Season 1: Lesson 2: Uncovering the Truth About the Jinn of Knowledge

First of all, a Jinn of knowledge would come from a catalyst act of seeking, powerful articulation of art, music, poetry, math, and science of the universe. For instance, at the age of four, I remember seeing my first butterfly. I was so mesmerized by their shape and colors, especially blue. As a result, I learned more about animals at six years old, so I asked my sperm donor if I could be a veterinarian when I grow up. At the same time, I learned on TV that veterinarians had to do surgery on many animals, and this made me really sad and cry. Therefore, I told my sperm donor I never wanted to be a veterinarian, but I do want to be a scientist instead. Second of all, I’ve always been really smart in school, getting good grades and being on honor rolls. Although I felt like I was not being challenged hard enough as well, since the homework was so easy and quick to do.

 Namely, my favorite subjects are history, reading, psychology, sociology, math, and science of the world. Third of all, as a teenager, my mom kicked me out, and I could not finish high school since I needed a guardian to enroll me, but I didn’t have one. Then, I moved to Wisconsin and received my GED, daycare, and CNA certificate. After all, I love being around children; they make me happy. Still, I love taking care of older people and listening to their historical stories, which is very interesting to me since I love learning about my ancestors so much. More than anything, I love listening to their war stories. Afterwards, I went to college for Medical Administrative Specialist too, while I was pregnant with my daughter Adrian.

Why My Sister Just Why My Baby Daddy

I moved my half-sister Billie and my nephew Anthony into my apartment since they had nowhere to live. The next day, while I was at college, my half-sister tried sleeping with my baby father, breaking up our family. At the same time, I had to eventually drop out of college and break up with him too. However, only to find out he was getting ready to propose to me, and she knew the whole time. Meanwhile, out of all my baby fathers, between him and Michael, they were the best ones to me.

Lady Sick

I was Told I Was Crazy, Yet I Feel Like I'm Sane

Yet, When I was being told that I was mental, crazy, and I didn't have anything wrong with me. As a result, I kept getting sicker from trying to work, so I never finished college. Specifically, I would experience a range of debilitating symptoms that included passing out from standing for too long, walking even short distances, and enduring constant seizures. These episodes were accompanied by profuse sweating, which often left me drenched and exhausted. My vital signs were alarmingly unstable, fluctuating unpredictably, and I frequently encountered overwhelming adrenaline rushes that left me feeling both wired and drained simultaneously. Additionally, I faced significant breathing problems, which added to the overall distress of my condition and made even the simplest tasks hard to deal with. However, despite my alarming and bizarre symptoms, the medical professionals I encountered seemed perplexed and unable to provide a clear diagnosis. Unlike Dr. Frucht, who later came to understand my condition, the doctors at UW and Dean Clinic misinterpreted my medical records, seemingly attempting to cover up my diagnosis. This gross misunderstanding and mismanagement of my medical history resulted in further brain damage, compounding my suffering.

My Vivid Memory and Desperation

I vividly recall the overwhelming sense of desperation that washed over me as I approached Dr. Mosely, my heart pounding with anxiety and hope. With a sense of urgency, I pleaded with him to take a closer look at my medical records, imploring him to recognize the glaring discrepancies and the ongoing cover-up that had shrouded my diagnosis for far too long. I emphasized the critical importance of revisiting my medical history, particularly the tumultuous period when I was just 21 years old—a time marked by confusion and frustration, when my genuine symptoms were dismissed as merely mental health issues, leaving me feeling invalidated and misunderstood.

It was a time when I desperately sought answers, only to be met with skepticism and misdiagnoses that compounded my suffering. When Dr. Mosely finally took the time to investigate my case thoroughly, the relief I felt was palpable. He amended my medical records, acknowledging the myriads of misinterpretations that had previously categorized my experiences as panic attacks, Fibromyalgia, bipolar disorder, and dissociative identity disorder (DID). In reality, these episodes I had endured were far more complex and serious; they were manifestations of Seizures, Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS), and Anaphylaxis Diabetic Ketoacidosis (DKA). The gravity of this revelation weighed heavily on me, as I grappled with the realization that these conditions had been minimized and obscured, leading to a cycle of misunderstanding and mistreatment that still threatens my life today. The ongoing struggle to obtain proper recognition and treatment has been a harrowing journey.

