Because I’m just Ericka from the Streets of Parramore in Orlando Florida. I’m nobody special. I’m just like you. When I was growing up off of Westmoreland in Orlando, that would have been our ghetto. Our roughest part of town. It’s the neighborhood that as an adult I would not want my children to grow up there. It’s NOTHING like the neighborhood of 2016. We didn’t have meth addicts or needles all over the ground. It was safer back then.
We could play in the streets and not have any worries. We all knew each other. It was very small though. Wooden houses built on platforms. Almost shotgun style.
As a kid I walked everywhere I wanted to go. I didn’t have it easy by no means. Not even close.
It’s important for me that I always be honest with my readers because you should know me. It’s my responsibility to connect with you. I’m not some rich brat who pities you pathetic morsels. I’m in the dirt right with you. Maybe it’s hard to tell just by looking at me. Maybe it’s hard to tell because of my voice. My voice and the way I speak aren’t conducive to my upbringing. I was always proper. I was always preppy.
You cannot change who you are. No matter your circumstances, you are you. Even though as a child I was told I would be no good just like my slut and whore of a mother, turns out, that wasn’t true.
My mother was a chain smoking drunk. I don’t smoke cigarettes or marijuana and rarely drink. Ive NEVER touched a drug. My mother died of lung cancer that spread to her brain years ago. I think I was 35. I don’t remember.
I pride myself on having been so strong for so long. By the way, I was going to write another book about my life. But as of today, I’m not that important.
If I died tomorrow, there’s no fucking way you bitches won’t know about me.
I can honestly say that I’ve been through almost everything. I understand hunger, I understand being homeless. I understand sexual abuse. I understand sickness and being in a debilitating state. I understand rejection. I understand losing a child. As far as I know my daughter isn’t dead, but it’s been 14 years. Who knows?
When I write I’m authoritative. Because until you’ve walked in my shoes, you are not qualified to teach. Lol you think you know my life?
My HIV POSITIVE mother slept with my boyfriend. Just to hurt me. You don’t know pain. I’m qualified to teach.
People read my blogs which are extremely entertaining because I’m a foul mouthed bitch. I get that from my drunken mom. The difference is while sober my mom was very timid. While drunk she became a straight up bitch. I don’t need alcohol. I wasn’t able to speak up as a child, but hot damn yall better watch out! My shit backed up!
Shits coming out of my mouth like diarrhea. Lol that was gross.
You’re offended huh?
Ok so more about me. I think if I had shown some type of weakness as a girl that would have been great! But I just couldn’t or didn’t. I don’t know why not. Anyone would have understood me being on drugs or drinking heavily or having a life of crime underneath my belt. But I had this mature voice, I was very well mannered, very poised.
At around 15 I literally got up and decided that I was no longer going to sleep on the streets. I got dressed and went to the local DCF chapter. I remember knocking on the back door of the office. A black lady answered and asked me what I wanted. I told her my name. She asked how she could help me. I told her that I was homeless. She looked me up and down and said, ” you’re homeless?” I said YES. SHE was shocked. She looked shocked. But it was true. I was 15 and homeless. My aunt had kicked me out. I had already slept on the streets with my sister for 2 weeks. We had already been crashing at strangers houses. I had been getting offers to have sex for money. I was a virgin. Obviously that was a NO! Grown ass men trying to sleep with a child.
My sister was/is a hustler. We are night and day.
We aren’t close, because our lifestyles differ, but we love each other. This picture was taken last year.
I have 2 brothers. I’m younger than all of them. But IMO I’m smarter. 😋😋😋
My brothers. They are my heart. I’m 5’9 I swear I’m taller than them.
Lol yes I love dancing. Do I care how I look? No. I was feeling good this day.
After all the bullshit. Look at this shit. It can be done. I know that many are suffering. I know that thousands don’t know how they will survive. Do you need help? Hell yeah! This shit hurts! It sucks. I didn’t ask for that. I never talked about me. I was always helping others. Then the day came when I started needing help.
I was so consumed with fear. I didn’t have anyone in my circle who I knew would understand me. And I didn’t want to be bothered with any prayer warriors. The last thing I needed was somebody telling me to take it to God. I had done that and it didn’t work. LOL it was a Band-Aid on a bullet wound. I needed a therapist, counselor, Psychiatric clinic, in patient care. Okay that was extreme I didn’t need to go to the hospital or anything like that. But I won’t judge the ones that do. I don’t even blame the ones who use drugs to turn to alcoholism I don’t blame you at all. Matter of fact I am jealous as fuck. I wish I could. It’s just not in me.
People act like I’m so judgemental when it comes to people on drugs and alcoholism. I don’t give a fuck how you deal with your problems. Life sucks at times. The only time I do care and judge is when you have children. If you can’t take care of your kids you need to give them up. You need to give them kids away. Because they don’t deserve that. If you have anger issues and you have to swing on your child and punch him in the mouth and choke them and beat them with sticks and shit like that, you don’t need to have kids.
If you are constantly trying to get high and hang out in the streets and your children are burden for you, it’s time to put the kids up for adoption.
Being artistic is a great way to relieve stress and tension. Writing about all of your problems is a good way to let it all out. Yeah I could write a journal and have this big book in my house for everybody to wonder what I’ve written inside of it. Or I can just put my journal online. What is there to hide? We are all human, so there ain’t no reason to be secretive.
I used to be secretive back in the day and then I had a mammogram. After four children and a mammogram there’s no more secrets.
The Stranger who I didn’t even know put my boobs in some of the weirdest positions I’ve ever seen. I don’t understand why you have to smash them like that. I feel violated. As a woman I just don’t even know if there’s anything sacred anymore in my life. I literally told everything I just don’t even see the point of being discreet. One of the worst experiences ever was I remember having my daughter one of them anyway and I was in the process of dilating and I remember a nurse came in let’s say 12 o’clock and she checked and I was like 4 centimeters. Then an hour later another nurse came in she checked and I was like 5 centimeters, then like another hour later somebody else came in and I was like 8 centimeters. I got raped by 3 different women in that short time span. I know their medical professionals but I don’t like them. I don’t understand why people have to come in and stick their fingers in my fucking vagina. So no I don’t have any fucking secrets.
Then every year a bitch who I don’t know invades my shit again! I don’t want my body being used for anything except pleasure! Lol Qtips aren’t pleasurable. Imagine fucking a qtip. It’s like a needle jabbing you in the uterus.
I gave up on having privacy in my life the moment I joined Facebook.