Molding My Destiny

By Patrice M Foster

Molding My Destiny is Patrice M Foster's story of overcoming depression . Her Journey from rock bottom and back, determined to beat the odds. She forged ahead, not only surviving, but thriving. Through forgiveness, acceptance and determination healing began. Her memoir details her battle through poverty, neglect, and abuse. You can either plunge to the depths, forever swallowed by the darkness of depression or, you can climb out inch by agonizing inch and survive...and even thrive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrice M Foster
• Release date: Dec 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9780578181462

Patrice M Foster

About The Author Patrice M Foster is a Registered Nurse in Childhood and Adolescence Psychiatry, with more than 30 plus years of clinical experience. She blogs and writes about issues that affect kids' mental health

Book preview

Molding My Destiny:

A Story of Hope That Takes One Child from Surviving to Thriving

Patrice M. Foster

www.PatriceMFoster.com

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

This book is a work of Nonfiction. Names, characters, places, occupation and incidents change by author to maintain their anonymity. This book is not intended or meant to replace sound medical advice. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Molding my Destiny

Copyright © 2016 Patrice M. Foster

ISBN: 978-0-578-18146-2

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016909076

Cover design By Clarissa Yeo

www.yocladesigns.com

Editor Carol Thompson

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Dedication page

I wrote this book for my children. Although I may not have been the best of mother and my feelings of abandonment tended to spill over into my parenting style, I acted out of love. I love you, all of my children. If I have hurt you, if I have made you feel ashamed of me, I hope you can forgive me.

There’s no excuse other than that I was afraid of love. While writing this book, I realized many other teens were hurting just as I once was and if only there was someone who cared, life could be different. It is my hope that in some way, this book will help make a difference.

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1: Preparing for America

Chapter 2: The Breaking Point

Chapter 3: Beg, Borrow or Steal

Chapter 4: The Lonely Years

Chapter 5: Reunion

Chapter 6: The Taste of Freedom

Chapter 7: New Life, Shattered Dreams

Chapter 8: Transitions

Chapter 9: Struggling to Survive

Chapter 10: Dark Days

Chapter 11: Finding the Right Path

Chapter 12: Second Chance

Chapter 13: Empowerment

Chapter 14: Lessons Never Learned

Chapter 15: From Hell to Healing

Chapter 16: A New Direction

Chapter 17: Changes

Chapter 18: New Directions

Introduction

Inner peace can be reached only when we practice forgiveness. Forgiveness is letting go of the past, and is, therefore, the means for correcting our misperceptions. - Gerald G. Jampolsky

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One basic need holds true for almost all humans: the need to be loved.

When you're lost in a sea of suffering, treading water like a drowning swimmer thinking there's no way out, no way you will ever find love and respect, it’s hard to imagine that things may actually turn out okay. You flail in the water desperately reaching for a hand you hope will be there to pull you out of that stormy sea. Sometimes I look back and wonder how I ever survived, how I made it this far. Now that I’ve reached that milestone, I realize anyone can overcome his or her obstacles.

There have been so many times when I felt doomed to a future as bleak as the parched desert soil, and I truly believed that no one out there would ever love me or treat me with respect. Sometimes I wondered if I was the type who simply loved to suffer and endure pain, or had I simply learned how to cope with it like an addict able to tolerate higher doses of a drug?

The story of my life could best be described as a patchwork quilt of every type of heartbreak and suffering imaginable but also a journey through pain, struggle and a renaissance that led to a new woman. If there were lessons I had to learn in my life, I certainly learned them in a way no book or classroom could ever teach me.

We like to think that childhood is a period of safety, love, and family. Many have wonderful memories of growing up in happy homes. How different it was for me. By my tenth birthday, I had been molested by a preacher, abandoned by my parents, and shuffled around from one foster home to the next. By the time I graduated from high school, I had been gang raped, arrested for distributing drugs, and endured prostitution so my sister and I could eat. I was no stranger to homelessness; the reek of the street was one that was very familiar to me. Pride was a foreign word, and I did whatever it took to survive, even if it meant accepting handouts from strangers and kind friends.

Of course, this drastically changed my perception of the world. I became angry and suspicious because I never knew what to expect. I also learned never to trust anyone, adults in particular, because they always lied and found ways to hurt me. Adults, and those I thought I could trust, such as a pastor, held a powerful influence over me because I would do almost anything to fill that deep emptiness within me. Just when I thought I had found love, it slipped away. Love hurt so often and so deeply I began to believe that it wasn't meant for me, that it was a dream as ephemeral as a cloud.

