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I had a teacher in the 5th grade who kept calling me Jessica. I've dealt with this my whole life. Usually, my go to is to politely say, "Excuse me, but my name is Jerrica actually. It's not Jessica." That is what I said to this teacher the first day of school. He didn't respond.He called me Jessica EVERY SINGLE DAY. I corrected him, and he would laugh at me or just shake his head.At one point, he even said "No, Jessica is your name, stop trying to change your name." I had a few friends in class try to explain to him that my name is in fact JERRICA. He told them to stop encouraging me.I asked my mother what to do about this predicament. She, being the wonderful and supportive woman that she is, suggested that I ignore him until he called me by the correct name. So that's exactly what I did.It got to the point that he was literally crossing out my name on my assignments, writing Jessica on them, and taking points off of everything I handed in with my actual name on it. I would end up with zeros for the day for "being obstinate and refusing to participate."I had a D in his class but was an A/B student in everything else. He requested a conference with my parents, and he requested that they both attend as my father was in his opinion the more reasonable parent.As soon as he sat down he started in about me, using the wrong name. "Jessica ignores me in class.,'’ "Jessica does not complete assignments.," "Jessica is disrespectful."My mom asked him what he was talking about and if, in fact he knew how to read. My dad said "I don't know who Jessica is, but I'm sorry you're having issues with her. My kid's name is Jerrica." He apparently told my parents they shouldn't have given me such a difficult name, and that this still should not have resulted in the behaviour I exhibited in his class. To which my wonderful father replied, "If your name was Joe and I called you Steve every day for four months, you would be pretty pissed off too.”I got a grudging, half-hearted apology from my teacher and ended up with a B for my final grade. He never used my name after that, but he did stop taking points off when I wrote it on assignments!

.What do you see when you look at this image? A young woman sitting for her bridal portrait on the cusp of beginning a new chapter in her life? Do you sense the love, anticipation and excitement she exudes knowing that in a matter of days she will be in the arms of her new husband, celebrating this union with family and friends?What I see, are the last precious moments of feeling unbounded joy, happiness, safe, loved and feeling truly beautiful for perhaps the first time in my life. Days later it would all come crashing down, leaving me shattered physically, emotionally and financially.In late October 2001, I was in the midst of the chaos of planning a destination wedding and preparing to defend my PhD proposal. My fiancé was in Damascus, Syria, handling things on his end - wedding venue, hotel arrangements, finding a place for us to live together, etc. Twice a month, I transferred funds to him to cover wedding expenses, new living costs as well as his tuition in an intensive English class offered through the US Embassy. Archaeologists, we planned to live in Syria allowing him to finish his degree and me to join the Department of Antiquities and continue my dissertation research. We had known each other for years, having met on an excavation in North Eastern Syria. I met his family, friends, spending hours communicating through emails and our twice-weekly phone calls.Our wedding was scheduled for late April 2002. My family and guests would be travelling together to Syria for the festivities. In February, I found myself back in Syria for two weeks, finalising details, searching for the perfect apartment and spending time where it was just the two of us. Long walks at night through the streets of Damascus, talking for hours over endless cups of tea. During the day, my fiancé went about his life and normal routine, joining me for lunch and then later in evening for our nightly wanderings.Latakia, SyriaNeeding a break from Damascus, we took a last minute overnight to Latakia, walking along the rocky beaches, reading, talking and enjoying one another. I am not sure when I realized that his engagement band was different. When I commented on it, he told me it had been stolen. He had taken it off to wash his hands and when he realized he forgot to put it on he went back to the sink it was gone. He went back to the jeweller from whom we purchased a matching set to replace it, but there was no match.Looking back, I should known that something was very very wrong. But I was caught up in the whirlwind, thinking that my new life was a reward for suffering a lifetime of ups and downs, physical and emotional abuse, self-confidence issues, etc.I returned back to Chicago and began the hassle of selling, packing and shipping basically everything I owned from childhood. Some things were sold, some shipped overseas, some in a friend's basement and some to my parents, who would ship them when asked.I found the dress of my dreams (pictured above) in South Florida where my parents lived and made a few day trips for fittings etc.During all this insanity, I continued to shift money and filed what seemed like thousands of forms for visas and our marriage license.Nobel Palace, Damascus, SyriaFive days before leaving for Damascus, I sat for the portrait above. My parents wanted it, knowing that our relationship was changing and that sharing photos, emails and phone calls would become a challenge. It was a lovely beautiful day, one etched forever in my memories.After a 12-hour layover in Milan, we eventually landed in Damascus at 2 AM. Customs took forever and there appeared to an issue with my visa. After much pleading and a little money. I was eventually cleared, joining my family and fiancé and catching a ride to the Meridian hotel.Later in the afternoon, we all gathered and headed over to the Nobel Palace, where the reception would be held. It was incredibly beautiful and I relaxed a bit knowing that everything was in order. The group disbanded, some returned to the hotel for a little sleep, while others roamed the Souq.Al-Hamidiyah Souq, Damascus, SyriaMy fiancé and I headed over to government complex, to pick up our license and drop it off at the Embassy, for the civil part of our ceremony. And that is when it all fell apart. There was no license, no paperwork in processing, they had no idea who we even were, and had us removed from the building.I was devastated, angry, scared. I had my family travel to the Middle East, months after September 11 and there would be no wedding. I headed directly to the Embassy, struggling to keep it together. After a few minutes, I was granted access and directly taken to Ambassador's quarters. After describing our predicament and asking for help, I was told that there was nothing the Embassy could do.Why? No paperwork had been submitted for the license, no appointment had been scheduled for the civil ceremony, and no one had ever heard my name. But they did know my fiancé‘s name. In fact, they knew all about him. He had been detained several weeks earlier, for attempting to sell victims’ personal information