The Memoir of Laquana Morris

As I sip slowly on this blackberry tea on this cold winter night, I have my mother’s picture framed in front of me and a coconut almond candle lit to set the tone right. My son is fast asleep, and that noisy round clock in my kitchen is just ticking away. The wind is whistling, making it even harder for me to concentrate.

I’m nervous, I’m heartbroken, and everything that has happened to me left me in disbelief. I’m extremely hurt and crying silently right now. I can feel the warm tears rolling down my cheeks as I gather my thoughts on what I’m about to say. Coming from one of the most-talked about cities, being exposed to poverty, drugs, enslavement, verbal and physical abuse, neglect, sexual assault, domestic violence, single-mother struggles, being an unloved orphan, sex worker, drug dealer, engaging in substance abuse, child endangerment, feeling suicidal and suffering from severe depression, and being a victim of bullying just to name a few, it is not easy touching these places.

But I figured I should. Why? Well, it’s been long, long overdue. I kept this duck tape over my lips for too long. The more I speak on what happened to me and scroll backward, the more I’ll heal and start to grow an understanding about myself. Peace is what I’ve been striving for since forever. How can I have that, though, if I’m holding all these in? I’m suffocating. It doesn’t feel good walking out of the therapist’s office and still feeling the same way. So what’s the next option after you realize therapy ain’t doing a damn thing? I guess give up, right? Well, that’s been an option before for me, but it’s a selfish one, especially when I have a person depending on me. So tell me, what’s next? Well, I figured maybe I should embrace what happened and just make the best of it. So writing out my thoughts have been a tool I have been using lately in efforts to move forward in life so I can be the best I can be.

So welcome to the memoir of my life story . . .