CHASE LOGAN's $999,999,999 Wish

Hiii,

So, I'm Chase, like the bank, but without money, lol.

My name is Chase Logan Foster.

You can call me Logan.

I am Black, Non-binary, and a Human Being.

I'm creating this GoFundMe in hopes of receiving donations to reach an excessive amount of money to allow myself the funding to grant my own "Wish".

Before I discuss the Wish and money, I'd like to share my story with everyone who reads this.

I'm going to say now,

My story should start with a trigger warning:

I will be discussing sexual, physical, and emotional abuse.

Here's my scream into the void:

I was born Wednesday, March 3rd, 1999.

Legend says, that afternoon during the final moment of Maury or Jerry Springer, I decided to come into this world, my Mother drove herself and my Aunt to the hospital and before the doctor could see us, I had popped out head first, immediately crying, "and I haven't stopped crying since", it’s all very fitting.

I have a Mother, Father, and older Brother.

We lived in an apartment-townhouse-like place in Claymont, Delaware for the first 11 years of my life.

During this time:

My Father wasn't there when I was born, he wasn't around much since he drove a truck and would only be home for a couple of days at a time.

My Mother was nice, pretty, and my favorite person.

For the first 11-ish years of my life, I would visit my grandparents, and play outside with friends, and I loved to go to school so I could sing in the choir.

My Father started molesting me in the summer of 2010, I remember we had just gotten back from visiting my Mother's brother in Georgia. We drove to Georgia with my father driving (he was used to driving those long hours because he was a truck driver) so it took us forever to get to GA and even longer to come home to DE. I remember how hot it was in the house when we got back, there had been some hurricanes due while we were gone, and the old place was made of brick, so it was hot. I remember after we had settled in my brother was downstairs, my mom was passed out in bed, and my Father and I were watching Hot Tub Time Machine—I still have never rewatched or seen the ending of the movie. I remember my Father asking me to follow him into my room, and I remember what he did.

My Father was never my favorite person, he was always yelling, arguing, and hitting, and after he choked me out against the wall in the 5th grade—I had started shutting down.

I remember crying under the kitchen table watching my Father hit on my Brother while my Mother did nothing to stop him. I remember my Brother being injured from being on the wrestling team—my Father dug his fingers in my Brother's bruised ribs. I remember all the screaming, fighting, and destruction that occurred in Claymont.

A bunch of innocence was lost after I learned that the people who created you will treat you worse than they would any stranger on the street.

—it seemed like he hated his life—now I understand why.

His Mother got pregnant with him at 15.

She became the embarrassment of the family and was sent to live with other family members since she was a child of 10 and ¼ of 2 sets of twins. She told me once about the sexual abuse she endured during her pregnancy, and the physical abuse she endured as her family member tried to induce a miscarriage/abortion by jumping on her stomach.

A child having a child is exactly what it sounds like.

So, my Father didn't have a great or easy life, but that does not give him the right to molest his Child or beat his Children.

My Father's Mother passed away late last year, I didn't go to her funeral because I was afraid to be in the same room as Him. Now, I’m not afraid of him anymore.

My Mother is a child of divorce.

She was essentially forced to parent her little brother and was abandoned by both parents leaving her with my Great Grandma (her Father's side).

She was cute, smart, and tall—I don't have much to describe my Mother as, since I'm not even sure she knows how to describe or define herself.

She met my dad at age 13, and at 16 she had my Older (and only) Brother.

A child having a child is exactly what it sounds like.

Growing up, she was my superhero and I looked to her for protection, I knew that if I was with her, my Father couldn't be alone with me long enough to cause any more harm than he was already doing.

She treated me like a little sister, I guess that's a side effect of being so close in age to your Children, another side effect was being frozen at that age of 16--She never got to grow up and achieve her dreams.

We lived in northwest Georgia for 4 years.

We lived in a subdivision with only about 15~ish houses and my Mother's Brother lived in the cul-de-sac down the street with his now ex-wife.

My Mother didn't come to Georgia immediately with us, she was still working, so she stayed in Delaware for a good 3 months before coming to live with us in Georgia.

The terrorizing only got worse from there.

My Father liked to do this thing, he would do it in front of people, like my Mother, Grandparents, and sometimes when we were alone together; he would ask "why are you so afraid of me?" or "why is your daughter afraid of me?" (to my Mother) (I was never claimed as his, he would refer to me as my Mother's daughter).