Why Seek Treatment for A Gift from My Ancestors

 I find myself in a precarious position, where I often stop seeking treatment due to the overwhelming sense of futility that comes with knowing that my body is continuously battling these conditions without the acknowledgment they deserve.

I have learned to cope with the glucose that runs through my body, likening it to a form of everlasting manna that keeps me feeling full and energized. This constant presence of glucose serves as a vital source of sustenance, providing me with the necessary fuel to navigate my daily life. However, I remain acutely aware of the underlying issues that persist without proper medical intervention. The fluctuations in my blood sugar levels, if left unchecked, can lead to a myriad of complications that could significantly cause eternal damage. The consequences of these fluctuations are not merely abstract concerns; they manifest in very real ways that can profoundly impact my day-to-day existence. For instance, unregulated blood sugar can result in severe complications such as neuropathy, retinopathy, and even cardiovascular diseases, all of which can drastically alter my quality of life. I often find myself reflecting on the gravity of these potential outcomes, particularly when I consider how they could affect my ability to engage fully in life’s simple pleasures, like enjoying food during the summertime. The thought of having to restrict my diet or avoid certain foods due to health concerns is disheartening, especially when the season brings so many vibrant and tempting culinary delights. The emotional toll of managing this condition can be overwhelming at times.

I Remember That Moment

 I remember moments of despair, particularly during those hot summer months when the sun beckons outdoor gatherings and barbecues. I cried so much because of this internal struggle, feeling isolated from the joy that others experienced. My ancestors, whose wisdom and strength I draw upon, keep me calm during these turbulent times. Their presence in my life serves as a reminder of resilience and the importance of perseverance. They communicate with me in ways that are profound and comforting, especially when I feel overwhelmed by the weight of my circumstances. I often recall a specific moment when I felt on the brink of giving up, a moment where the darkness seemed all-consuming. It was then that I heard those seven words echoing in my mind: "You can't be seen, touched, or looked upon." These words, which hold a special significance for me, acted as a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge of despair. This delicate balance I strive to maintain requires constant monitoring and a proactive approach to managing my condition.

It is not just about taking medication or following a diet; it involves a comprehensive strategy that includes regular blood sugar checks, understanding the impact of different foods on my body, and learning to manage stress effectively. Each day presents its own set of challenges, and I have learned to navigate them with a newfound sense of purpose and determination. I know that my health is a precious gift, one that I must safeguard with vigilance and care. This journey has taught me invaluable lessons about self-discipline, the importance of seeking support from loved ones, and the necessity of staying informed about my health. I am committed to taking control of my well-being, ensuring that I do not just survive but thrive despite the obstacles that come my way.

Some Might Think Other Wise but I Say Manna My Everlasting Food

To some individuals, these mast cells might initially appear to be nothing more than a burden, an unwelcome aspect of my physiology that complicates my day-to-day existence, creating a sense of discomfort and unpredictability. However, through deep reflection and understanding, I have come to view them as my superpower, a remarkable gift from my ancestors, serving as a vigilant protector against harm. This perspective is rooted in the belief that humans are intricately connected to their biological heritage, as articulated in various texts, including the Quran, which suggests that our very being is derived from a blood clot. This metaphorical connection emphasizes the intricate and miraculous nature of human life, highlighting how we are formed from the very essence of survival and resilience. Moreover, the realization that I might have been misinterpreting these teachings for a long time filled me with a profound sense of frustration and anger.

