All I have to say is that it sucks being single sometimes! These words wouldn't let me sleep. I kept tossing and turning until I had to get up and just get it off my chest. I was having a moment, but luckily, the moment passed. But I know the feeling will be back...
“Him”
Man of mystery
unseen
unknown
untasted
but as familiar to me
as my own reflection
I know you in my dreams
but you fade away
at the dawn of each new day
the opening of my eyes as I rise
begins a new game of hide and seek
you see
it was just a moment ago that you were here
speaking unspoken words of love
sharing sweet medicine
curing my aches
needs
and ails
loving me as a king who adores his queen
you are real to me
I seek your face
like a bending rose reaches for the sun
I hear your whispers in broken promises
just hold on, you say
I am on the way
just hold on
the mantra of the weary
the blind faith of a lonely heart
and the strength
of one who dares to stand in the shadow of ever-present hope
beloved familiar stranger
you have not been behind door number 1
2
nor 3
I tire of the search
for you are but a dream
and I
the fool who waits for you…
© Antoinette Davis
December 7, 2012
December 7, 2012
November 29, 2011
"Putting it Together- Taking My Life Back after Childhood Sexual Abuse" By Antoinette Davis
This is a subject I never thought I would speak of. Especially in such a public forum. But here I am about to do the unthinkable. I ask you to hang in there with me as you read my story. I promise you, there is an up side. This is therapy for me, and hopefully, a way to help someone else realize that childhood sexual abuse doesn’t have to be the end of your life.
I'm a 44-year-old woman with a haunting past. I remember it like it just happened. I know I was 5, and my brother was 4. I would have to go to school the next day, and he wouldn’t. My brother was sent off for his nightly bath. While he bathed, I was undressed, laid on my bed, and molested for the first time. I remember he made it into a game that he said only we could know about. I was scared of him, but thought that maybe I was special because he picked me for this 'special game'. The logic of a child, for sure. When I began to resist, there was tussling, and very often, threats to kill my little brother and my mother. I don't remember how long the abuse lasted, but the man wasn’t around when I went into the first grade.
At that age, I didn't know what was wrong with me. I know that I was changed by what happened. I became belligerent almost immediately, and began fighting with my little brother almost on a daily basis. On two occasions, I even poisoned him. Once with pills I found, and another time, I made him drink bleach. He had to have his stomach pumped twice because of me. My brother was a sweet and timid child. He was the perfect target for my aggression. I can only guess I was acting out because of what had happened to me. I have no idea how or why my brother forgave me. To say I mistreated him is surely an understatement. When we grew up, he made the statement that I hurt his soul. He said it jokingly, but I knew it was the truth. That's a guilt that still eats at me sometimes. I know I was just a kid, but there’s still a sting when I think of the pain I inflicted on someone I love with all my heart.
I remember teasing little boys in a sexual manner while still at that age. I’d learned 'the art of seduction.' Little boys seemed to love me, and it was my secret why they did. It was during this time that I also began to set fires. Some in plain sight, and others in the privacy of my basement. Fire held some kind of fascination that I could never explain. I just remember enjoying it. There were times of pretending to be a baby named BayBay. I don’t know where that name came from, but there was a BayBay. I’d wrap myself in blankets, and pretend I was a baby. The urge to be BayBay was unplanned, and came out of nowhere. Looking back, I don’t know if she was a separate personality, or if I created her to comfort myself. It’s hard to know for sure. BayBay felt real to me. She was safety for me. Saying it now, it seems BayBay may’ve been a way for me to separate from my pain.
My mother knew something was wrong with me, but I don't think she had any idea what it was. She took me to a child psychologist when I was 6 years old. Since all I did was draw pictures, in my 6-year-old mind, I was going to art school. I looked forward to the visits, even though I felt strange being there. I was smart enough to know that the shrink was trying to get at my secret. I didn't spill the beans, but it was determined that I 'had serious issues with authority figures'.
