Where shall I begin? I guess I’ll begin at the beginning. This is all a true story, by the way. By the end some will hate me because of it. However, I will pull no punches and I won’t shed myself in the best of lights for the sake of “a good story”. I’m only going to tell the truth for the sake of a true story. I am only writing this because I thought if I ignored the lies and rumors they would go away. They haven’t gone away. They actually incubated and grew like a bacteria. Some of you will read this and this will be your first time hearing of it. For others it will be a much wanted clarification of an ugly situation. Something that I wanted to learn from and leave, however keeps rearing it’s ugly head. Let us begin.
It started with me, Nova, working in Virginia. Summer 2011. I was doing radio, my articles had just hit the Vibe website, they appeared on the Russ Parr Morning Show a couple of times and more. I felt like hot shit, I won’t even lie. That was the immaturity in me letting every small accomplishment (that I know meant nothing now) go to my head. Anyway, fast forward. I began receiving all kinds of direct messages. All kinds of offers from women or them asking when I would be in their area.
I had been receiving direct messages from a particular woman in Brooklyn for a while, never sexual or anything, so it was different. She had this Erykah Badu type vibe online. Before then, I had never felt inclined to get to know someone online. We exchanged casual info for a few months (the convo ranged from hobbies to my daughter) before I got an offer to do a radio interview in East New York. I thought that was a sign. I let her know.
I really thought this woman was some conscious, Lauryn Hill type, shea butter using woman from what she told me. In fact, she told me about how she was a photographer and had a beautiful view of NYC from her 12th floor Brooklyn apartment. Her social networks included some pretty cool pics, quotes, and other things. I was like, “she is deep, a different breed than these women in Virginia.” I thought she was ALL THAT. I won’t even front like I wasn’t impressed, because I was.
I told her that I needed to come to NYC for a radio interview and she immediately let me know that I should stay with her instead of in a hotel. I was apprehensive at first, being up there with a complete stranger. Then, I looked at the prices of hotels in NYC and I quickly thought staying up there with her was the better option. Besides, if I wasn’t feeling her, I could always get a hotel at the last minute.
Fast forward. I arrive in NYC. She meets me with a young man named Rashaun in Manhattan and all three of us made good conversation all the way to the train station. I could understand her having a male with her to come meet her with me, I guess as “protection” if I was crazy or something. I could tell during the walk that they were both “feeling me out”. We got to the train station and that is when they exchanged glances and he asked her if she was okay. She then looked at him and said “Yeah, we are fine. Headed to Brooklyn!” (I remember it like it was yesterday). We take a train like none I had ever been on, it began underground, went overground, underground again. She had a mid-drift shirt on and I noticed her stretch marks on her stomach. Now, this part is only speculation because I in no way could know what she sensed or is thinking, but I believe me looking at her stomach is what prompted her to give me a whole confession. That is when she told me, “there is something I haven’t told you, and I feel kind of badly because you talk about your daughter so much, but I have a daughter in South Carolina.” My face IMMEDIATELY turned sour right there on the train. I then said, “my dad always told me to be cautious about a woman that doesn’t have her child/children.” Now, I’d like to say right now, that is all I took it as or take it as today. Being weary. I know we all have situations and such and we may want our children in the best situation and that may involve them living with someone who can care for them better. Anyway, she gave me a whole spill about how the father of her child took her daughter away from her and set her up and basically kidnapped their daughter and ended up with custody. None of it really made sense, but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt because I already liked her. I’m sure a lot of us know how that is. We like someone, we see red flags, but we ignore them. This whole explanation lasted AT LEAST 30 minutes. Her eyes teared up and all so I felt they were sincere. We get to the apartment building and it is a Bushwick project building. Far from the luxury apartment in the sky I was expecting. However, I’m not the type to look at someone a certain type of way because of their living conditions and she didn’t lie, she just omitted things and presented them in a different light having me THINK it was some luxury type stuff. I wasn’t discouraged, I spent my childhood summers in the South Bronx. This is right up my alley. We take the elevator to the 12th floor and I haul my bags all the way to the end to her apartment door. Her brother, Corey, comes to the door as she is unlocking it. He extends his hand, he is a nice guy, introduces himself and tells me about how his sister has always talked good things about me and he is excited for me. I won’t even lie, she was a great person for the time being. I won’t act like she was the devil or anything. She spent the next day showing me around NYC, I picked up bootlegs and even got my daughter a “I Love New York” shirt. I thought about how she could be okay with us shopping for my daughter when she admitted she hadn’t talked to her own daughter in South Carolina in YEARS.