 I felt as though I had been misled, particularly when I discovered that certain religious texts, specifically those of Christianity, had appropriated and altered the words and teachings that were originally part of my own cultural and spiritual heritage. This revelation was so intense that it compelled me to take drastic action, leading me to discard all Christian texts, especially the Bible, in a fit of rage and disappointment. Yet, in the midst of this journey of self-discovery and cultural reclamation, I have come to appreciate the essential role that mast cells play within my immune system. These cells, which are often misunderstood, are not merely a nuisance or an inconvenience; rather, they represent a unique and vital aspect of my being that has shaped my survival in profound and intricate ways. Mast cells are like the sentinels of my body, constantly on the lookout for potential threats in my environment. When they detect something amiss, they spring into action, releasing histamines, Leukotrienes, and the big one Prostaglandins: causing so much pain and

inflammation.

 And furthermore, a variety of other chemicals that serve to alert my body to danger. This response is not just a simple, reactive measure; it is part of an elaborate and

 sophisticated system designed to keep me safe from harm. The release of these chemicals initiates a cascade of physiological responses, including inflammation, which is crucial for healing and defense, causing me to write music, poetry, literature and philosophy, medical, science and knowledge is my ultimate superpower. In this way, mast cells are not merely passive participants in my immune response; they are active players, engaging with the environment and orchestrating a complex defense strategy that is essential for my well-being. Through this lens, I recognize that my mast cells are not just biological entities; they are integral to my identity and resilience, embodying the spirit of survival that has been passed down through generations by Noah my Kin.

The Act of the Watchers

This act was from the watchers sleeping with earth women, causing them to wander in the desert for 40 years, my ancestors faced a profound and enduring struggle that was steeped in both mythological significance and harsh reality. The watchers, celestial beings who descended from the heavens, engaged in relationships with earthly women, leading to a series of events that would alter the course of history for many and damaging lives. This union, while seemingly a blend of divine and human, resulted in a profound consequence: a prolonged period of wandering in the unforgiving desert, a physical manifestation of spiritual and moral transgressions. This act was never supposed to be even mentioned, as the watchers were fair and white and the Woman, they were Black and Beautiful. Audience does this sound familiar to you Amen, this brought devastation, and confusing to all even me.

As my ancestors journeyed through this desolate landscape, they were stricken with a multitude of afflictions that compounded their suffering. Among these afflictions were devastating diseases that ravaged their bodies, leaving them weakened and vulnerable. These illnesses were not merely physical ailments; they represented the culmination of their trials and tribulations, a reflection of the struggles they endured in a world that often seemed merciless. The harsh realities of poverty loomed over them like a dark cloud, constraining their ability to thrive and forcing them into a cycle of despair and hopelessness.

In addition to the common diseases that plagued them, my ancestors were burdened by an exceedingly rare disease that seemed to emerge as a consequence of their struggles and sins. This affliction, shrouded in mystery, not only physically incapacitated them but also served as a haunting reminder of their past transgressions. The rarity of this disease added to its stigma, isolating them further within their communities and amplifying their sense of alienation. The relentless grip of disease not only affected their physical health but also took a significant toll on their mental and emotional well-being. The weight of their suffering manifested in various forms, including anxiety, depression, and a pervasive sense of loss from so many dying from cancer. In this context, the legacy of the watchers and the ensuing wanderings of my ancestors can be seen as a metaphor for the human condition itself—marked by trials, tribulations, and an unyielding quest for redemption and healing amidst the chaos of life.

Scarced Resources

Living in an environment where resources were scarce, they often faced the dual challenges of battling illness while simultaneously striving to make ends meet. This dire situation forced many of them to confront not only the immediate concerns of survival but also the broader implications of their health crises on their families and communities. The rare disease that afflicted them was not merely a medical anomaly; it was a manifestation of the cumulative effects of their generational struggles, reflecting the profound interconnectedness of health, socioeconomic status, and the weight of historical burdens.

The shadow of poverty loomed large over their lives, exacerbating their health issues and limiting their access to proper medical care and support systems. Their daily existence was a testament to resilience in the face of overwhelming odds, as they navigated the complexities of their conditions while attempting to maintain a semblance of hope and normalcy in their lives. Each generation bore the scars of these experiences, leading to a legacy of both physical and psychological challenges that would echo through the years.

