War for Your Dreams: Enter the Matrix

By Katrina Robinson

TEEN MOM TELLS ALL:

Bullying, pregnancy, single parenting, college dropout, welfare, & the escape from it all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 10, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456716776

Katrina Robinson

Katrina Robinson, a phenomenal empowerment lecturer, author, recording artist and single parent lives a commitment to carry the message of hope. The teen parent turned college graduate and empowerment speaker has much to say about the journey from a poverty mentality into REACHING FULL POTENTIAL. She has received media attention including newspaper articles, TV Shows interviews, and a Mayoral Citation for community work. Her initial work "Poverty to Potential", has been used along the East Coast as an educational curriculum tool.

Book preview

Table of Contents

ENTER THE MATRIX

Also by Katrina Robinson

Warfare Vocabulary

Chapter One

My War

Childhood

War

Grow Up

War

Teen Pregnancy

War

Social

War

Revolutionary

War

Transitional

War

Chapter Two

The

Machines

You’re

Stupid

You’re

Ugly

You’re

Worthless

You’ll

Never Be

Nothing

You Make

Me Sick

You’re Too

Fat

Earning

Love

Abuse

Poverty

Chapter Three

Ammunition

Discipline

Goal

Setting

Decision

Making

Chapter Four

Fight

to

Believe

The

Matrix

Become a

Warrior

Enlist a

Warden

The

Wardrobe

Find a

Warhorse

The

Warship

The

Warpath

Warcrimes

Warmongers

Chapter Five

The Couch

ENTER THE MATRIX

&

The MATRIX is a metaphor for choice.

Two worlds. Two pills. One choice.

A choice to live in the shadow of the past, or in the realm of the unseen where dreams and capabilities lie. A choice between

TRUTH and LIES.

Which will you choose?

In the matrix there are enemies to success:

Agents, The Traitor, Opposing Forces, The Machines, and Undiscovered Abilities

There are allies to success:

Mentors, Leadership, Higher Power, Special Abilities, Allied Teammates

War for Your Dreams will help you let go of past mistakes, hurt, and shame to re-align with personal DREAMS.

We look ordinary on the outside, but there’s more to us than meets the eye. You Are The One!

War for Your Dreams and let nothing stop you.

Also by Katrina Robinson

BOOKS

War For Your Dreams Devotional

War For Your Dreams Journal

Poverty to Potential

Poverty to Potential Devotional

CD’s

Worship CD, 2011

WAR

\WOR\ N.

1

Any active hostility or struggle

2

military operations as a science

Warfare Vocabulary

Warrior      Person experienced in conflict; soldier

Warden      An official charged with special supervisory/enforcement duties

Wardrobe    One’s supply of clothes

Warhorse    One who has been through many struggles; Veteran soldier

Warship      Battleship; Combat ship

Warmonger  One who urges or attempts to stir up wars

Warcrime    Violation of humane behavior, committed during war

Warpath      Ready for war; actively angry; ready to fight

Chapter One

My War

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Innocence is precious but vulnerable.

Katrina Robinson

Childhood

War

My mother and father were married at a relatively young age. My dad was a postal worker. My mother was a devout wife with a desperate desire for a child. After several miscarriages and a still birth they decided it was time to adopt. They adopted me. After signing all the paperwork, I went home to a 4 bedroom home in the city. As an only child, I was spoiled. I still have memories of Christmas which brought more toys, clothes, and riding machines than I could play with. At that age, cartoons were the highlight of life. I had a favorite TV Show – Wonder Woman. That’s right. Linda Carter was my first role model. Even way back then, my interest was in empowerment and I didn’t know it. I was drawn toward powerful images of women.

Our family was normal for a while; entertaining, accommodating family members, playing cards, and going to church. Sundays were the worst. We were out the door and off to service after my scalp cooled off from the hot comb! Then, home wasn’t so normal anymore. Not only was it not normal, it became scary and abusive. After adopting me, my mother had two more little girls. She got her wish after all. But while she got her wish, my father was fulfilling his desires outside of the home. He disappeared more and more. My father kept other women. That was another big issue. Infidelity and lots of it. Bills began to fall behind. And he was beating her whenever convenient. Seeing blood spats on the wall wasn’t unusual. Her teeth were damaged sometimes. I used to just run and hide when I heard the loud noises. I’m quite sure my mother was emotional distraught, but I was too young to know.

Punishment for me meant no food to eat. I became acquainted with cruelty. Other times, it meant hours of isolation from the family in the basement. I could hear everybody talking and laughing through the door. I could hear people walking past, but I was not allowed to come upstairs. I could only come out when she called me. Most times, it was to sit at the table, eat a plate of food, and then back down in the basement. I was not allowed to have any lighting, toys, or anything else while in the basement. I just had to sit there, in the pitch black. I usually sat on the top step, closest to the light under the crack of the door. As a kid, looking down the steps into that darkness scared me. Our basement was unfinished and flooded a lot. The floor was wet and dirty. I fell down the steps once into all that muck on the floor. Sometimes, I was confined to a bedroom. (That of course was an upgrade from the dark basement.) The bedroom did have windows so I could see outside. My friends knew me as being in the window I was confined so much. They knew if I was there, don’t look for me come outside and play. I would be so bored; I bit on the painted windows sills just to have something to do. On occasion, I was slapped down from the dinner table for talking out of turn. My mother got me good one year, it was my birthday. My dad chuckled along. She beat and slapped me so much, when she walked past I would duck. Even out in public. People would comment about how I would jump or block myself when she just walked by. (These are Warcrimes.) I was scared to death all the time. Maybe since she couldn’t control the other situation, controlling me was easier. Back then, our family believed there was no need for parents to communicate with or educate a child. Kids did as they were told. Understanding was not important. Kids had to suck up abusive behavior. That’s nothing new. Many times we have no idea what goes in people’s homes. The kids can’t tell it until they get grown. Some of this stuff carried into my adult life and I had to deal with it.

