I’ll Tell You in Pieces: Part 2 of My Story

“I’ll tell you in pieces ‘cause it’s way too heavy” (Kendrick Lamar, [Mr. Morale])

Some of you who I’ve told what happened — or who have read my recent blog post — probably want to know how I know my mother was responsible for what happened to me two years ago….

Two sources told me: my father, and the police where the trafficking happened. I also heard her voice on speakerphone. She called into the jail I was held (protected) in.

And when I asked her this past Mother’s Day what she knows about what happened to me, she lied. First, she said she knew nothing. Then she made up a ridiculous lie.

I remember when I got home to Dallas, Texas after/during the trafficking, around August 8th or 9th, 2023. I had been calling into the VA Crisis Line daily. Several times a day. The VA Crisis Line — although not perfect — has, in fact, saved my life plenty of times. I will always call them no matter how frustrated I get with the person I happen to get on the other line. They have saved my life.

But I was on the phone just after the apex of the mess — and by the way, no one had sex with me if that’s what you’re wondering. I was just drugged and held for four days in a visitor’s jail and chased around for a few months. But no one physically violated me sexually.

I got violated physically, but not sexually.

There was also some human trafficking in the form of free spiritual labor that was done to me.

I was in a jail cell praying and ministering to people and sh*t for free. I was showing the police sh*t I don’t remember how I knew. It was weird. But that was free, non-consensual and extreme under duress labor.

There’s this one dude I swear was Mexican Mafia à la California I was singing to. I guess I had blacked out, and I woke up standing in the middle of the cell singing Kendrick Lamar’s Purple Hearts like it was a gospel song.

Homie came out his cell in tears. He pointed to me super aggressively and told me I’m going to get that Honda I wanted. I sat down on my jail bench wondering: how did he know I wanted a Honda?

Chile, my computer and phone were hacked and everyone in that police station knew my personal business. They were laughing and joking about what they found. Including how I like to get freaky with my Norwegian lover-friend.

The drugs I was given in the water bottle I was given days prior were a mix of what I think MDMA would feel like plus something that makes you horny as hell. So naturally, I knew who to call.

But anyway…

I was speaking to some crisis line workers on the VA Crisis Line. I spoke to them before, during, and after the incident. I’ve been speaking to them on the regular since 2021. They are part of my safety plan.

I was so confused about what had just happened. I was drugged, yes. But I was also minding my middle-aged adult business. Traveling as usual. I’m very meticulous with my travel and safety plans, but somehow…I mean…what the f$ck was that? So, I was questioning…was what I just went through real? Was it what it looked like to me? How in the world did it happen? I was told in general what was going on while I was in the cell. But to this day it’s hard to wrap my brain around. Plus, right now, its pin drop quiet. If it happened like I was told, shouldn’t there be arrests and new stories? I mean…I witnessed and heard some wild stuff.

Apparently, the drugs they snuck on me via that “sealed” bottle of water didn’t metabolize like they expected.  I don’t know what crackhead didn’t think of that when they made their plans.

I am a middle-aged Black woman. I have been on heavy VA meds for 12 years straight. I spent a year and a half titrating off all those drugs from 2020 to 2021 so that I could see what feeling my feelings felt like again. So, by July 2023 I was drug-free for a year and a half. Ain’t sh*t metabolizing like normal in this body. I even take super enzymes before I eat my salad.

But anyway…

Looking back, I know some of what I experienced was dissociation and some were personal spiritual experiences. I was locked in a visitor’s jail cell for four days. Terrified, but protected. No paperwork was drawn or given. I was terrified, but thankfully, protected.

In that cell I also felt the presence of my paternal grandmother, Johnnie Will Flowers, God, and the energies of friends and lovers who have truly loved me over the years.

But one thing the Crisis Line Workers would often say to me back then in the aftermath:

“Well, what if you never get clarity on the details of why and how it happened? What if you never get clarity on what was real and what wasn’t?” To me, that is the dumbest thing they could have said to me. No offense.

Because that is not how trauma and healing from trauma works. Not in my brain.

I need to draw meaning from what happened so I can move on. And I can’t draw meaning from something I don’t understand.

When people say sh*t like that to me, I am side-eyeing them: what is their interest in me “forgetting”? As if that’s possible in the first place? I will not get on mind-numbing drugs unless I choose to. Been there, done that.

So, now what?