Of course, as a CHILD, I had no idea how to handle the situation.

I stopped talking, stopped socializing with family—just stayed in my room hoping he wouldn't turn down the hallway to open my door.

Eventually, my Mother came to live with us, she came to Georgia to find out her husband cheated on her with my Uncle's (her Brother's) now ex-wife—this is the first time, that I know of, where he cheated on his wife.

We were social enough with the neighbors in the beginning and were invited to all the bonfires, boat trips on a lake, and of course BBQs.

Soon enough our family became anti-social—my Father suddenly hated the neighbors—we stayed inside our own Foster bubble/reality.

My father was always really angry and liked to destroy things, I remember we got this new tv in the living room and that weekend he destroyed it. I remember staying the summer in Delaware with my Grandparents, when I came back, I saw that my Mother had decorated the entire house including the room I stayed in, which acted as her sanctuary of some sorts while I was gone. I remember that the décor didn't last long, and soon enough my Father was breaking flower glass vases, and punching TVs, and he broke our sectional couch when he was trying to barricade my Mother in my Brothers room, she was stuck between the door and couch—literally.

School was the only real escape from home, I was a musical KID; I was in choir, and musical theatre, and would always participate in the spring musicals. A piece of my heart was nurtured and came from Georgia—I still have Best Friends from middle school—they're my Georgia Peaches.

My Brother graduated from High School in 2015, I was a rising junior, and we moved from Dallas, Georgia to Philly (me, my Father, and Mother), and my Brother lived in Delaware with my Grandparents.

Truthfully, there wasn't enough room in that one-bedroom apartment we settled into, but Philadelphia became home to me.

I remember him leaving for the first time that summer we moved in 2015, and I remember starting the school year with only my Mother.

I remember my Father would complain that my Mother and I would get food without him, so once, my Mother and I went to the Papi Store, got this man a cheesesteak platter and he threw it at a mirror in the living room and the mirror stayed like that until he left for the last time.

I also remember how paranoid my Father had been, he believed that my Mother and I were talking negatively about him.

Of course, I was thinking negatively about him, but I tried not to complain about him to my Mother.

So, jump to 2017, the last two years had been extremely shitty, my Father had become more verbally abusive—he would still throw things and started leaving for weeks at a time.

A couple of months before I graduated high school my Father left us in that one-bedroom apartment in Philly,

I was relieved, but my Mother was devastated.

She kept telling me how much she loved him.

I had already applied to colleges because I knew I couldn't stay with my parents after graduating high school, I was relieved to have a place to come home to then. The first school I went to was a Catholic College outside of the city, and I was scared shitless to go—I'm talking panic attacks just from thinking about being on my own and alone.

So, I leave for my first year of college, with my codependency issues and separation anxiety in tow, and the first semester the weekend of my first college homecoming, that Sunday morning Madison, one of my Best Friends, called me crying, to tell me that Alex, another one of my Best Friends, passed away, it was a car accident.

Alex, Madison, and I went to middle school and some of high school together (two of my Georgia Peaches), and we had been in an active group chat since before I moved to Philly.

And I had just talked to him the night before.

It was so sudden; I couldn't comprehend it.

I couldn't believe it, someone so young full of kindness and starlight just died so unexpectedly, so tragically, so so young.

This was not the first (or last) time in my life I wanted to die.

Alex took a piece of my soul with him and left behind a piece of his with me.

And for that, I will be eternally grateful. Thank you, Alex.

I had learned the pain of grief and mourning, and it came in waves.

Enormous emotional waves, and by the time the water starts receding another wave crashes into you before standing is even a thought.

By the end of my freshman year, I was restless, suicidal, and wanted a self-induced change.

I finally told my Mother about my Father molesting me, and she cried.

I almost hated myself for causing her so much pain, I carried that guilt for a long time. but it wasn't my fault, it was never my fault.

I didn't understand how she couldn't see that the ADULT of the situation is the manipulative abuser, how a CHILD could ever be at fault?

Our relationship slowly started to deteriorate after this.

So, in 2018, I transferred universities to one in the city, I wanted to be closer to my Loved Ones; my Best Friends from high school already went to the same school so it was an obvious first choice, and my Mother and I moved to the third floor of our apartment building, it had three bedrooms, one was used as the living room.