I remember experiencing so many negative emotions … fear, sadness, isolation, disappointment, the sense of being old before my time. The lower I felt, the harder I searched for love wherever I could to fill that void, even for a while, no matter how destructive. I slept with men for twenty-five dollars to feel any kind of connection, but it only left me feeling soiled, empty, and even more vulnerable. I was gullible and naïve, but I also erected a wall around me that concealed the good heart hiding deep within. The streets taught me a brutal lesson. The choices you make impact every aspect of your life, your beliefs, and your self-esteem.

Even though I hit rock bottom and suffered the epitome of despair and anguish, my sense of humor and hope sustained me even during my darkest days. It would have been easier to surrender to drugs and alcohol, but I continued to hope that my pain would go away and that my life would one day change for the better.

Love was all I wanted, but it was impossible to find. I believed my parents hated me, and I wasn’t willing to listen to their side of the story until later on in life. Time slipped by, and I finally found the courage to take my life into my own hands. I finished school even though my sister had given up and my brothers had fallen into the dark world of drug dealing. Though it was a struggle to put myself through nursing school, it was worth it.

I also realized that after struggling for years with feelings of abandonment, resentment, and loneliness, I had to start the long and difficult process of healing the wounds from the past. Though I made peace with my father on his death bed, it took many more years to make peace with my mother. It was incredibly difficult for me to even call her, and then finally visit her daily to forgive, forget, and eventually make peace with my soul.

Through sheer willpower and determination, I matured, progressed, and learned to rely on myself and pull myself through. It took me years to realize what a career counselor once told me, You are a queen; you are unique. You are one of a kind, and you need to believe in yourself. You can be whatever you want.

The hardest part is learning to trust people after they’ve hurt and abandoned you. You have to learn to let people get close, and it’s still a frightening prospect for me. While I haven’t mastered it yet, given time, my wounds will heal. I feel confident that my life will unfold the way it should. It’s simply a matter of determining who is real or superficial, and what will or won’t work. I’m still searching for myself, and I know the journey will be an uphill climb, but I’m happier and more in tune with myself than I ever have been.

It takes a gutsy woman to make it through abusive relationships and experiences, whether they're with strangers, parents, so-called friends, or coworkers. I knew the only way to survive was to keep moving forward, to keep my faith, follow my instincts and get a degree, raise my kids, and risk starting a new business all on my own. Each successful step was a rite of passage, and every tear, every heartache, only made me stronger.

One of my proudest and most significant achievements in my life was going to college to become an LPN, and then an RN. My father always told me I would fail and that I would never get a degree because I was stupid just like my mother. Fortunately, I chose not to listen. Since becoming a nurse, I’ve purchased two homes and two cars, had three children, and started my own business.

Through my business, I hoped to give people something that I had always wanted and still want in many ways: respect. When you’re subjected to people beating you down and telling you that you're worthless, or when you work for someone who doesn't recognize or appreciate your value, you need to get into a better situation. I started a company called Respect Medical Services. It places people in the medical services industry such as nurse practitioners and support staff, in positive work environments where they will be treated well and receive the respect they deserve.

No one should have to suffer the way that I did, and I hope my story will help others, especially women, understand and accept that no matter what you've endured, you can survive, thrive and enjoy a good, respectable, and meaningful life.

Overall, this book is about a young woman coming of age in New York and her struggles with the three men in her life, which became her struggle to ultimately find herself.

Chapter 1

Preparing for America

"Hope and a desire for love are what keep us going in our darkest moments." — unknown

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To this day, curried goat and reggae music remind me of betrayal and lost love. Yet, to a nine-year-old girl, on a day nearly thirty-four years ago, they were the promising signs of life falling into place after a bleak period of tragedy and heartbreak. I had a lot to celebrate that day. I was about to embark on a journey to heal all scars, or so I thought.

My six brothers, sisters and I were going to America, the land of riches, or as they say in Jamaica, The land of milk and honey where no one works, and money grows on trees. Friends of ours, who had moved from Jamaica to America, would come back to visit and tell us how no one has to work in America and that the people have everything they need. It sounded like a fairy tale, but then, who didn’t love them? They described magical people and faraway places, and everyone always lived happily ever after.

***

My mother was the first to go to America as she was selected via lottery and left us behind so that she could better provide for her family. She was hired as a maid by a white client in New York and later took on several jobs as a house cleaner to save as much as possible to send back to the people taking care of me and my siblings. At the time, she lived with her sister, Sofia and her husband, Desmond, but neither liked or wanted children, even though my aunt had a daughter living in England. My mother’s intention was to file for my father to come to America and then my brothers and sisters.

