Salad? Like, really? Most kids say mama, dada.... ball. Nope, her first word... salad. She will eat anything healthy, for the most part, and shun the things that are not. The foods that she does eat, she is incredibly picky about. It is always either too hot, too cold, too thick, too runny, the wrong color, or it just doesn't taste right. When she was in the 2nd grade, she began insisting I not put Swiss Cake Rolls in her lunch box for dessert, because according to her teacher, they would make her fat because of sugar. I had a hard time with that one - and with that teacher.

This will always be one of my favorite pictures of Karah. I took this picture during a Fall Festival and it was once featured in the International Library of Photography under the title "The Sad Scarecrow" by Barbara Hammontree.

She has many likes and dislikes, as do we all. Her likes include onions, ballet, soccer, hot sauce (on everything), singing, going to the movies, chicken, swimming, fruit punch, salad, drawing, painting, writing, running, zebras, pandas, coffee, and now, driving.  Her dislikes include alfredo sauce, sitting in the back of a minivan, having to wait (for anything), cheese, most things that contain sugar, getting dirty, pants, thick oatmeal, people touching her things, root beer, seeing other people cry, and hearing or seeing anyone vomit.. ever.  It really freaks her out.

She has improved quite extensively over the years, but Karah has been well-known to speak whatever comes to mind, without thinking about what she is saying AT ALL. 

The story of the unfortunate man and woman at the college book store:

I was waiting in the Financial Aid line at Seminole State College Bookstore, which can be incredibly long if you wait to go and get your books until the last minute.  I had my aunt and the kids with me. Karah was probably around 3 years old at the time. I had told the kids repeatedly to stop doing this, stop doing that, come sit down, please stop getting so close to that guy's butt, sit down or I'm going to throw you down, please don't put your gum up your nose, stop telling your brother he is stupid, etc.  There was a rather large black woman standing in line behind us.  I saw Karah eyeing her from time to time and was silently praying that she was not thinking anything sinister.  I was ready to pop her mouth at a given moments notice.  Apparently, my attention span was shot at that point and my reflexes just weren't quick enough.  She was pretty slick at how this all transpired, I really didn't even see it coming, quite honestly. I was sitting on the ground at this point, when my pretty, blue-eyed, sweet and innocent-looking little doll face from Mars walked up to me, looked me straight in the eye, and loudly enough for the entire book store to hear her said, "Mommy, is that Big Momma?"

Have you ever wanted to die?  I mean really wanted to die?  Like as in prayed for a giant black hole to just open up and swallow you face first right then and there?  I apologized profusely with what I can only imagine was a complete look of horror on my face.  Thankfully, the woman understood how children are sometimes (ha! she thinks) and just smiled it off.  It doesn't end there.

No more than 5 minutes later, the man in front of us in line bends down and says to Karah, "If you can sit down here in line and be really good for your mommy, I'll give you this dollar bill when you reach the front of the line."  Karah's response:  "Your breath really stinks."

More apologizing from me. I mean, what else could I really do at that point? I obviously had a child that completely missed the bus when God was handing out the filters that go between your brain and your mouth. Not that I can really say I have much of one myself, so perhaps she just got it honestly.

She has definitely toned down over the years.  She very seldom makes remarks anymore that us, as adults, know are rude and can have consequences.  At least not in front of me, anyway.  She has learned that even though she does not mean anything harmful by some of the things she says, they can still affect other people.  She really hadn't made any remarks at all in the couple of years after that until she randomly pointed out and declared that a woman in Wal-Mart was a "funny little midget".  Thus began the lesson that was politically incorrect; they aren't midgets, they are little people, without the funny.

She still has her own little attitude, and witty, even sometimes rather snappy remarks, but none so blunt as the ones I've shared.

She used be in ballet and tap classes, mainly when she was 6 to 7 years old, and then ballet again for a brief time when she was around 14.  Her first Tap Recital was "Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka-Dot Bikini", hence the yellow tap dance costume with silver sequins and fancy yellow fringe hanging around her cute little waist as a "skirt."  She even had yellow ribbons tying her tap shoes.  At the end of her dance she was the last one to go off the stage and she stopped right in the middle of the stage, jumped up, and landed facing the audience with her feet apart and arms out to her sides, shaking her hands - jazz hands!  The audience cheered and clapped, as did I;  but, I did so with my mouth hanging open and heat beginning to travel up my face as I turned red as a beet.  You see, I didn't realize until after the program that she was actually told to do that;  I thought she just decided to take it upon herself to have her moment of glory in the spotlight. Her 15 seconds of glorious fame. It was a wonderful 15 seconds, regardless of whether she was told to do it or not.  I would have been proud either way.  After the kids went to live with their father, she drifted from dance.  She played mainly soccer and did some cross-country running, but returned to ballet, as previously mentioned, for a short time when she was 14, before deciding to quit due to having to choose what she wanted to do the most, as well as the fact that a tumor was found along her knee and had to be removed, making it difficult for certain extensions in dance.  I also think she was frustrated that she was behind the other students in terms of technique, and toward the end of her dancing, I may have been part of the reason she gave it up all together, because I am a former dancer; and Karah had always wanted to be like me.