In this context, the notion of sin can be perceived not only in a spiritual sense but also as a reflection of the societal and systemic failures that contributed to their plight. The intertwining of health and morality became evident as they grappled with the consequences of their circumstances, often questioning the fairness of their suffering. Thus, the narrative of my ancestors is not merely one of affliction but also one of endurance, a poignant reminder of the complexities of human experience and the enduring spirit that seeks to rise above adversity, even when faced with the most daunting of challenges.

For instance, if something poses a danger to me—be it a food allergen or an environmental trigger—my body will react almost instinctively, much like a magnetic field that repels harmful elements. This remarkable mechanism allows me to navigate the world with a heightened sense of awareness and protection. It’s amazing to think about how this biological response has evolved to serve as a safeguard, ensuring that I remain vigilant against potential threats. In this light, my mast cells are not simply a challenge to be managed; they are an integral part of my identity, enhancing my resilience and adaptability in a world that can often be unpredictable.

Navigating the Complexities

Thus, I continue to navigate the complexities of my health with a sense of purpose and determination, knowing that my unique physiological traits are not merely obstacles, but rather tools that aid in my survival and enhance my quality of life.

 Hearing this revelation from Dr. Mosely was not just an enlightening moment; it was an enduring experience that felt like traversing through hell and back, only to emerge on the other side with a glimmer of hope and understanding regarding my condition. It was a turning point that reignited my determination to seek the truth about my health. Then, in 2005, another pivotal moment occurred when Dr. Frucht provided clarity regarding the febrile seizures that both I and my children had been experiencing. His insights were enlightening, yet it was disheartening to realize that these crucial details had not been documented in our medical records.

This oversight, which initially seemed like a minor lapse in communication, spiraled into a series of unnecessary treatments and countless doctor visits that could have been easily avoided. Each visit to the doctor became a frustrating exercise, as I navigated through a maze of conflicting opinions and misdiagnoses. The emotional toll of these experiences was profound, leading to a decade filled with confusion and hardship that could have been significantly mitigated had there been proper documentation and a clearer understanding of my medical history.

The lack of accurate medical records not only complicated the diagnostic process but also contributed to a cycle of trial and error in treatment. I found myself subjected to various medications and therapies that yielded little to no improvement, each one further draining my resources and energy. This prolonged struggle not only affected my physical health but also took a toll on my mental well-being, as the constant uncertainty regarding my condition weighed heavily on my mind as I was giving mental meds I didn't need. As I reflect on this journey toward an accurate diagnosis, particularly for individuals of African descent, I recognize that the challenges are multifaceted. Cultural differences, systemic biases in healthcare, and a general lack of awareness about specific health issues prevalent within African communities often complicate the path to effective treatment. The journey continues, marked by a persistent quest for clarity and resolution.

The Obstacle Faced Yet In Today Society

Despite the obstacles that have arisen along the way, I remain steadfast in my belief that truth and understanding will ultimately prevail. Each step I take, whether it is advocating for better healthcare practices or seeking out knowledgeable professionals who respect and understand the unique challenges faced by Africans, brings me closer to that goal. I hold onto the hope that through increased awareness and education, we can pave the way for a future where individuals receive the care they deserve, free from the burdens of unnecessary treatments and misdiagnoses. It is a journey filled with trials, yet it is also one of resilience and hope, as I continue to strive for a clearer understanding of my health and the health of many others in similar situations.

 I had always been aware that I was having seizures, yet no one had ever informed me of the specific type or prescribed or believed me. They refuse me medication to help manage them. Instead, I was left to navigate the chaos of my condition on my own. I began to connect the dots, realizing that my seizures were often triggered by environmental factors such as exposure to sunlight, extreme heat, bright lights, and elevated stress levels, like, anger, sad, happy, fear, and also something bad happening to human, also animals, My emotions that I feel for this world is draining yet I know it's from sin, and I need to save my kin from the strife. This understanding made sense, particularly since seizures can indeed be exacerbated by photophobia, and I call them prophet Seizures as I trance writing, as I'll explain in a later lesson, a I also have sensitivity to light that I had been grappling with for years without a proper diagnosis, where i have to keep sunglasses. modt time i be stuck in the house crying asking lord why me The journey through my medical ordeal has been fraught with challenges, misunderstandings, and a longing for accurate recognition and treatment of my condition.