Once my father arrived, he served my mother divorce papers, and they went his separate way. Unfortunately, the documents were fraudulent, and my mother believed for years that she was divorced when she was not. She found out when she tried to file for my oldest brother, and the attorney discovered that there was never any divorce. My father had wanted to marry his girlfriend in New York, so he finally found a way.

When my mother left us in Jamaica, she believed our father was there taking care of us, but when he left to go to America, he abandoned us. We were eventually separated and placed in boarding homes all over the island. My brothers went to live with a couple in Kingston. My two sisters were sent to a family in Kingston, and I was sent to Westmoreland to live with my Uncle Francis. It was a terrible shock for all of us as we never saw it coming. We never thought our father would simply walk away from us as though we had never existed, and all of us suffered through years of being shuffled around from place to place with people who didn't really care for us.

But dad did go, and went on to live a good life in America. He became a holistic naturopathic doctor and founded the Microcosmic Science School in Brooklyn that taught healthy living and nutrition using alternative medicines, herbs, fruits, and raw foods. In 1974, he also founded the Universal Sanctum of Meditation, wrote several books, owned apartment buildings and health food stores in New York, was chauffeur driven everywhere, and was well respected by his clients and church members.

I did see my father occasionally, (my brothers Jovan and Conner were regular members of his church), and while he was pleasant enough to me and sometimes gave me money, he never really showed any remorse about leaving me or my siblings. He had children in America and Canada who will never acknowledge me because my mother never spoke of my father’s other women, and who were also the product of a father who was never there for them either. Some of the other women thought that my siblings and I benefited from our father's success, but that was never the case.

Chapter 2

The Breaking Point

"I do my best to please everybody, far more than they’d ever guess. I try to laugh it all off, because I don’t want to let them see my trouble." - Anne Frank

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As the youngest of six children, I was definitely the shy, reclusive member of the family. Physically, I was short with an average build and bow legs like my mother. I was brown-skinned with a scattering of freckles around my nose and always wore my hair in braids as a child. We grew up in a middle-class neighborhood of Kingston and were neither the richest nor poorest people in the area. We had a maid at one time, who we nicknamed Kooly Ellen. Her complexion was like rich and smooth honey. She has brown eyes and long black hair that she wears in a ponytail wrap up in a bun. She was a strong and beautiful Indian woman who worked for my mother and helped out around the house.

I wish I could tell you all the details of our home but so much abuse, hunger, and bad things occurred that the details are blurry like a faded old photo. I barely remember the color of my room, and we have no pictures left. I know the house was located in Sydenham Villa in Spanish Town, St. Catherine. It was a cramped, one -bedroom prefab that was a definite downgrade from where my family had lived before I was born. The house was empty beyond a stove, refrigerator, a cardboard box and a cloth tie up for a bed. My siblings and I slept on the hardwood floor.

Despite our relative poverty, my father was able to fool people into thinking we were better off than we were. Not many people in Jamaica could afford decent housing in a working class neighborhood with electricity and running water. One neighbor, a policeman and his wife, a teacher, were kindhearted people and often brought milk and cheese home that had been donated to the school from churchgoers in America. We never said no to these handouts, and it taught us a valuable lesson about compassion from these generous people.

Of course, we never said a word about these donations to our father. He spent most of his money on alcohol or other women when he should have been spending it on his family so we could have food in the refrigerator. The fridge was an ancient appliance that needed a cord to keep the door shut. My mother said that President Kennedy was

sending milk and cheese to Jamaican schools and the teachers would bring it to the students. It was basically the same few foods, which was usually a cheese sandwich made with the sweet bread eaten at Easter (which some Jamaicans ate daily). We also had rice with cheese and vegetable, cheese dumplings, or eggs and cheese. I found the yellow cheese rich in flavor, but I hated milk unless it was chocolate milk, which was a rarity. It didn’t matter, though. As we were always hungry, I was grateful for the food.

I know we had a dog, a mutt named Rover, who I loved dearly. He ran across the street one day and was hit by a car. That broke my heart. It seemed like every time I loved something and got close to it, it always went away. To this day, we only have one family picture and the faces in that photo reflect how we all felt back then—sad, defiant, and hopeless. Even Rover, who was still alive at the time, looked lost.

***

My mother, Winnie Ruddock Foster, was born in Westmoreland, Jamaica to Zelpha Macintosh, a native of Germany who emigrated to Jamaica with her parents. Her father, and my grandfather, Frederick Ruddock, was half black and half East Indian. Zelpha came from an affluent family, and she and my grandfather didn't agree with my mother’s choice of husband.

My mother met my father in one of those random ways that often bring people together. Dad was a fast-talking salesman who came to the house. My grandparents didn’t like that, but it didn’t stop my father from striking up a conversation with my mother. He continued to stop by