Harvard Hooker. That was what fake friends called me behind my back. In a way I was not offended. they were only using the information about me that I myself had given them. Also it was a catchy phrase, a phrase I would not mind taking credit for. But I did not make it up it was made up about me. And I am offended because it goes to show the disrespect that I get not because I became addicted to anything, but because of my former profession. As the opoid epidemic rages many more people will share my tale. People once fast tracked for success, are now off track, thoroughly derailed by something so foreign they never thought the topic personally relevant. Addiction? What’s that? Before I looked to educational programs for a peep into a foreign world. I think National Geographic has answers in a tv series. Now I am writing my own series for a new audience who never thought they’d read the words I never thought I’d write.
My people need to hear from someone who is like them, someone who had the gamegrigged in her favor, yet beat the odds and snatched defeat from the jaws of victory.
Then again, there were issues, certain obstacles that kept me out of the top 1% of society. No silver spoon here. People want to hear that story too. Coming up the hard way, to success, then back down again as if it’s true that blood really can tell–the way the lady that adopted me said it would.
Failure is an event not an identity. I have to believe that. Just being stable enough in mind and sheltered status is still huge accomplishment. Hey, I can make my dreams come true with the right dreams. And when I do, you’ll be inspired by my success after you grow accustomed to viewing me as a fellow human. You don’t know that yet. But if this blog humanizes me through words, you will.