Woman Crying to Allah

Subsequently, I kept crying to Allah, wanting to commit suicide because of all the pain and symptoms, as they are so unbearable, especially not being able to control your temperature or vitals twenty-four-seven. As a result, I started hearing the same words in my ear and having the same vision over and over again until I did what I was told by Muhammad Allah, prophets, and by the spirits. For instance, I was told to go to college, and I can figure it out all by myself; that I needed to stay strong a little longer. Also, I was shown a vision of being in college and wearing a lab coat. Significantly, I had this vision over twenty times before I went to Madison Area Technical College to sign up for the Biotechnology Laboratory Technician program.

I knew deep down that I was far too sick to go to school, yet there I was, trapped in a world that insisted I should be present, as if my physical state could somehow be ignored or overridden by sheer willpower. It baffled me that someone, anyone, could urge me to attend classes when it was painfully clear that I was broken, both in body and spirit. I found myself sitting in class, feeling utterly miserable, grappling with the reality of my condition while pretending to be just like everyone else. I wore a mask of normalcy, even as I fought back tears that threatened to spill over at the slightest provocation. The embarrassment I felt was overwhelming; I was young and beautiful, yet here I was, relying on a cane to help me navigate a world that seemed to move on without me. My heart was a mix of built-up emotions—drenched in feelings of revenge against those who had wronged me, yet yearning for the freedom to live without pain and limitations.

I promised myself that I would reclaim my freedom one day, no matter the cost. Then came the darkest chapter of my story: a relentless six-month period during which I hemorrhaged continuously. It was as if my body had turned against me, draining every ounce of vitality I had left. I felt as though I was teetering on the brink of death, my blood slowly seeping away, taking with it the very essence of my life and leaving behind a hollow shell. My blood levels plummeted to alarming lows; I often wondered how I managed to survive through such an ordeal. It was a miracle that I was still here, able to recount these harrowing experiences to you today. The culmination of this suffering led to a drastic and life-altering decision: I had to undergo a complete hysterectomy, a procedure that would strip away not just my physical ability to bear children but also a significant part of my identity.

Hardens My Heart and Soul Just Like My Ancestors

Inconclusion, this loss hardened my heart like a stone, creating a barrier between me and the US I once knew to love, yet now I can only think about my family heritage and how they love me. It felt as if they had taken my life, my education, my childhood, my dreams, my knowledge, my memory, my body, all my hopes and dreams of making the world a better place, and even a piece of my soul feel real as they no truth. Everything that made me who I was seemed to vanish in an instant, leaving me with nothing but a sense of...emptiness and a thirst for retribution. Now, as I reflect on all that has been taken from me, how I was drained of all my blood by the unrighteous ones, then it's only acceptable that I righteously drain you of your blood too; it's the only righteous thing to do my ancestors said.

I realize that all that remains is a desire for justice. It's not merely about dying from being drained of my life force from an endless battle with sin. It is the acknowledgment of the pain and despair inflicted upon me by those who showed me no mercy should pay for their wicked crimes and get jail time that what I yearn for all of us. They failed to recognize the strength that lies within me, the resilience that has allowed me to endure such trials they felt like since I was the little African American girl in poverty that maybe I was dumb and unknowledgeable and tried taking advantage of that fact but they, picked the wrong black African American as I'm in the most smartest tribe in the world Ashkenazi Jewish decent, IMO and EDO. I am not just a victim of circumstance; I am a survivor, and I will not rest until I confront those who have caused me and my Kins so much suffering to my people. I am determined to rise from the ashes of my past, reclaim my narrative, and assert my rightful place in this world. Just Like Malcolm X.