You are a Woman of Destiny, with great vision and plans for yourself, but remember you must take control of your life, don’t let anyone “Love You To Death!”
TK Jordan Presents: “He Loved Me To Death!” –Woman at the Well College Tour! Pls Forward to all of your HBCU Connections!
Married 5 times by the age of 34! TK Jordan shares her TRUE STORY in "Woman at the Well..Get Past the Pain" of running from Pain, Heartbreak and Past Failures which set her on a self-destructive path of playing the "Russian Roulette of Love" running from man to man, relationship to relationship and marriage to marriage, trying to fill a void that truly no "MAN" could fill!
A Bold "what NOT to do" for Women, Men & Singles!
To add your College/Organization on TK Jordan's Tour Schedule send request to email@example.com or firstname.lastname@example.org
[u]Excerpt: Girl Fight! It Ain’t Worth It!“
Girl you gotta pull yourself together!” Tammy said as she snatched the cover off of me. I had not gotten out of the bed since the night Eric left, which was seven days ago. I had a nervous breakdown. Well, I don’t know how nervous it was but trust me; I was BROKE DOWN!
“You need to get out of that bed! Girl look at you, your hair is a mess, you ain’t brushed your teeth in a week and you look like you stank!” Tammy yelled. She’s always yelling, why don’t she just leave. I thought to myself. I snatched the cover back from Tammy and buried my head under the cover. I began to cry. Again. A deep cry, the kind that rattles your soul. “I just can’t do this right now.” I pleaded with my friend through sobs. “I’m so hurt Tammy, I haven’t even heard from Eric. How could he do this? How could he just leave me? Where is he? Who is he with? What is he doing?”
Tammy looked at her friend, lying there seemingly in one piece yet broken into many.
“Honestly Ronnie, I don’t even know what to say. I’m so mad at that sorry, no good excuse for a man. Tammy sat on the edge of my bed. “Listen Ronnie.” She said, with true compassion. “I’m sorry Ronnie. I know that you love Eric.” Tammy pauses, carefully choosing her words. She doesn’t want to inflict any further pain on her fragile friend. “But Ronnie, this is not love! I’m sorry, but you need to hear this. He is sorry and he is just using you.” Tammy grabbed my arms and pulled me to a sitting position. “Ronnie you deserve better.” I looked questioningly at her. I guess I didn’t believe her. I looked across our dorm room and spotted my image in the mirror. My mouth dropped open as I stared at the stranger in the mirror, seeing myself for the first time in a week. Who is this pitiful looking woman? Her hair dirty and wild. Deep bags and dark circles competed for first place under my eyes. Zeroing in on the sadness in those eyes, I crawled to the edge of the bed. “Ronnie, what’s wrong?” Tammy asked nervously.
As if hit with a bolt of lightening, I jumped from the bed and quickly moved closer to the mirror. “I know those eyes.” I whispered, moving even closer to the mirror and pointing at my image in the mirror. Tammy started to feel even more nervous and began to wonder if maybe her friend had really had a nervous breakdown. “I know those eyes.” I repeated, this time more loudly, frantically shaking my head. As I looked in that mirror, at those eyes staring back at me looking full of pain, my mind flashed back.
I could hear it all from my bedroom. Who could sleep through slaps across the face so loud it sounded like symbols clanging together? Who could sleep through furniture being knocked over, the sound bouncing off the wall like thunder? Who could sleep through piercing screams? As I’d lay there in my bed waiting for the time to come for me to go in the kitchen, pick my mother up off the floor and wipe the blood from her face, I’d always wonder if she’d still be breathing when I got there. Quiet. Did he **** her this time? Did he shoot her? Quiet. Is he still there? I can’t hear them fighting anymore. I have to wait for the sound of him slamming the door. Pow! There it is.
Now I rush out of bed and run to my mother’s side. If I go too soon and get in the way he’ll just beat me too. It’s dark in here. SSShhh. Where is she? Oh God I’m scared. What if she’s ****? Will he **** us too? Wait, I see her…Oh my God…she looks like a rag doll, like a crumpled rag doll, laying on the floor in the fetal position.
My thirty plus year old mother looks like a **** baby. I see blood. God I’m scared. Wait. I hear a faint whimper. Thank you God, he didn’t **** her this time. I slowly approach my mother. I kneel down beside her and extend my hand to her. I love her. We’ve switched roles now, at 10 years old I’ve become the mother and she is the broken, battered child. I lead her to the couch and I sit down first so that she can lay her head in my lap. I stroke her hair. I tell her that its o.k. I wipe the blood from her face as she cries. We both cry.
My mother cries because she has been beaten yet again, because she is damaged and hurt. Me, I cried then also but what I did not know is that I wasn’t only crying for my present, I was crying tears for my future as well. I was crying for all the damage that all of these episodes had done to my spirit. Damage done to the spirit of a ten-year-old that would soon grow into a woman, a very damaged woman.
When my mother could no longer take the beatings she began to drink to ease the pain. The drinking never eased her pain. Alcohol could not erase the pain that she felt, for a broken spirit who can bear? So she drank until her body ceased to breathe, until her heart ceased to pump.
I began to realize where I had seen those pain filled eyes before. “Those are my mother’s eyes.” I stated as quiet tears slowly rolled down my cheeks. “The eyes are the windows to the soul.” I said to no one but me. I reached out, I extended my hand and I lovingly touched the reflection in the mirror. I gently wiped the tears from my mother’s eyes, I mean from the reflection in the mirror. No, I mean from my mother’s eyes. But this time she wasn’t crying for her. She was crying tears for me.
Eric called after two weeks of being missing in action. He called pledging his love, pleading for forgiveness. He asked me to move to Germany with him. To leave college and follow him! I was speechless.
Ronnie? Please forgive me, please talk to me.” He pleaded.
I couldn’t even answer him because then he would know that I was crying.
“Ronnie you don’t have to talk to me, just listen. He said.
“No you listen! I screamed. “Forgive you? You want me to forgive you Eric? Well what does that mean? Does forgiving you mean that I have to let you hurt me over and over again? Does forgiving you mean that I should act as if nothing happened? Does it mean that you won’t do this to me again? Does forgiving you mean this pain will stop?
I lose it now and break down in tears.
I sat holding the phone long after Eric had hung up. I cried because he had hurt me so bad. I cried because I couldn’t bring myself to say all of the mean, nasty things I had rehearsed for whenever he did get up the nerve to call. I also cried because I already knew that I would go with him. I cried because I was a prisoner, imprisoned by my low self esteem, imprisoned by my fear of loneliness, imprisoned by my love for this man. No matter how much I ached to be free, I was not.
Author "Woman at the Well..Get Past the Pain!"