She ran in cross-country for a while. It was great for her and she would come in with great times; those long, beautiful and strong legs of hers seemed to just glide past other runners. She was proficient in the long jump, as well. I was always impressed with her skill in whatever she chose to do.

It was when she became serious about soccer, which she still plays, that her light really began to shine through. When she was 9 years old, she kicked 13 goals that season.  I think my proudest moment was when she used the top of her head to block the ball.  Her team name: Shooting Stars.

She now plays with Orlando City Soccer and, despite surgery on her knee to remove the tumor and subsequent rehabs, she is an amazing soccer player whose skills develop more and more each year. Unfortunately, I don't know much about the past year, because I haven't really been invited to her games. The games I did get invited to, in the beginning of the season, I was unable to get to. Then the invitations just stopped coming.. and so did she.

One of the things that defines this child, especially with all we have been through -together, and her as an individual- is her love for Jesus.  She is a God-loving girl who can be incredibly sweet and will reach out to anyone.  She is very sensitive and compassionate, and her boldness has turned into a wonderful thing as she is not at all afraid to speak to people of the Lord.  She loves children and has a tender heart.  I believe a damaged and broken heart still in need of much healing, but tender, just the same.

Many of our belongings were either vandalized or lost in a flood in 2006, when our lives fell completely apart and the first time I became homeless.  Among those items was Karah's CD player/Boombox.  When I told her this, this was her reply:  "It's okay mommy.  You don't have to buy me another one.  I am just glad that you are alive."

Those words are something I will never forget and are similar to many she would say through the years; "It's okay if you can't get me anything for Christmas, mommy. I only need you."

That was my Karah. My shadow. My "mini-me" that I miss so much. 

Our family began to fall apart in 2005 as a consequence of letting someone into my life that never should have been allowed there; and eventually my own mistakes and actions, and following consequences of those actions. If you've read any of my previous articles, you will know that I was a hardcore drug user from the very end of 2004, and stopped using hardcore drugs in 2008; way too late to salvage anything left of my life. I had never believed that addiction was a disease until I succumbed to it. It is; the rest of that story will have to be a completely different article. It wasn't just the drugs, it was the lifestyle that came along with being with someone who was even more addicted than I was, and was willing to do anything to feed that addiction; including getting me in trouble with the law. I take responsibility for my own actions, but I was unfortunately incredibly naive and just downright stupid in some areas, that when I fully came to the realization of what was happening, it was way past any chance of fixing it. We had been happy by ourselves; they may not remember all our good times, but I was an awesome single mom from 2000 to the beginning of 2005. The kids went to live with their father toward the end-ish of 2005.  I didn't find out about Karah's experiences until 2011; after she suddenly stopped coming to visit me on the weekends in December of 2010.

I can pin-point the day, the exact conversation that took place, that I know for a fact started it all. It was a simple miscommunication.  Her father and step-mother both always made it a point to call me a liar, which I had been. Have you ever met an honest person who is still in denial and in active addiction? I haven't, and I've come across a lot of them. The honesty comes with time, learning, growing, and finally learning to love yourself. It's a process of healing and making amends. This particular event, however, I was not lying about. I had written her dad an email about something, he miscommunicated my words to her, she called me and told me that she wasn't going to come over again until I stopped lying, I asked her what she was talking about, she told me, I asked her if he had shown her the email so she could see what I said with her own eyes because what he told her was NOT accurate, she said no, I told her she should ask him if she could read it, she repeated that she was not coming over until I stopped lying, and I told her as nicely as possible, "That's fine. I haven't lied to you about anything, it is your choice to not come over anymore and your choice if you don't want to read what I said yourself. I can take comfort in what I know to be true and come away from this with a clean conscience. This is not my fault."

And I meant every single word.

Apparently, so did she. Never having tried to see the truth, never giving me a chance that I believe I fairly and fully deserved, she never spent the night again. 