and identity. And it was not the first time he had attempted to do this.As the situation spiraled out of control, my parents and guests were brought to the Embassy. When everyone was present, that is when we learned whom exactly I had been engaged to and worked with for years.My fiancé, who never really was my fiancé, was actually 11 years younger than me, not enrolled in college, and had been using the money I transferred to him to join Damascus’s hip crowd. He never signed up for the intensive language program. That money had gone towards buying a new wardrobe. The rest had been spent in Damascus’s night life for himself, his friends and his wife. Yes, his true and legal wife.The money for deposits and rent was used to lease an apartment in a prestigious neighborhood. But it was never intended for me to live there. His wife and relatives occupied the apartment and lived quite nicely on my money. Furniture, clothing, travel, dining was funded by me.All of my personal belongings had been delivered to that apartment. What wasn't used or damaged during shipping was either sold, re-gifted or trashed. A lifetime of collected goods and memories gone.The wedding reception had been paid for, only it was to have been a party for his friends, wife and relatives, with me and my family being invited as guests. His friends, family and others all knew what was happening, hoping that they would get a share of the wealth. For years they helped him manage this farce and deception.In a matter of hours, I had gone from total bliss to becoming a broken, shattered, devastated shell of a human being. The dreams, future, and images of the family we would create were gone. They had never really existed to begin with. My parents were horrified, demanding help from the Embassy. But there was really nothing they could do, except gather our belongings from the hotel and escort us to the airport to immediately leave Syria before my ex-fiancé realized that the party was over and could plan retribution to protect his wife, himself and my finances that he felt entitled to. He was legally married to another, leaving me to be considered the mistress, a high crime in Syria.Within hours, we were all heading home, except I had no idea where home would be having sold or lost everything I owned, with the exception of the items left in the hotel room. No one spoke much on the flight, as we all longed for a sleep that would temporarily give us a break from the anger, fear, pain and consuming heartbreak. I had yet to cry, forcing myself to keep moving forward to help the others, when I feared that if I gave into the pain it would never end.I stayed in Florida with my parents as there was nothing left for me in Chicago or Syria. The first night, my parents removed any physical trace of the wedding that was never meant to be - photos, invitations, gifts everything. My bridal portrait was removed, placed in a storage unit. The dress - that beautiful creation that had made me feel so beautiful - I donated to a group that took wedding gowns and created coffin linings and a keepsake pouch for families unable to bury their children.Before placing the portrait in storage I asked my parents why they just didn't destroy it. For me, it was a physical reminder of the betrayal, loss and heartbreak over a future never destined to be. All I could see was a woman who failed, who fell so easily into a nightmare causing shame, embarrassment and financial loss to loved ones. I felt stupid for either overlooking or denying the warning signs. I felt unloved, unattractive and terrified as to how I would rebuild my life.But that is not what my parents saw. They saw a beautiful vibrant woman in love, beginning an adventure no one could have imagined. They could not part with the portrait, tossing it and me aside as had been done in Syria. It would be a reminder of a life with endless enthusiasm and promise. I would never be that woman again, but in time as I healed I could look to that woman and acknowledge the strength, resilience and beauty that would rise once more.This is a link to the follow up answer as to what happened once I returned to the statesColleen Anne Coyle's answer to What did you do with your wedding gown?

A guy that I was fooling around with wanted things between us to get more serious. I’ll call him A. I declined his offer as I had just gotten out of a serious relationship and didn’t want to be anybody’s girlfriend.In response A decided to call my work to tell them that I was a total bitch who smoked pot before work every day and that I stole money from the store.My manager Joe laughingly told me about the call when I came in for my shift at 3:00 PM. “I told him, no man she doesn’t steal from us. We have cameras literally positioned over top of the registers. We don’t do drug testing so even if she does smoke you’re wasting your time because I don’t give a shit.”I wasn’t in trouble with my place of employment, but I was still pretty pissed off that A was trying to get me fired.Joe suggested that I call his work and do the same. He put the store phone in my hand and said “Do it from here so he won’t know it was you. Just dial nine to call out.”I considered my options. I really didn’t want A to get fired. I was just about to put the phone back down on the receiver and forget the whole thing.BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ a barrage of texts came to my cell phone. Each more insulting and threatening than the next, and all from A.I dialed 9 and called the fast food place that A worked at. I asked to speak to the manager on duty.“Hi,” I said cheerfully, “I just wanted to let you know that your employees are really disrespectful and rude. After what happened yesterday I won’t be a customer of yours anymore.”“I’m so sorry ma’am. If you could give me some more details I’d love to see if we could resolve the situation. Can you tell me what happened?” The manager sounded very concerned.“Well, I came in yesterday and while I was ordering food the guy who took my order was kind of hitting on me. I tried to be nice about it, I really did. He asked for my phone number. I said I wasn’t giving it to him because I’m already dating someone. He called me a lying, stuck-up bitch.”The manager listened to my whole story “Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry. Can you describe him to me? Do you remember his name by chance?”“Well…” I paused for dramatic effect. My manager Joe was standing next to the phone listening in, “he was a short stocky guy with blonde hair. I’m pretty sure his name was A. I wasn’t going to complain about it, but after I left I couldn’t stop thinking about how rude he was. Then I started thinking that if he had been that way towards me there had to have been other women that he spoke to the same way, and I just couldn’t hold it in anymore.”“So you decided to call in the complaint,” The manager said, “I totally understand. Now don’t you worry about a thing. He won’t be speaking to anybody else like that again. Thanks for calling it in hon.”The next day, I got a call from A raving about how he had been fired from his job, and he knew that either I or his ‘baby mama’ had something to do with it.The best part was that he believed me when I said I had no idea what he was talking about.