As I grew up, I had no idea that my actions and reactions were basically that of an injured 5-year-old child. I was infamously hateful. I lashed out at family, the few friends I did have, and even strangers. I chose to keep mostly to myself. I didn't like anything, or anybody. Especially myself. I hated the sight of my own image. Looking in the mirror brought feelings of disgust. For years, I didn't know why I was the way I was. I just knew that I wanted to be left alone. There were no dates, and very few boyfriends. I didn't believe I had any value, and I felt that my life was worthless and unnecessary. My teenage years were filled with self-doubt, and almost daily thoughts of suicide. I was extremely lonely most of the time, and I had no idea why God kept me alive.
When I was 19, I had my first sexual experience of my own choosing. It was with a boyfriend, and I thought it would be special. Not only was it not special, but I didn't feel a thing. I thought I'd feel close to him, but that didn't happen. I felt like I was dead inside. How could I not feel anything? All the way home, I kept thinking I must be some kind of freak or something.
I figured (with my screwed-up head) that he wasn't anything special, so maybe all I needed was a different man. I moved on to another boyfriend quickly. Too quickly. He didn't make me feel anything special, and I felt nothing when he touched me. I liked him a lot, but I wasn't capable of letting him get close to me. My constant holding back was something I noticed, and he noticed as well. He was frustrated by it, and I was dumb-founded. I had no answers for him why I didn’t let him in. After these boyfriends, I went on what you might call a sex spree. I slept with 5-6 men fairly close together. I dismissed each of them with the reasoning that since they couldn't make me feel anything, something had to be wrong with them. A man was supposed to be able to please a woman, right? Not a totally realistic view of men at all. While I was busy tossing the blame around, it hadn't dawned on me yet that I was the one with the problem.
I spent my 20s partying with girlfriends, and staying away from men. I kept them around long enough for just enough sex to keep me from climbing the walls. Sex was barely ok with me, and making love was out of the question. I had a few dates here and there, but nothing serious. I very rarely let myself feel anything, so it was pointless to pursue any real relationships. I always wanted to meet 'the one', and I secretly envied happy couples I'd see. They had something I had no idea how to have or get, but I still wanted it. I’d pretty much resigned myself to being alone. It was what I knew. It also meant I wouldn't have to make changes.
My 30s. Whoa! What a tumultuous time for me. These were the most painful years of my life. I moved back home with my mother. I don't know if she knew how close I was to completely flipping out. Any time not spent working was spent vegging on her couch, and wondering when the pain would let up. Of course, not every single day was doom and gloom. There were fun times spent with my family. They probably don’t know that the laughs we shared kept me going, and kept me semi-sane.
After some months of living with her, I was back on my own again. This was the first period in time when I began taking the tiniest peek at my past. I tried to deal with it, but I was nowhere near ready, or strong enough. The rest of my 30s is a blur. Nothing good stands out except for the birth of my two nieces. I remember days spent spoiling my niece, and nights of trying to hang on. When there were no distractions, the pain was constant. The vivid memories and images seemed to cling to me no matter how hard I tried not to think about it. Nothing made sense. I didn't understand why I settled for 'safe' and low-paying jobs all the time. I didn't care about anything, or so I thought. I remember feeling drained during this time. Would I always be that bundle of chained emotions? I wanted to change, but I didn't know how. I just remember living on what my mother used to call survival mode. To her, that meant taking life day by day, hour by hour, or even minute by minute. To look at me, you may not have known that inside was a continuous storm of emotions that threatened my sanity, and my life. My mask was firmly in place. I couldn't afford anyone getting close enough to see the real me. The real me is soft inside. I couldn’t take anyone else stealing another piece of me, or destroying the little good I thought I may’ve had left.
I thought 'maybe' I was a good person, but all I heard in my head were the bad things I'd believed about myself since I was a child. Sometimes I wonder if the actual act of being molested is the bigger crime. For me, the bigger crime is what the act has done to my heart, mind, and soul. I've grown up with all of these feelings that were overpowering, devastating, and ultimately, not a true reflection of who or what I really am. A child always blames themselves when something bad happens, and I think that's what I did. I remember thinking that I must’ve done something wrong to be treated that way. It became my fault. So the bad feelings developed, and they stayed. If you can picture it, my feelings seemed like this object that literally sat on my heart. Like they were an entity totally separate from me. As a 5-year-old child, there was no possibility of coping with all the feelings of anger, shame, hate, or confusion. All of those ugly things became a part of me.