With three children and an abusive husband, there wasn’t much my mother could do for herself. She was completely under his control; no job, car, or education. Back in the 70’s when domestic violence went on in the home; it didn’t exactly lead to an arrest of the abuser. Usually, the man was just asked to leave and not return to the property for 48 hours. My mother was abused physically and emotionally right in front of my face. One night it was particularly bad. She was 7 months pregnant with child number four. I’ll never forget it as long as I live. Daddy had too much to drink and decided to use mom for a punching bag. It started in the kitchen. I must’ve been about 6 years old. All I heard was loud noises, stuff breaking, and screaming. She didn’t want me to get hurt so she overturned a coffee table and blocked the kitchen door with it so I couldn’t walk in. He balled up the food off a plate and smashed it in her face. He blackened her eye. She tried to get the phone and call the police. When she reached for the receiver, he ripped the phone and the cord out of the wall. I just stood there screaming. She blocked and ducked and tried to hide. I don’t even remember her fighting back actually. She just kept screaming for him to stop. He was hitting her and then humiliating her. I had on a one piece pajama outfit with the anti-slide feet. Thank God. I opened the front door and took off running into the night; out into the street. I started banging and screaming at the neighbor’s house. Nobody answered. It had to be at least 2 a.m. The neighborhood was sound asleep. I ran to the next house and started banging and screaming Open the door, please open the door, my daddy is beating on my momma. Unknowingly, I was at my friend’s house. Her mother cut on the porch light and came to the door. I was shivering and crying. She brought me into the house, grabbed the phone, and started dialing. While 911 was on the line, she wrapped me in a big blanket and laid me on the sofa. I could barely catch my breath from fear that I was next on my father’s list. After some time, the police came to the neighbor’s house looking for me. The officer walked me up the street back to my house. I didn’t want to go back. I did not want to go back. I wanted to live somewhere else. At the same time, I was scared to leave my mother. As I went up the front steps to the front door, the sight I saw changed me forever. All I can say is, I was never the same after that. My father was gone by order of the police. My mother was in the doorway talking to another officer (as much as she could talk with her mouth injuries). Her eyes were both black. She was shivering and shaking like a leaf. Her mouth was bleeding and she was trying to answer the officer’s questions. At 7 months pregnant, that had to be a woman’s worst nightmare. (The life of your baby is in jeopardy, you’re scared out of your mind, and the culprit….is your own husband.) She had to give all the details about what had been going on at 2331 DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AVE. How my father had cheated, how he drank, how he beat her, how we often had no electricity or water, and how we were all scared. I don’t know how she didn’t lose the baby in all that drama. That incident planted an unconscious seed in my mind to never let that happen to me. I say unconscious because I was too young to be thinking about relationships. But my mind kept that imprint of abuse, and when I got older BAM..the bold fighter in me came out. Although the climate at home was horrible, it was temporary. The worst was yet to come. A cycle of poverty was already in motion.

My dad moved out not too long after that bad beating. (The Warden Left) The player’s life tends to draw men away from responsibility and into a false world of freedom. We were left with nothing. Mom had the baby and the poverty cycle continued. She had no education because any time she tried to go to school; my father beat it out of her. We ate out of a cooler when the electricity was off. She bought ice every day to keep bologna, cheese, and formula cool. She borrowed money and vehicles from her friends to try and make ends meet. (Of course finding a job is difficult for someone with no education and childcare needs).

Eventually, she had to sell the house. That was a disaster! Ole’ Mr. Walker – our supposed real estate agent turned out to be a swindler of the lowest sort. A slick talking hustler. Oh…he was so concerned about my mother and her kids. Oh…. he was going to help us so much. He promised to get her a deal that would sell the house and put some money in my mother’s pocket. As a child, I didn’t know all the details, but I remember the great sorrow that followed his promise. I remember all the plans she made for the money from the sale of the house. We were going to buy a car, rent a nice apartment and get new clothes. She was going back to school and pay the tuition in full. It was a plan to get out of the hole. The house went on the market and sold. We put our belongings in storage until we found a new place. She borrowed somebody’s car on the settlement day and I was the co-pilot. We picked up the closing check from the real estate broker. My mother was so excited; she opened the envelope in the car. Then, she just sat in the driver seat and bitterly wept. I kept asking, What’s wrong momma, what’s wrong? She wouldn’t answer. All she did was cry for the longest time at the steering wheel. Then, she told me. Whatever we were supposed to get, we only got a few hundred dollars and that’s it. He stole the rest of the money. He added a lot of bogus charges on the paperwork and cleaned us out. He knew mom didn’t have an education or anybody to help her. Ole’ Mr. Walker. He ripped us off good and never looked back. He left an abused single mother confused, broke and scared. We were grinding after that. Times were tough. Of course we lost everything in the storage. There was no money to pay a monthly bill. Thank god my mother