She at least continued to talk to me, but our relationship was never the same. After finding out how much Karah really was struggling, it was a downward spiral of hospitalizations, suicide attempts, and self-mutilation, which I got blamed for, as well. After all, I have been a self-harmer for years, albeit secretly [so I thought], so it would be natural to assume it was my fault that she became one. Not just that, but she actually told her therapist, and her father, and thereafter practically everyone else, it seems, that I taught her how to cut, which is in no way true, even in the slightest.  I very clearly recall a conversation with her, before she stopped coming to visit, when she first noticed my cuts, when I was still at the peak of self-injury and normally hiding them very well. She asked me why? I have always tried to be transparent with my children [after coming out of much denial] and at that moment, felt it was important to do so then. I told her that in many cases, as with myself, it was a physical release for emotional pain. Something that we could see, that would somehow make sense out of all the pain we felt inside that was invisible. I told her it was the wrong thing to do, but that it was the best, honest explanation I could give her. If she decided to utilize that as her own coping mechanism a couple of years later in life, I will not take responsibility for that, because I "taught her" to do nothing of the sort. She asked a question, I answered it. She has since been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, like myself, which far better explains her last few years of behaviors and tendencies, but the stigma attached to bipolar disorder is still too great for her to get past, and if asked, she would never admit it; and she hates taking her medication, but from what I understand, at least she does not hide it anymore.

Still, even through all of that, we tried to maintain a relationship. It gets confusing and frustrating for me from 2012 to the present, because the timeline is foggy and sporadic. The events don't make sense. The reasons are a now tattered mystery novel leading to shattered lives. As I said, our relationship was never, ever the same, no matter how hard I tried to retrieve my shadow. Some part of her was just gone. It felt like someone had amputated one of my limbs. It still feels that way.  She continued to drift further and further away. The lack of encouragement from her other "parents" to spend time with me has never helped, and only hurt. No matter how many times I was told "she needs her mother," she wasn't supported or nudged to spend time with me. It only fostered the idea that she could then decide what she wanted. I feel like she has learned to manipulate people at will and does not even realize the extent of her own mental illness. It scares me as a mother. Thankfully, she no longer attempts suicide, but since October of 2013, she has stopped communicating with me altogether. No phone calls, emails, texts; I'm blocked on Facebook, Instagram, and whatever other social media sites she is a member on.

I believe I can pin-point that, as well. I kept asking her what she wanted to do for her birthday, as it is in October, and she kept making excuses as to why she couldn't do anything. I eventually said [short version] just let me know when you decide you are ready to spend time with me. If I really think about, it probably wasn't in the nicest of tones; it had become hurtful and frustrating to me to have to keep asking, and I missed her so much. Just like that, she disappeared completely. It was then that I realized she does not like to be called out on anything, and if anything I ever said or did was going to threaten the existence of the way she has her life set up now, the way she wants it, she was not going to allow me near her. She has cut me off completely. So did her older brother, 2 months after she did. They are the closest to each other out of my children, relationship-wise.

I don't know if she can't forgive me for certain things or if she can't forgive herself for certain things. I don't know the truth versus lies anymore. I don't understand or know her motives behind anything she says or does. I don't know if she just wants negative attention or if she enjoys getting the attention she gets from others because she portrays herself as a victim. I often wonder if she has accommodating Borderline Personality Disorder. I don't know if she actually blames me for things I had no control over or if she thinks I simply turned into a mom who didn't care about her. I don't know what she thinks - at all.  I tried reaching out for a while, to make sure she knows I'm still here, but honestly; I'm a human being, too, and there is only so much I can take. When you keep reaching out and reaching out and reaching out, and no one is ever there to respond or take your hand, and you just get talked about instead, even after all you've done to change your life, your arms and your mind become crippled. Crippled in pain and in ways you can't possibly imagine unless you are a parent of a child who wants nothing to do with you, no matter what you try to do to fix it. So, you stop. You let go. I let go for months. Only today I finally decided, I'll try one more time. I texted her. No response. So I texted her one last text, "I love you and I forgive you for cutting me out of your life."

The tears were a waterfall today. I struggled well into the night. It's 5 a.m. and I am just now about to attempt sleep. How do you let go? How do you just release a child and try and pretend like everything is okay, that part of your heart isn't shattered every time you get no response? How do you do it?  How does everything become "okay" again and where do you find the answers?  When do you figure out "why?" But I can't continue to torment myself. I can't ask "why?" every single day and try to fix something that I obviously cannot fix. You can't fix someone else, you can only fix yourself; and that's what I strive to do every day - become a better ME than I was yesterday. I can't run after someone who doesn't want to be caught.

I can't make someone love me again. Not even my own child. 

Those were the hardest sentences I've ever had to type.

Right now I feel like I have two children, not four children. I am blessed to be called mother, whether they see me or not. I focus on the two that do. There is nothing else, nothing different, that can be done on my end.

Just as the story of the prodigal son, the father waited and waited, and when the son finally returned, he rejoiced. I finally returned to my mother. If I can do that, I have faith my children can return to me. I don't know when and I don't know how, and I know it is going to continue to be painful; but I will wait. 

Even if my little girl sixteen doesn't see it, I am now and always will be her mother.