“Puppy Girl”



I recently began a healing of my spirit from childhood physical mental, physical, and sexual abuse. This particular event is something that I believe killed my spirit in such an unbelievably profound way. It has taken me all of my life to even TRY to tap into my feelings surrounding what happened on this day. There is no processing the death of your inner child unless and until you are truly ready. I fight for myself and my inner child. I hid myself in the shattered pieces of her spirit for years. How can I not now heal her heart?

My God. This journey of healing that I’ve begun. Had I known the sheer anguish and heartbreak surrounding this particular memory would suffocate and engulf my spirit in complete and utter devastation, I’m not sure that I would have started this process.

I could be wrong, but I feel like when you’ve been abused, there’s that one thing/event that’s happened to you that will always haunt you. For me, this is that event. The thing that broke the camel’ back. I’ll need to tell this story in two parts in order to connect the dots. When I was 2 years old, my mom was involved with a secretly cruel man. Everything he did was done in the dark. I have a remarkable long-term memory. I even have memories before the age of 1 that I can pull up at the drop of a dime. I amazed my mother with the things I remembered. I don’t remember my mom being around when her significant other chose to inflict his abuse on me. I remember being afraid of this man she was seeing, and I when he entered into the picture, I began wetting the bed again. Looking back as an adult, I find that odd because I was potty- trained before the age of one. This was such a huge red flag! A red flag that was missed. Anyway. When I would wet the bed, his punishment for this ‘crime’ would be that he would rub my nose in my pee, and smack my nose with a newspaper like I was a puppy being house-broken. I can still see his evil eyes fixed on me. His teeth clinched. My face stinging; I sometimes would bow my head in shame and humiliation as the memory takes hold of my frightened inner child. The apartment we lived in was a shithole full of rodents and roaches, and that only added to my fears of living there.

Fast forward. I remember we moved into a nice home, and I was thinking that since the home was pretty, that this man would be nicer, and that his abuse would stop. There’s nothing more pure and beautiful than a child’ mentality. My heart sinks as I think of how wrong I was. The hope my inner child must have been feeling. To have that hope slowly crushed, yet again. Not only did he not stop, but he stepped up his abuse. I had a younger sibling, and he was also now in the path of his wrath. My younger sibling mercifully has almost no memories of his childhood. I can’t and won’t speak for him. I can only tell my side of the story. This abuser was good at not leaving physical marks. The scars he left were left in my spirit. On my mind. Across my heart. The ongoing mind fuck this man caused. It’s the cause of some sleepless nights, and many, many instances of me asking God why He would allow this “Christian” man to destroy my soul before I even knew what a soul was. Why would He allow that if children were supposed to be so blessed, special, and protected? Where was MY protection from this monster of His making? He placed a demon in a place where I should have felt safe. I had to re-think all of this after some healing. The truth of the matter is that God didn’t place the monster in my presence. Had my mother healed herself from her past traumas, she never would have chosen this man to be in her life. She would have seen him for the nothing that he was. As harsh as that sounds, that’s the truth of the matter. My mother placed this demon in my life. Damn. I loved her with all my heart, and she never abused us. Ever. But when parents don’t heal their mental health issues, and they constantly live in survival mode; they miss so many signals. They’re with you, but not really. Things are missed.

When I was about 5-6, we got our first puppy. We were so excited! I remember rolling on the floor in a flurry of joy. We were in love! Inevitably, the puppy wet the floor. He had his nose rubbed in the pee, and had his nose and face smacked with newspaper. My mind immediately flashed back to when I received the same punishment for the same “crime”. In that moment, I ceased to exist as a human, my inner child was slaughtered that day. She died a quiet death in front of witnesses who had no idea that the little girl with the frozen smile they were looking at would never be seen again. Had she not had the ‘gift’ of an infallible memory, this would’ve been a joyful day of getting her first puppy, and not the spiritual annihilation of the innocence she was desperately trying to hold onto. She let go in this moment of death. She idolized Tina Turner, and she dared to dream of her name in lights right next to Miss Turner. No need to ask for singing for dancing lessons. She knew puppies couldn’t sing or dance. She stopped fighting with the man involved with her mother, and also with the male who was sexually abusing her. She wasn’t human anymore, so it didn’t matter. She stopped trying to be the good girl she felt that she was in her heart. She lost her humanity, dignity, beauty, and her place in the world. She laid down everything in that moment. She accepted her role as the non-descript, nothing of a family pet that she was. My God.

People told me all of my life that they thought I was pretty, beautiful, etc., but I never felt that I was. Well, I did up until the puppy incident. The puppy thing explains and opens my eyes to why I’ve had so many issues with my self-esteem, and where those issues probably started. Even as a small child before this incident, I thought very highly of myself. I remember when I was in kindergarten, my mom went to the bowels of hell (in my 5 year old eyes) and pulled out this butt-ugly dress for me to wear. I looked it up and down and said ‘Mom! I can’t wear that dress!’ She asked me why, and I said ‘because it doesn’t become me’. Five years old, and a WHOLE mess! But for me to have that high of an opinion of myself before the puppy incident to having zero self-esteem afterwards, I’m putting money on the puppy thing fracturing my self-esteem. It was at this time that I / she started gaining weight, starting fires, and acting out in belligerent, violent, and somewhat homicidal behaviors. That’s another post.