She got a new and better job in Delaware, she hated how long the commute was, she would get home late and leave early, and eventually, she stopped coming home.

At this point, I was working at a hospital as a receptionist.

I was alright, I mean I was still depressed and suicidal but at least I had a place to stay and food to eat.

I stayed for another 2 years, I went to school full time and had two part-time jobs

I left in September of 2020, and moving and starting to establish myself as an adult sounds exactly like how it was, hard.

But my reasons for leaving gave me the strength I needed.

A few months earlier, my Mother had moved back in, she had been staying with her boyfriend for the past 2 years, and when they broke up she came back home.

A month or so later she had another boyfriend, this boyfriend moved in suddenly, and they were supposed to be engaged.

So living with a strange man isn't what a sexual assault victim would consider a good home environment, but he was nice.

He had a young daughter; she was about 13 years old.

It wasn't until after I began to move out, that I was introduced to her, and she was moved into my old room in that 3-room apartment.

My Mother was great at pretending to be a mom to everyone but me, it seemed.

And because this was the person who birthed me, I took that personally.

But I'm glad I left the house.

I had learned what emotional abandonment was. It was like I had a Mother in theory, but in reality, she was absent. I had to learn if she won't love me the way I deserve to be loved, then she’s not allowed to have access to me.

So fast forward another two years and here we are,

I learned to be selfish (pertaining to the self; self-care, self-love, self-worth, self-esteem, self-awareness, self-control, and self-discipline, to name a few).

Now I realize I have been living a life that wasn't mine, and it wasn't all that real either.

I have PTSD from my traumatic childhood. I have had to heal myself and create a safe space to grow out of survival mode. I now have that space created with loved ones, I aspire to heal fully to enjoy being an actual human being instead of being depressed and riddled with anxiety.

Okay so my family trauma aside, how is school?

Well, I don't want what I was told I wanted 5 years ago anymore.

When I started college, I was under the guise that a degree will equal money. Now I haven't told you how I feel about money yet but just know, money is fake and a part of the white man game of life—think of our current society as a game of monopoly of generations of lying "historians" with the wealth to prove their lies.

But,

I hadn't always been struggling in school, hell I was going to walk across the stage in a week—but this isn't anything close to what I want to do with my life. For the last two years of living on my own, I have been in school full time and always had two part-time jobs to pay to live.

In November 2021, I quit all of my jobs and took a quarter off from school, this was the first time I felt peace in my entire life. I felt free enough to start reading again for leisure. My mind needed a break, I had just been fighting life so I was still in survival mode, it's the PTSD after living through a life of trauma. I got a month or so off to just relax and calm my nerves. Without the help of my Best Friends, I would be homeless and hungry, or dead.

So, after the holiday break, I went back to school. I caught Covid-19 before classes had started back in person. Post covid symptoms are like no other, the mental fogginess and physical fatigue, took me out every day, I tell you I was sleeping 2/3 of my day away, and I couldn't help it, I couldn't stay awake.

I communicated with my professors and advisor about the post covid symptoms and almost everyone was accommodating—which I greatly appreciated since I was sick.

One professor, the head of my department, wouldn't leave me alone after I told him about my fatigue and fogginess that had been caused by covid. I simply wanted to be able to go to class online instead of having to go to campus, and they harassed me via email for an accommodation for my sickness and the work I had been doing—this had been occurring for a good four weeks, and when I finally complained to someone about it, nothing happened anyway AND after all the email harassment I got a D in the class he taught.

So after being mentally drained from the winter quarter, in the spring I continued to unravel.

And that brings me to this moment, I realize I just want to be myself and do what I love. Unfortunately, school wasn't for me for so long and I had forced myself to stay because I figure that would guarantee money, money is not worth making myself miserable.

I learned that like my God,

I am an artist.

And I just want to create.

In my life, I have carried a lot of grief and guilt that didn't belong to me. Generational curses no one had broken before me were piled onto my plate and I had to figure out what to do with them. At first, I had been sad. Sad that I couldn't have the "normal" life everyone projected, I was sad that no one in my family understood me, or they wouldn't try to see things from my perspective.

