Don't Tell Me What To Do: A Spiritual Memoir
Just kill me now, LORD! I'd rather be dead than alive, because nothing I predicted is going to happen. – Jonah 4:3

What does 'Hate' mean?

Find out what Hate means. Hate is explained by Ron Alexander - author of Don't Tell Me What To Do: A Spiritual Memoir


It was midnight. The dealer showed me two packages of cocaine to choose from. I scooped up one of the packages with one hand and handed him a hundred-dollar bill with my other hand. I looked out a window from his house. Seeing that there was no one on the street, I walked out the door to my car and drove home.

Once I was in my house, I pulled the drapes fully across the living room window. I sat on the sofa and I tossed the bag of cocaine onto the coffee table. I reached underneath for a irror, Very carefully, I broke the seal on the bag of cocaine, spreading all of it onto the mirror. Using a single edge razor blade, I arranged the coke into several straight lines. I rolled up a hundred dollar bill and I began snorting one line after another, pausing only to lay out more lines of coke. I snorted nearly half of the cocaine, clearing mind of Hatcher, the city, cussing my decision to work for him, finally leaning back to fully enjoy the pleasurable effects of the cocaine.

Suddenly, my arms and legs went limp, so thoroughly numb that I was incapable of lifting or moving them. My eyes, wouldn't focus and I was having great difficulty breathing. Whatever I just snorted wasn’t cocaine. Confused, my body immobilized like some sort of paralysis had set in, I prayed to stay calm. I sweated profusely. My shirt was drenching wet. I was sure that I was dying when an idea broke through the maze in my mind. I was able to remember that a friend’s husband was a doctor. I had met the couple at a party a few weeks ago.

I was able to concentration long enough to find the number. Seemingly, I was moving in slow motion. It took an eternity for my hand to actually reach out, pick up the telephone and dial the number. Although I was holding the receiver, I wasn’t actually able to feel it. My hand felt as though it was wrapped around air. I held the receiver up to my ear, hoping that someone would answer quickly.

“Come get me,” I pleaded. “Please come help me.” I was gripped by vertigo, finding it increasingly difficult to focus my eyes, think rationally, breath and talk.

“What’s wrong?” she asked me. “Are you okay?”

“Please, just come get me.”

Don’t move. We will be right over.”

I dropped the phone. My breathing became more erratic as I tried to lean my back up against the sofa. I had no sense of the time that elapsed before they arrived. It was as if I was locked into a timeless, dark void or deep hole where I could not move, think or feel.

The doctor, when he arrived, checked me over with a stethoscope. Together, they lifted me up from the sofa and, seeing that I was unable to walk, they literally carried me out the door to their car. I began to cry uncontrollably. I was lifted out of the car. Hoisting me up on their shoulders, I was taken inside of the house where I blacked out.

Search result for 'Hate' in Don't Tell Me What To Do: A Spiritual Memoir

"...Hate As I listened to my parents arguing back and forth, I began to understand the power of words, how a single word or a string of words put together can bring ..."

"... beating. Nothing she said or did persuaded me to change my ways. I grew immune to the beatings. I was no longer afraid of Ada Mama. I Hated her. * * * Uncle James, a New York cab driver, was my favorite ..."
"...Hate Months passed, summer rolled into fall, the roar of winter wind and snow came and I grew more restless and rebellious in school, more resentful of living in the backwoods, and more Hateful of Ada Mama. She threatened me ..."

"... to get treatment.” “I got to the point where I would do anything to get high,” says a woman named Mary, a pretty blond. “I sold my jewelry, my clothes, my body, wHatever I could get my hands on for cocaine. I Hated myself, but I couldn’t stop.” “—Cocaine is ..."
"... in the wrong place. Leave and come back when you’re ready!” * * * It’s Friday and I decide I am leaving Eagleville. I can’t take it. I Hate the regimen, the people in it and the rules. When I announce my intention to leave, several counselors and patients try to talk ..."

"... if it was actually his body lying in the casket. I was still angry that he had never told me the truth about himself. He had done everything could for me, except telling me the truth about which man I should thank or Hate for what I had become. Voices talked in my head. I chewed on ..."

"... me. “Yep,” he said without hesitation. “You got it. I can give pills or give you a needle. Choose your medicine.” “Give me the pills.” I Hated needles. “The pills will take a little longer to work,” he advised. “Give me the pills anyway.” ..."

Search result for 'Hate' in the FAQs of Don't Tell Me What To Do: A Spiritual Memoir

Why do I hate fried Chicken?
Why I hated Moms Mabley?

Search result for 'Hate' in Glossary of Don't Tell Me What To Do: A Spiritual Memoir


"I read the first part of your book and, let me tell you, my tears flowed. I can't wait to..."

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