Lennox Hills

Every day I turned my camera on, sat in front of my tripod and recorded myself doing my makeup, hair or getting ready for an event. My supporters watched wishing they had the newest designer bag that I had just worn, or the mountains upon mountains of PR every brand sent to my front door. They wanted to be Harlym J., and I mean, I couldn't blame them. I made this lifestyle look like a piece of cake with three cherries on top. What they didn't see was the breakdowns, tears, and weekly visits to shake my titties for a perverted correction officer just to see my man. They didn't see the arguments, and moments of loneliness while all my other friends were moving on with their lives. They were getting married, getting pregnant, advancing in their careers and all I was getting was action from my rose. I wanted to hate Ashton Willshire. I mean, he's self-centered, rude, and cocky as ever. There was no way I was going to give up something familiar for uncharted territories. I don't know if it was the gold teeth, the tattoos, or the way he tied his du-rag. All of it drove my senses haywire, and I hated it. So, yeah… thanks.

When I envisioned the life that I wanted for myself, I pictured myself sitting in a rocking chair in the nursery me and my husband had spent months designing. I pictured looking down at a baby that resembled the both of us, and thanking God that he chose me to be their mother. My reality was that I was staring down at another negative pregnancy test and realizing the possibility that I had failed another cycle of IVF, alone. There was no husband here to comfort me, or a nursery that I could sit and sob in. Each time that one line appeared, a small piece of me always died inside. It was like the plastic test was determining my future. My fate. Letting me know I wasn't worthy of giving life. Becoming the one thing I had always wanted to become: a mother. After taking this failed pregnancy test, I had to tie my scrubs, plaster a smile on my face and go out there and care for my patients. So, when someone smiled and asked me the dreaded question… How are you? I always smiled, though dying on the inside, and responded with, Never better… thanks.