Then I grew angry. Angry that I was saddled with such emotions that weren't mine and embarrassment from only wanting to be myself. I was so angry no one listened, and I tried screaming. I tried screaming, arguing, calling, and explaining what I was going through. My family didn't understand, it was as if I were in a separate reality. We all had survived the same abusive man; I couldn't understand why they wouldn't admit that we all were traumatized by him. I was angry that they couldn't help.

So I lost my light in life for a while, holding this load, holding in hate, holding in everything.

Then I spent a week with my Grandfather and he told me to forgive.

To forgive everyone who wronged me.

It had been my Father, Mother, and Brother that had cut the deepest wounds; I did not see how I could ever forgive my Father—but I do, I forgive all of them.

Forgiving them doesn't excuse their actions, accountability should be taken—all I can do is forgive and move on.

I can't hold hate in my heart, I don't want to—it's a miserable life. I simply want to be kind and respectful to myself and others.

And I understand that I shouldn't rely on the people around me to be my therapist,

But as human beings of a human species,

we are shaped by our environment; you are an individual of groups of communities that make up populations that influence living conditions on our Earth with our decisions.

So if a person in your environment is injured, unwell, or sick---- you take care of them and create accommodations because they are a part of the environment you live in, they influence you and you have an influence on them. So consider a physically injured person with a broken leg; they go to a hospital to get a cast on and crutches so they can heal and they will use accommodations such as elevators instead of stairs. Consider a person who is mentally ill, their mind, their brain (the leader of their entire body operation) is sick, it's literally unwell. And living in a world with so much war and tragedy everywhere—everyone has mental health issues. It would only make sense, you have mental health help for your mental illnesses and physical health help for your physical illnesses. Your mental and physical health is what makes up the health of a human person.

Mind + body + spirit = human health

I tried to rely on my family for help and instead was met with ignored phone calls, isolation for months, and total emotional abandonment.

I had to learn to nurture myself.

I learned forgiveness.

I forgive them.

I forgive my parents.

I know that they were children who had children, and they never got to heal their inner child wounds or work on themselves, all likely due to the stigma around sex education for children…

Let's talk about this sigma first,

How are children to learn about their bodies and establish boundaries to protect themselves if they're never taught what to do, how to do it, or what it even is. You teach a child that they are their own person with their own body and that no one should touch them without their consent. Children are human beings, the future generations, so why don't we protect, provide, prepare, and educate our children? The only "bad guys" are adults that know the power of manipulation and abuse. If we ready our children for the world, we're bringing them in, the least we could do is tell them how this game is played and how to think for themselves.

So, in a way, I have some understanding.

Although, I do have boundaries now, so I don't tolerate disrespect to my being, and not holding yourself accountable is unacceptable.

Ultimately, I want to live and be.

Wish:

$999,999,999

Self-Care Money

Big Money Talk:

$999,999,999

One dollar less than a billion dollars

Since I started my spiritual journey, I have been interested in humans—how we think, learn, teach, evolve, etc.…

I asked myself and the universe why are human beings so violent? Throughout our history, and even before homo sapiens sapiens became the dominant human species, why are we so violent? Why do we have so much war? Why are we okay with killing each other? What is the point of mass genocide and extinction?

Human beings by nature are selfish, which is completely understandable—caring for self, self–worth, self–esteem. Since we are so selfish, we have to practice self–control and self–discipline to prevail as a species and civilization. So, to be selfish and not greedy is one of our human challenges we can master through self-control and self–discipline

Now, after being selfish, another trait of human nature is to protect what you love. Protecting what we love and that combined with power and money breeds greed.

So money is the root of evil?

Wrong, insecurity is--

Early humans were prey, they were fearful and weak in a world full of predators, that feeling of insecurity is passed down through generations creating large numbers that are inherently insecure, and instead of going inside ourselves to fix what is within, we focus on material objects, the "fake" parts of our world to fill the void on the inside.

To be insecure is to be in lack of security in yourself. Human beings rather place arbitrary values on fake currency and pretend that they're superior to fill the void instead of being human and following your path to further our civilization.

So why do I even ask for $999,999,999? I call it self-healing money. I'm not looking to hoard money for generations, I'm more concerned about healing myself and those around me, to keep my environment healthy and happy—my community.

With this money I look to settle my debts and start creating the world, I want to live in.

Chase Logan : )