I’ve been so torn on how to heal my inner child. The hole in my heart in her lifeline, so our connection is indeed eternal. She cries out to me daily. She died a private, unacknowledged death, and I left her. I abandoned her. Left her broken while I hid myself in between her shattered pieces. She took every hit. Every torture. Every fondle, and every fuck. I left my fallen soldier on a battle field she was never equipped to survive. Jesus. Wow. The guilt I feel now when I think of the times I quieted her/buried her/said it was ok for the take her rest. After all she had ‘survived’ through. All the hits she had taken for me. Each hit, equal to a spiritual death. Walking away and laying her to rest felt like the ultimate betrayal. Me, of all people! I should never be the one to silence her voice, and literally be the one to put the nail in her coffin. She screams my name. She still begs me not to disregard or dismiss her memory. She used to be dead to me. How could I feel any connection with her when I never allowed myself to even connect with my own feelings?  The more I’ve healed, the more I hear, feel, and sense the existence of my hurting inner child. She lives, breathes, and screams out to me. I acknowledge and feel such a beautiful connection with her spirit. I love her, and I honor her strong spirit. She came into this world as a giggly child who didn’t even cry when she was hungry, or even when her diaper was wet. She was the baby dreams were made of. I watched this child morph and change as abuse slithered into her life. Her spirit weakened, and eventually caved under the weight of one death, after another, and another. The incremental deaths that go hand-in-hand with abuse are the silent soul killers most don’t recognize or see coming. Or the signs are intentionally muted under the perverse glare of the wolf who claims to love you.

Ok, so I can’t lay a soul to rest who lives. Completely out of the question. My prayers tell me over and over the only way to honor my inner child is to heal my heart so that I can finally heal her heart. I’ve begun my healing, so she’d no longer on that battle field. I hold her close to my heart. I speak love to her daily, and I thank her for her dogged spirit. Without her grit, there would be no me. Who knew that she was the stronger one of the 2 of us?

All the humanity and beauty she lost on that day, I now return to her. The chains of brutality are no longer hers to wear, nor to embrace as her own. Tears fill my eyes as I write these words, and I know that I’m telling the story of so many inner children awaiting their own rescues. I will visit the house of horrors one time only. You and I died so many deaths on that property. Our physical wounds healed, but the psychological mind fuck that lives rent-free in our mind continues. The hatred that bubbles up when I think of all the things we both lost in this house. The list echoes through my spirit like hollow, broken promises.

Healing is the ultimate Pandora’s Box. Once you open it, you are a prisoner of change whether you want to be or not. You follow this new path where it leads you. Opening this new box of healing has ultimately led me to the realization that healing my inner child is just as important (if not more important) than healing this new woman who now looks me in the eye. My promise to my inner child is to heal all levels of the hidden, quiet mess I’ve forced her to sit and ‘live’ with me. When we left that house of horrors, we left as defective, defeated, and damaged souls. The next time I walk away from that place, I won’t be holding the hand of a victim. I’ll be holding the hand of my champion. My soldier. My lifeline, and my guardian angel. You’ll hold my hand, and I’ll hold your heart. Let’s get outta here, Baby Girl…

© Antoinette Davis, September 12, 2022

           

 

“Holy Eviction, Batman!”

I woke up with the intention of wanting to write something kind of light-hearted, but I can’t. This is so not a light-hearted period in my life. Seems like even my funny thoughts lately take me to a lesson I’ve learned, or to the realization that my life is taking another huge turn.

Let’s do this. On October 18, 2005, I got a call asking if I could come to work 30 minutes early. I grumbled and griped, but I agreed to do it. I hurried to get ready, and even had to pay $15 for a cab ride to get me there on time. Not the way I wanted to start my day. I would have dropped to my knees to thank my lucky stars had I known what was taking place at my apartment at the time.

I got to work at 8:00, and got ready for the day. At about 8:15 or 8:20, I got a call that my apartment was on fire. Well, shit! Immediately, my mind started thinking over everything that I would need to replace. I remember saying, “I’m not gonna have anything”, and the tears rolling down my face. On the way to the apartment, thoughts of loss and lost memories rolled through my mind.

When I arrived, fire fighters were ditching my burnt belongings off of my balcony. Yep, this was really happening. Along with a slew of fire fighters, the Red Cross was there to assess the damage. I’m watching all of this, and I was actually pulled to the side so that I could have my rights read to me. That’s right! My Miranda Rights were read to me before I answered any questions. I had no insurance, so what could I possibly have to gain by setting a blaze? I was told it was merely a formality, as there are arsonists who do just what I was subtly being almost-accused of.