I found it very hard to balance my true self with what I saw in the mirror. I saw a fat woman. I saw a defeated woman. I saw a woman who used her anger against herself, and everyone else. I saw a woman-child afraid, alone, miserable, and misunderstood. I saw a weakling who had given up. I despised weakness, or anything I perceived as weakness. Especially in myself. I saw everything I hated, and embraced nothing good or positive about myself.
On to my 40s. Thank God!! This is the decade when I blinked in to a lot of truths. Some good, and some not so good. All my truths have been eye-opening and a blessing. My process of healing began with a decision to not spend the rest of my life as a victim. I decided I have a life to reclaim, and start living. I began saying prayers to God to help me. I'm talking about desperate, tearful prayers. In the past when I prayed, I wouldn't hear or feel anything. I suspect that I wasn't really trying to hear anything. To acknowledge His words in the past would mean that I would have to open my heart, and I wasn't ready for that. But the more I prayed, the more I noticed my life had slowly begun to change. I prayed for a healing, and that's exactly what I'm getting.
Healing is not an easy process. It means taking baby steps while everyone around me seems to be running. It means blinking in and recognizing what was taken from me before I even knew I had it. Healing is looking at myself in the mirror and not recognizing this brave new person staring back at me. It's been me taking many, many honest looks at myself, and accepting me no matter what. Healing for me is learning not to beat myself up. I've done things to myself that continued the cycle by abusing myself, and my body. Healing has been forgiving myself, and learning to let go of my feelings of worthlessness. It's me now learning to take compliments, and believing I am the good things that people say I am. Healing is now being proud of my accomplishments, and my beautiful qualities.
Right when I started this journey of healing, I experienced a couple of hard knocks. In October 2005, my apartment burned down while I was at work. I pretty much lost everything, and had to start over from scratch. I find it odd that among the few things that survived the fire were all of my pictures, and my bible. That made me scratch my head, and take a serious look at the heavens.
Then 14 months after the fire, I lost my mother, who was only 61 when she died. Losing her is a pain I'm still dealing with a day at a time. Most days, I'm able to celebrate her, and her life, and move on. I don't have to say how the other days are, as I'm sure most of you have lost someone you love. I don't fall too far because I know she's still around. She makes her presence known, especially when I'm going through something. I have no doubt that life and love are eternal. I was taken aback by her death, but I knew that my journey was nowhere near over. It was just getting started.
I used to think I was a mess not worth fixing. That is no longer my truth. I now know that I settled for so many things because I was scared to believe my life could be any better. For me, healing has been a matter of opening my mind to the possibility that I could one day be a whole person.
For my life, turning to God was the only thing that made sense. Talking to friends didn't really work. I didn't feel I could trust a psychologist, so as an adult, I never sought one out. Maybe I should have, but I didn't feel there was a person alive who could heal my heart. I needed to be healed, and not just understood. I felt a psychologist would attempt to get who I was on a cerebral level, and that wouldn't be enough. It felt like I'd be going to a family doctor, when what I needed was a trauma center.
Slowly, I began trying to hear Gods voice in the midst of bad memories and thoughts that constantly played with my mind. When I couldn't pray, I cried. When I couldn't cry, I wrote. When I couldn't write, I screamed. I kicked and threw things. Sometimes I'd beat my hands against the wall so hard, later I'd be surprised that they weren't broken. I got it out any way I could.
I'd come to a point where I was going to change my life, or I was going to take it. One day, I actually went as far as taking out a razor blade. I stood there looking back and forth between my wrist and the razor. The only thing that stopped me was the thought of my mother having to identify my body, and then having to bury her only daughter. I loved her more than my own life, and I knew I couldn't do that to her. I swore after that day, I'd never take my life. I thought about it, but not in a serious manner. So, my only choice was to change.
Dealing honestly with my feelings about what happened allows me to look at it, and let it go. I don’t mean to over-simplify this step. This step sometimes takes months for me to achieve. The longer I held onto my pain, the more it became a part of who I was, and thus, harder to release. My pain was my crutch. When I was scared, my pain lied to me and said I was better off alone. When I would feel a little hope, the pain spoke up and reminded me I’d get hurt again. Pain was/is the ultimate double-edged sword. It was the devil that sat on my shoulder, but also my protector when someone got too close.