I won’t get into intimate details, but we had sex a lot while I was there. A LOT. Every chance we got. I was only slated to be there 4 days. On the 3rd day was my radio interview. She went in a hijab (Muslim head covering) which was weird since she wasn’t Muslim and I wasn’t exactly doing things the “right” way. I let things flow though. It was awesome. That whole first trip was awesome. There were certain red flags that went off in my head, but I ignored them and looked at the good. First of all, she claimed to be a photographer, but didn’t have a camera. I asked where it was and she let me know someone else was borrowing it. WHAT? I have never heard of a photographer letting someone borrowing their camera. That is like a painter letting someone borrow their easel. Anyway, on the way back from the radio interview she starts telling me a lot of things. She tells me about how her brother Corey has HIV and that is why all those different vitamins and pills are above the kitchen sink and how Rashaun who I met when I first met her isn’t her brother as she introduced him as, but her brother’s lover of a few years. She tells me about how Rashaun takes advantage of him and got an iPad from him, and how her brother told Rashaun about him having HIV and he holds it over his head to make him feel guilty. I remember her saying, “Rashaun tells Corey ‘You’re sick and I still love you’ as if he doesn’t deserve love.” She tells me the whole story of how her brother got it from a married man and thought he was just very sick with the flu or something at first. I won’t go too much into those details because for the most part (until the end) Corey was okay, but this will be relevant later.
I return to Virginia and our conversations pick up. She starts talking a little too brashly for me, moving too fast. She starts talking about moving to Virginia with me and asks how the homes are down there. I send her pics of my home and she is impressed. Mind you, my home was nothing special, but a Virginia home with yards and such is much different from a public housing building in Brooklyn. It is cool because I’m digging her. I don’t even entertain women I wouldn’t think of being long term with, even though we hadn’t established “titles”. I was still in Virginia dealing with a woman I was regular with and it wasn’t until she got possessive that I did. I remembered her telling me of a married man named H*z who she was okay with, but she knew he wanted her and she didn’t want to compromise herself by dealing with a married man. One day she calls me and we are conversing. I ask her who she is with and she is like, “I’m with H*z”… I’m like, “wait a minute, you had already told me he was a married man and you didn’t want to deal with him like that.” She then told me it was about her doing photography for him. That is when there began to be too many red flags on the play. I’m thinking, “YOU DON’T EVEN HAVE A CAMERA!!!”
She later calls and apologizes and said she just left him there after our conversation (of course I’m not that naïve), but still something in me wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. I let her know I needed to come to NYC again before I started a new job in VA while I had the time. We set it up and I came to NYC the very beginning of November 2011. This is where EVERYTHING started going downhill. She turned into a different person on this trip to NYC. She was VERY possessive and just… different. She made me unfollow and block one of her real life friends on Twitter. She said, “D***i is a hoe and will suck your d*ck at the first chance she gets and I don’t want you tweeting her.” I questioned all this at first but I figured doing what she said would just put things at peace. I stayed up thinking about how things were changing. I started noticing small things. I still saw no camera. She didn’t have one. She worked at a Kohl’s in Coney Island (or in that area). She finally buckled and had to go to work one day I was up there. I spent that day just thinking and looking out of the project window.
Have you ever liked someone and wanted to continue to like them but you knew it was bad for your health? That is how it was. All we really did was have sex that trip. No real conversation. I returned to Virginia and got inquisitive. I started combing through her Facebook and found a poem titled D***** (a girl’s name I won’t put on here). I asked her who that was. She then told me it was her other daughter. That is when I was like, “Hold on, what the fuck? You have TWO daughters? Two daughters you don’t see?” She then told me she had been raped and gotten pregnant and gave the child up for adoption. She said, “I got raped by a guy named Tyson Alexander and got pregnant. He is locked up for 40 years now in South Carolina for raping me.”
Shortly afterwards, she’d send random messages saying she “feels pregnant”. I think it is just another one of her games. I don’t believe she is really pregnant. I’m ready to cut her off, but I also want to let her know I’m no fool. You see, I’m smarter than the average bear. I also happened to work at a rehab facility for sex offenders and know that convicted sex offenders nationwide are kept on a database, the sex offender registry. I looked up “Tyson Alexander” in the sex offender registry and NOTHING showed up. I immediately texted her, “you’re a liar.” She responded with, “leave me alone.” That is just what I did.