My brother arrived, and we surveyed the space. Only the kitchen sustained fire damage. Everything else was destroyed by smoke and/or water. All my clothes – destroyed. My TV, computer, DVD and VCR – destroyed. My bed, bedding, couch, loveseat, and tables- all also destroyed. Curiously, the only things to survive the fire were my bible, my music, my movies, and all of my pictures. ALL of my pictures survived! Hm…all the things I would have tried to save had I known ahead of time a fire was on the way.

Ok, let me backtrack some months. I was talking to God, and I was saying that maybe it was time for me to move. Nothing concrete. Just a general let-me-toss-it-out-there kind of thing. Some time passed, and I had pretty much stopped thinking about moving. The seasons were about to change, and I really didn’t want to move in the cold. Ah, little did I know that what I wanted didn’t mean squat.

I started hearing, “Toni, it’s time for you to leave this place”. Unmistakable. Those were the exact words. Not a feeling. I heard the words clearly. I didn’t say them! So either I’d finally let go of my delusions of sanity, or God was talking to me – in stereo! So what did I do? Ignored the voice that was very plainly speaking to me. The voice did know me by name.

I have this strange thing that happens when God talks to me, or when I know my family needs some prayers. The best way I can describe it to you is that there is somebody about ½ an inch tall hovering outside of my ear – talking into my ear. You laughed, didn’t you? Well that voice has never led me wrong, and I’ve been told that my prayers have gone out at exactly a life-saving moment for that person. The voice does not lie or fail, so I listen to it. Except this time. The voice revisited me many times and said, “Toni, it’s time for you to leave this place”. Again, I hesitated. More like disobeyed.

Flashback to the fateful day. I’m sitting there stunned, and a couple of things become very clear to me. Funny how fire gets your attention, right? One – if I hadn’t been called in early for work, I would have very possibly been in that fire. God told me to move, and I didn’t. Winter was on the way, and dammit if I wasn’t having to do exactly what I said I didn’t wanna do! I walked away from that fire with my life, but not much else. Not even a plan.

While I was busy freaking out about what to do next, things just started falling into place for me. The people at my job amazed me with their kindness, concern, and generosity. I work in a small office of about 30 employees. Those 30 people came up with more than $2000 to help get me on my feet. I cried like a baby as I watched things unfold in front of my eyes. It was overwhelming. Not only did the money roll in, but people did the nicest things for me. Another office in my company heard of the fire, and sent money. I didn’t even know them. I registered at a store, and my co-workers made sure that I had whatever I needed. This was on top of the money they’d previously collected. I can never again say that nobody cares about me. I’ve been shown otherwise.

This is getting kinda long, so let me get to what I’m trying to say. The fire was not a fire. God told me to get going, and I decided I’d like to stay where I was, thank you very much! So what happened? God burned down my apartment! Let me rephrase that. God allowed my apartment to burn down. That doesn’t sound any better, but it feels more correct.

Looking back, I can see how I had gotten way too comfy where I was. Physically, emotionally, as well as spiritually. When I lost everything I had, it gave me the chance to do something a lot of us wish we could do. I got to start all over again. I had a clean slate, and I had nowhere to go but up. I can see now that I was stagnant in so many ways. I’d decided that where I was at was the furthest I’d ever go. It was the most I’d ever have. I’d decided my dreams were just that – dreams. Something that I had while I slept. I’d decided the way my life was would never change, so I’d better just get used to it.

Hindsight is perfect vision. I’d never be able to see with this crystal-clear vision if I had not gone through the fire. God wasn’t just moving me out of my apartment. He moved my feet, my heart, and soul on a whole new path. I looked back, and I didn’t like what I saw. Every time I tried not to change, Somebody up there made me so miserable that I had no choice but to change. Frustrating? Yes! Scary? Hell yeah! To let go of my old life and my old way of thinking has been the most challenging thing I’ve ever taken on – thus far. Before the fire, I was all but dead inside. That’s not a figure of speech, or an exaggeration. I’d never felt more beat-down or useless in my life.

Fast-forward to almost 4 years later. Look at me now! I’ve been healed of hurts that I thought would one day claim my life. I’m writing again, looking forward to whatever comes my way, and thank you Jesus, I dream my dreams with all my heart. I’m different. Even if I never show it to anybody, I know it’s true. When I look back on that fire, believe it or not, it’s with a sense of gratitude. Mind you it took almost 4 years for this gratitude to show its face, but it has. Without going through that experience, who knows what would have been? I dare say nothing good.

They say that a man perishes without a dream. How many of you know that this is true? The fire, as it turns out, wasn’t a fire after all. It was a holy eviction! And a blessing in disguise. The next time God tells me to get going, I hope it won’t come in the form of fire! The little guy outside my ear is sufficient.

I thought I was done, but I have one more observation. Originally, I’m the one who said I kinda sorta wanted to move. So not only does God have a sense of humor (ha, ha –good one God!), but He also gave me what I half-aksed for. I’ve learned to be careful what I ask for. He might just give it to me. I’m out!

© Antoinette Davis
   September 1, 2009.