Know that as I write this today, the feelings of shame I used to have about myself are gone. I revel in the fact that my life is not over. I have talent that I've barely tapped into. I wrote my first poem at age 7, and my love of writing has returned. When I write, it comes from my heart. A heart that is no longer bound by fear, shame, hopelessness, or uselessness. My life has meaning. I dare say more meaning than I may know at this point.
I now know that when I find myself slipping back into my old thoughts, it's usually because I'm scared of moving forward. It's at those times that I remind myself that I'm being gently pushed in the right direction, even though it shows up as fear. When I recognize that I'm settling on something, it makes me irritable because I don't want to take any steps backwards. I know you sometimes have to take a step back before you move forward, but I see my irritability as part of my healing. At least I'm now able to recognize if I settle.
I still have some bad days, but I'm not letting a dirty perv have the rest of my life, or my emerging happiness. I'm worthy of this hard-won peace of mind.
I've been overweight most of my life. Since starting on this road of recovery, for the first time, my inside doesn't match my outside. I know that the fat is a just a manifestation of all the bad things that happened to me, and is an obvious display of my not giving a damn about myself. The fat has to go. So far, I'm down 25 pounds. I have more to lose, and I will.
Forty years ago, someone took my life in his hands, and he destroyed it for his own pleasure. It's been painful coming to terms with my feelings about being molested, but I’m doing it. I'm doing it in spite of the one who hurt me, and because I'm strong enough to move forward. I've stared my pain in the face. By sharing this experience, I now step over it, and begin walking a new walk. It's a walk I'm no longer afraid of. I look forward to whatever life puts in my path. I'm just getting started, and I have dreams I will absolutely pursue.
In the past, I was probably my own worst enemy. I had help getting to that point, but I acknowledge my part in this whole thing. My part wasn’t that I fell down. It was that I stayed down. I’m not beating myself up though. It is what it is. I'm a survivor of sexual abuse, and other abuse as well. I don't see myself as weak anymore. Not even close! I thank God that I'm still here, and that I returned that razor to the cabinet. I can already look back and see how far God’s brought me. God and me. I say that with confidence, gratitude, self-love, and in all humbleness. I'm more than a survivor. One day, I will be a conqueror.
If you've been abused, it's never too late to get help, or take your life back. Whether it's with a therapist, through religion, writing it out, or talking with someone you trust – please get the help you need. The days you spend living in the past are days you can't have back. It happened, and it's over. Every step you take in the past is a step you're not taking towards your future. I live by those words now. I would never have been able to tell you my story if I had continued living in the past. I don't know what's ahead of me, but I do know that I'm not scared of it.
Maybe God let me live so that my words would reach someone who needs them more than I do. Whoever this is for, the first step is yours to take. Take it.
Copyright Antoinette Davis, October 2009
I'm a 44-year-old woman with a haunting past. I remember it like it just happened. I know I was 5, and my brother was 4. I would have to go to school the next day, and he wouldn’t. My brother was sent off for his nightly bath. While he bathed, I was undressed, laid on my bed, and molested for the first time. I remember he made it into a game that he said only we could know about. I was scared of him, but thought that maybe I was special because he picked me for this 'special game'. The logic of a child, for sure. When I began to resist, there was tussling, and very often, threats to kill my little brother and my mother. I don't remember how long the abuse lasted, but the man wasn’t around when I went into the first grade.
At that age, I didn't know what was wrong with me. I know that I was changed by what happened. I became belligerent almost immediately, and began fighting with my little brother almost on a daily basis. On two occasions, I even poisoned him. Once with pills I found, and another time, I made him drink bleach. He had to have his stomach pumped twice because of me. My brother was a sweet and timid child. He was the perfect target for my aggression. I can only guess I was acting out because of what had happened to me. I have no idea how or why my brother forgave me. To say I mistreated him is surely an understatement. When we grew up, he made the statement that I hurt his soul. He said it jokingly, but I knew it was the truth. That's a guilt that still eats at me sometimes. I know I was just a kid, but there’s still a sting when I think of the pain I inflicted on someone I love with all my heart.