Weeks later, I receive a call from a phone number with a 347 (New York) area code. I’m hesitant to answer because I already sense who it is from. Yes, it is her. She tells me she is pregnant. I don’t say much. I don’t say much at all. I let her know I’m on my way to work and I’ll talk to her when I get off.
I call her and she immediately starts talking about us being a family now and how she is planning on moving in with me to Virginia. I’m like, “Ohhh nooo… if anything, I’ll just have another child and I’ll be in that child’s life, but we will NEVER be together.” I then bring up how she has been hanging around a married man a lot and just like I’ve dealt with other people I suspect she has too. I let her know that I want to see the pregnancy tests. She EMAILS me the pregnancy test results. Positive. I swallow my spit and accept that I may have gotten her pregnant. After that, all harrassing text messages and voice mails about how she is going to take me to court for everything I have and all kinds of other things. I don’t even think the embryo had developed hands yet. I repeatedly try to be cordial and let her know that if it is my child that I would be there for it, but we will never be. SHE GOES CRAZY!!! She starts calling me all kinds of names and yelling at me over the phone. That is when I told her if she can’t keep it civil, don’t talk to me. These types of conversations became common. Then, she’d run to social networks and paint me as a monster. I had a brand to maintain, so I didn’t even want to give it attention. I hoped she would come to her senses. The same types of messages are sent back an forth. Her bi-polar behavior shows a lot. She’ll be cordial for a while all to lead to asking to come down to Virginia to stay with me, I’ll tell her no, then she’ll accuse me of not having my own place. As if I would say, “Yes, I do! Come down here and stay with me so I can prove it to you!” What are we? 12?
I don’t hear from her for the whole month of December. I figure maybe this pregnancy claim is another one of her lies or schemes since I’ve realized that is what she does. Lies and schemes. I’m thinking, “maybe she wasn’t pregnant and that was all some big act to try to get me talking to her again.” That isn’t too farfetched since I had been through that before (I sure know how to pick them, huh? Lol).
January 2012. I’m in Washington, DC doing a write up for a Tavis Smiley event. I have a nice young lady with me (who is now my wife) and we are having a good time. We are taking pics and uploading them online and having a GREAT time. At about midnight while in a DC hotel, I get a phone call. It is HER. “What the fuck are you doing with some other woman? You trying to embarrass me? Are you trying to make me feel like shit? Are you trying to make me look like shit?” That is when I let her know we aren’t together and never will be. Then, I bring up the pregnancy (which I thought was a fluke). She responds with, “Yeah, I’m carrrying your baby and this is how you act? Going out with other women?” Right then and there (which I will admit probably wasn’t smart) I say, “who is to say it is mine? (I know, generic and bad response), You was out there with a married man while I am down here. I only saw you TWICE. Just as it could be mine, it could be someone else’s. I will claim it when there is a DNA test.” She goes into a tirade of how I know it is mine (which I didn’t) and all this other stuff. I ask her the due date and she says it is in July. I tell her I don’t want to hear from her until July. That doesn’t happen. The online harassment just increases with intermittent emails conversations. None productive.
Okay, let us fast forward. She has slandered me every day nonstop throughout her whole pregnancy. I ignore it. I know the truth. She then perpetuates a bunch of other lies like she is a MAC makeup artist (lie, what MAC makeup artist you know tweets all day on the floor?), graduated college (lie, she has a med assistant certificate from Monroe College), and just further has me shaking my head like “why do people believe this stuff and not REALLY think?” I reached out several times since then asking for addresses to send the things I had bought and more. I asked for an address because she claimed she moved to Harlem (to me and online. Another lie that anyone who follows her can see through) and weeks later she sends me an email saying she isn’t feeling good and going to the hospital. Unbeknownst to her, I have made accomodations for this child to live with me (she has had 2 children taken away from her for a reason) if it was mine. I don’t let her know outright (that I can remember), but I am looking forward to this birth.
The end of June 2012. She contacts me to tell me something is wrong with her pregnancy and she is rushing to the hospital (she literally lives 2 blocks from the hospital). I panic, I’m in Virginia feeling helpless. I search her name on Twitter and see her friend tweeting, “Out to Lunch with ****(HER), having fun”… I’m like “WHAT THE FUCK?!?!”. I’m not surprised though. Her lies have no limits.
