Hold the Healing

I try not to let my memories get me into a depressed mental state but I do often find myself feeling down about my childhood. There were definitely some good times, but there were so many bad times. I don't mean that as an exaggeration, I mean that as I come to realize I was and probably still am, to some degree "damaged" by the all the trauma. Let's begin.

I was given up for adoption as a baby and adopted out to a young couple who was already considered a foster family with two foster sons. I grew up fast, learning the details about how I came to be with my family at 7 years old. I was told many times how I didn't really belong because I was the only dark-skinned member of my family. And that I was adopted. Got teased about nobody wanting me not even my mother. It left me wondering where I belonged and to whom I belonged to, it made me mental prepare for a long journey of searching for everything.

Searching for my blood, my true identity. Though I found out this major secret, I guess it made me notice and resent where and how I was being treated. Which was very obvious, I was treated more harshly and more like a burden, than a daughter. I was often punished for minor things like playing too much, wetting the bed, or not eating or cleaning up. Punishments came with harsh and strict conditions like, extension cord whooping's, belt buckle lashings and fist pounding. I remember getting sat on by mama, who at the time was very close to 190lbs. While sitting on me, she would then began to beat me with the belt with the buckle end for as long as she could breathe. This seemed normal and I remember always getting into trouble and feeling the need to lie about anything that would or could get me out of trouble.

I seemingly developed this fantastical world of an unrealistic reality for me. It helped me escape the brutal growing up I did prior to getting pregnant at 15. Another tale of seeking love and compassion, finding it in the opposite sex. I was very sexually driven, for some reason as a young girl. I became very imaginative when it came to the interactions between male and female, and I seemed to know all about it way too soon. So much so, I began to write to imaginary boyfriends and explain my sexual thoughts. They were so steamy and troublesome that my mom would often come searching my room unannounced to see if hid any when she felt that I had been in my room writing too long.

At 9 years old, I remember getting hit in the head with a brick for being blacker, friendly, and I guess too easy. My neighbors were bright skinned kids with a very interesting family dynamic themselves. But I loved that they were all sticking together as brothers, sisters, and cousins. They played and ate together, which was unity. In my eyes, that was the "true family". The only thing is, when the boys got together when we played, they would hold me down and take turns practicing sexual acts on me. And guess, just guess,.....I kept going back for more. Time and time again, they would and I would be the subject of discovery, for child's play.

When I was 10 years old, my very strict Christian mother and her friend from church came over with her 30-something year old mentally unstable son who found himself into my room. There he befriended me and immediately made advances. He sat his chair in the closet my sister and I shared and had me sit on his lap while he became aroused and fondled me. Yes, it was sick but why wouldn't my mother know that this grown man was in her daughter's room, with her daughter. It was not a short period of time and the weird thing is, although I was young, as I recall, I wasn't afraid and unwilling. I remember trying to keep my sister from coming into the room. I never saw him again and this is my first time telling.

Seeking a man's attention and perhaps some genuine love, I often fell into the trap of my minds' will to "run after" a man. Mostly, to not be lonely and single. I couldn't ever be left alone to myself. It would be too much. Anytime spent with me was overwhelming as a young person. Although, I hated rejection, I seemed to run head first for it.

Like the time when I asked the cutest guy in school who he was looking for, combing the school halls and parking lot. Of course, when I found out and asked to be taken back to school, I was held down until submission for taking the place of the "Hot Girl" he was looking for that day. Although, he was the coolest and cutest, with his own car and everything, I hated the way my first son was conceived. It was cold and I said no. Many times including the squirming and thigh holds. What do I know, this is what I get for asking questions and being fresh, right. But I was 15 and he was 18. Our son is 33

With these few experiences before I'm 20, I think I began to spiral out of control. Emotionally. I became dependent on needing others to live my life. I consistently relied on others and was angry at myself and them that hurt me.

It wasn't until my mid-30's that I realized I had to look deep into myself before I could fix anything in my life. I strategically began to self-educate myself on my mind and what I needed to grow emotionally, and psychologically, spiritually, as well as physically. I stopped holding on to my pain and woes as a child. I started holding on to the belief that I could heal myself from all the pain.