When The Term Mental Struggle Becomes Reality

Who knew puberty could change you from this fun-loving kid to someone you and others around you really come to hate?  My teenage years were the worse times of my life.  Growing up as a Jehovah's Witness, you are admonished to live in accordance with God's Laws and not to do everything your body tells you to do.  At an early age, I learned how to escape my own reality at home by escaping into the arms of men/boys. 

My first encounter with boys was summer of 1993.  I had just finished working over the summer and was 40 pounds lighter.  I was ready for high school.  I spent the last few weeks in a College Prep Program at Johns Hopkins University and Gilman School.  Prior to my stay away, I'd met the cousin of a middle school friend, Derrick.  Derrick was older and cute.  And said everything I wanted to hear.  After phone conversations most of the summer, there was nothing left to do but meet.  I was ready.  My heart pounded heavily as I walked to his house, about 10 blocks from mine.  His house was empty and I was sweating.  Anxious and afraid.  He was my first real kiss.  My first passionate kiss.  My body said I wanted him so bad.  And apparently he felt the same.  Until he began to undress me.  Hesitation set in.  But, I couldn't bring myself to make him stop touching me.  It wasn't until we were body to body.  He touched my vagina and I realized I was naked, straddling him in his mama kitchen.  Aw hell no!  I gotta go.  I ran.  I ran to and through the front door all the way home.  I was afraid.  Could I have gotten pregnant?  Did I really have sex?  I had to tell my mother because I was confused.  I told her what happened and if her words were knives, I would have looked like a character in Final Destination.  After she checked me out and realized there was no penetration, in the car we went to confront Derrick and his parents that were unaware of what was going on.  That meeting turned out to be pointless.  His mother was as nutty as a fruitcake and really didn't care what or who her son was getting into.  From then on, my fear turned into fascination. 

On came high school and my first real boyfriend.  Mikal.  I was in love.  I adored that boy right from the start.  He was my best friend's brother and he sang to me.  Sounds silly, but it got me.  He sang to me every time we spoke.  I was intrigued.  I did everything I could to see him and keep it a secret from my mother.  After the last incident, I knew there was no "confiding" in her about boys.  A few months and a loss of virginity later, I thought I was head over heels.  In my head, this was serious!  So, I confronted my mother about what I was feeling.  I got shut down in the worse way.  I was told that I was looking for trouble and basically my desires were taboo.  She didn't want to hear about it ever again.  At 14, it was like waves crashing down on my head.  I tried to commit suicide that night.  I'd taken a handful of pills.  My mom came into my room to find me passed out on the bed.  Because it had been hours since I took them, my aunt (who was a nurse) checked me out and said they would just have to wear off.  When I came around I got scolded even more and was taken to see a counselor.  After two sessions, her only purpose was an ear for me to vent to about my desire for Mikal and my mother wasn't paying for that.  My sessions ended after the therapist recommended compromise. 

I found myself welled up with all of the emotions, hormones and desires that came along with becoming a teenager and no one to direct them.  I wanted to be able to go to my mother like everyone around me was able to, but not only was Sheila unwavering in her standards, I was too far gone.  By 10th grade, I'd slept with several guys and didn't intend to stop.  Until I met Jermaine.  Jermaine is my son's father.  He and I worked together at the Roy Rogers across from my school.  At the time, I'd been in a secret relationship with Larry.  Another one of my boyfriends my mother forced me to stop seeing.  Jermaine and I developed what I thought was a friendship.  He'd come to my house and help with demolition.  His grandmother gave me rides to work when my parents couldn't take me.  I thought it was a normal, platonic relationship.  On May 24, 1995 I went to his apartment to wait for him and his grandmother (who lived upstairs from him and his mother) because our store was being remodeled and we were being trained at the Hunt Valley location.  Neither of them were ready, so meanwhile I sat in his living room watching TV with his brother.  He called me into his room, said he had a tape for me to listen to.  I walked in and I could hear I Like - Kut Klose playing.  I turned around to walk out of the room and he closed it.  He told me to wait until he got dressed.  I didn't move.  He began to undress and I noticed he wasn't putting clothes back on.  He grabbed me and put me on the bed.  My clothes came off and his hand went over my mouth.  I yelled for him to get off of me.  And never stopped.   I laid there... still, repeating for him to stop.  Over and over again.  I remember telling myself to be still.  It will be over soon.  I closed my eyes and listened to the song.  When the song finished playing, I got dressed and walked to the Burger King across the street before I went to my cousin's house.  I asked her to do my hair before I went back home.  I never said a word.  I later found out I was the target of a bet between the guys in the store and he was determined to win. 

Three months later, found out I was 11 weeks pregnant and had been infected with Chlamydia.  I had to tell my parents then.  After I let them know what had happened, my father left looking for him.  He'd already moved.  I came to grips with the reality of my pregnancy.  But, I wasn't long after I delivered that I gave up on finding my own true happiness and began to find solace in men.  I was able to escape everything that hurt.  This ruined what little relationship I had left with my mother.  I became a disappointment to her. I'd go to work after school and come home in the middle of the night, leaving her to take care of my baby.  I was a walking zombie in my own life.  Everything around me was surreal.  I secretly wanted to die. 

I was able to suppress those feeling when I moved out.  It was then I took on the responsibility of caring for myself and Deonte.  I was too busy to confront what I'd been feeling for the past 6 years.  I got married in 1998 and that felt like happiness to me.  Until my parents became too sick to care for themselves.  I moved my family in with them in 1999 and by 2000 I was separated.  Taking care of my parents kept me busy.  And when I wasn't busy I was drunk. 

January 2002, I saw an old friend in a club with my best friend, Marie.  I had looked for him for years, but couldn't reconnect.  But, I was sure I did that night.  From then on, we stayed in touch, spending more and more time together.  The night my mom passed away, I called him and gave him the news.  He met me at my apartment.  I remember crying myself to sleep in my bed as he sat on the floor beside me, stroking my hair staring at me.  When I woke up, he was gone.  We grew closer and closer as the months passed and in August, I had gotten pregnant.  After the birth of my daughter, all of the grief I'd never dealt with, struggle of having a new unplanned child and being in love with a married man sent me over the edge. 

I picked up the phone to call this man of mine, who really was not mine at all.  He was at his ex-wife's house doing some work and instead of ignoring my call, he pressed the talk button.  I could hear him playfully telling her to take her shirt off and let him kiss her.  This went on for about 10 minutes until I couldn't bear to hear anymore.  I found my bottle of prescribed anti-anxiety medication and took as many would fit in my mouth.  When I woke up, I was sitting in a wheelchair in Sinai hospital surrounded by family, with this same man yelling at me.  I could hear him saying, "your ass is crazy! I hope you are happy!  You are about to get everything you deserve!  I'm done!"  And from then on, I did.  Life for me got progressively worse.   Self-inflicted pain over and over again.  Most days it hurt to take a shower. 

It wasn't until August 2009, 6 months pregnant with my baby boy, I was diagnosed with Dysthymia and I realized I could no longer hurt myself by not loving myself.  I have been on a quest for love from within and today I am happy to say... Loving me ain't easy, but it sure is worth it.