I’m COMPLETELY pissed. I remember her due date is July 1, 2012. It comes and passes. I start to question a lot. Was she EVEN PREGNANT? I have no idea. July 3 comes and I receive a call from an unknown number. It is her. She tells me she is in the hospital and “the baby (she says the name and not “the baby”) is dead”. I’m like “wait, what the hell?” I’m emotional on the other end but don’t want to show it. Eventually, I can’t hold it back. My emotion is evident on the other end. This could be another one of her tricks. I check her Twitter (as she is just breathing into it. I have AT&T so I can be on a call and use the net at the same time) and she had put “My baby (name) is dead” or something to that effect before she even called me. WHO THE HELL TWEETS RIGHT AFTER A TRAGEDY LIKE THAT?! WHO?!?!
I was in Philadelphia at the time so I contemplated just driving up the highway and seeing for myself. Then, her brother, Corey, calls me cursing me out and her mother does also. With all the hostility, I decide that would not be a good idea. I email her and tell her I feel bad for everything that happened and how it went down and I have no hate toward her. I ask if there would be a funeral and if there was I would be there. She responds with, “leave me alone, I hate you. I never want to speak to you again.” Days pass and my Twitter mentions is a timebomb, filled with hate from her loyal followers and Twitter buddies who couldn’t piece together all the inconsistencies in her story. I ignore them all. I figure, I know the truth. Why even respond to all this. I feel bad enough about the situation. She spent her whole pregnancy spewing hate and even after a child’s death, she does the same. What person can’t see a problem with this? We exchanged our last messages…
A week passes, the hate still fills my Twitter mentions, but with a new twist. “How could you not attend your son’s funeral?” Wait, what? I knew nothing of this. NOTHING of this. I asked about this. No answer. No matter how much I hated her in my heart, I’d be able to hold myself together for it. Be it my child or not.
She then spends months slandering my name until a new tragedy occurs. Rashaun is killed. You know, Rashaun, her brother’s lover. Her brother with HIV. Her brother who she told me knowingly dates guys and has sex with them but doesn’t tell them his status. Just about everyone she introduced me to she had the most vile things to say about them. News reports say he got into an argument with his boyfriend of five years and was beaten to death. Wait. How is this possible? He was dating her brother. What could Rashaun had done to his boyfriend that angered him so much he beat him to death? Maybe his boyfriend feels like he had received his own death sentence. Let us put two and two together.
This tragedy holds her over from using her social network time to tear me down. For a while, a certain part of me felt like she had that right since she had just gone through a tragic event. We all vent and grieve differently. Eventually, she is back to it. Her and her little Twitter crew quickly become annoying, but I never really addressed it, until now.
To this day, you can visit her timeline and see her talking badly about me at any given time. The bitterness has eaten her alive and it not only shows in her tweets, but in her face. She has physically aged tremendously in the past year. That is what hate does. You will see her talking excessively about her deceased son and totally ignoring the fact she has two other children she hasn’t spoken to in years. I guess it is more becoming of her to exalt a child she never had to really be responsible for than face reality and the children she dodged and is dodging. I have become the punching bag. The person she can take her guilt as a deadbeat mother on and project me as one. She spent her time slandering me and my new wife, wishing harm on her pregnancy, and speaking on how our child can/should be stillborn also (my son is healthy and almost 6 months old now).
Just when I felt the need to respond a few months ago, one of her exes mentioned me on Twitter and gave their whole story. Letting me know she didn’t just become like this, but she had been like this for a while. I should have paid attention to the signs.
(See bottom for those images)
Anyway, this is just one story out of thousands like it. I am just one person caught in something like this. I know I didn’t handle it the perfect way, but I handled it the best way I thought I could at the moment. I reached out, I tried, it was really a test of my patience (which I had none of). I wish I had a moral to this story or a happy ending, but there really isn’t one. You see, this has been plaguing me for the past year. It isn’t even the criticism I get from those who she has suckered into believing her. It isn’t the twitter mentions I get or the people who try to convince others I’m a bad person. I know what I am and what I am not. It is because I never really got to tell the real story. Until now…
When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.
(Note: none of this was written out of malice or hatred. The woman who is the other main character in this true story’s identity has been hidden for a reason. This is to share an experience and help others, not to look at an individual story, treat it as an isolated case, and polarize the “bad person” in the situation. I urge you if you find her (she has changed her screenname since this article was released), please don’t approach her with malice or hatred. Thank you.)