I remember teasing little boys in a sexual manner while still at that age. I’d learned 'the art of seduction.' Little boys seemed to love me, and it was my secret why they did. It was during this time that I also began to set fires. Some in plain sight, and others in the privacy of my basement. Fire held some kind of fascination that I could never explain. I just remember enjoying it. There were times of pretending to be a baby named BayBay. I don’t know where that name came from, but there was a BayBay. I’d wrap myself in blankets, and pretend I was a baby. The urge to be BayBay was unplanned, and came out of nowhere. Looking back, I don’t know if she was a separate personality, or if I created her to comfort myself. It’s hard to know for sure. BayBay felt real to me. She was safety for me. Saying it now, it seems BayBay may’ve been a way for me to separate from my pain.
My mother knew something was wrong with me, but I don't think she had any idea what it was. She took me to a child psychologist when I was 6 years old. Since all I did was draw pictures, in my 6-year-old mind, I was going to art school. I looked forward to the visits, even though I felt strange being there. I was smart enough to know that the shrink was trying to get at my secret. I didn't spill the beans, but it was determined that I 'had serious issues with authority figures'.
As I grew up, I had no idea that my actions and reactions were basically that of an injured 5-year-old child. I was infamously hateful. I lashed out at family, the few friends I did have, and even strangers. I chose to keep mostly to myself. I didn't like anything, or anybody. Especially myself. I hated the sight of my own image. Looking in the mirror brought feelings of disgust. For years, I didn't know why I was the way I was. I just knew that I wanted to be left alone. There were no dates, and very few boyfriends. I didn't believe I had any value, and I felt that my life was worthless and unnecessary. My teenage years were filled with self-doubt, and almost daily thoughts of suicide. I was extremely lonely most of the time, and I had no idea why God kept me alive.
When I was 19, I had my first sexual experience of my own choosing. It was with a boyfriend, and I thought it would be special. Not only was it not special, but I didn't feel a thing. I thought I'd feel close to him, but that didn't happen. I felt like I was dead inside. How could I not feel anything? All the way home, I kept thinking I must be some kind of freak or something.
I figured (with my screwed-up head) that he wasn't anything special, so maybe all I needed was a different man. I moved on to another boyfriend quickly. Too quickly. He didn't make me feel anything special, and I felt nothing when he touched me. I liked him a lot, but I wasn't capable of letting him get close to me. My constant holding back was something I noticed, and he noticed as well. He was frustrated by it, and I was dumb-founded. I had no answers for him why I didn’t let him in. After these boyfriends, I went on what you might call a sex spree. I slept with 5-6 men fairly close together. I dismissed each of them with the reasoning that since they couldn't make me feel anything, something had to be wrong with them. A man was supposed to be able to please a woman, right? Not a totally realistic view of men at all. While I was busy tossing the blame around, it hadn't dawned on me yet that I was the one with the problem.
I spent my 20s partying with girlfriends, and staying away from men. I kept them around long enough for just enough sex to keep me from climbing the walls. Sex was barely ok with me, and making love was out of the question. I had a few dates here and there, but nothing serious. I very rarely let myself feel anything, so it was pointless to pursue any real relationships. I always wanted to meet 'the one', and I secretly envied happy couples I'd see. They had something I had no idea how to have or get, but I still wanted it. I’d pretty much resigned myself to being alone. It was what I knew. It also meant I wouldn't have to make changes.
My 30s. Whoa! What a tumultuous time for me. These were the most painful years of my life. I moved back home with my mother. I don't know if she knew how close I was to completely flipping out. Any time not spent working was spent vegging on her couch, and wondering when the pain would let up. Of course, not every single day was doom and gloom. There were fun times spent with my family. They probably don’t know that the laughs we shared kept me going, and kept me semi-sane.
After some months of living with her, I was back on my own again. This was the first period in time when I began taking the tiniest peek at my past. I tried to deal with it, but I was nowhere near ready, or strong enough. The rest of my 30s is a blur. Nothing good stands out except for the birth of my two nieces. I remember days spent spoiling my niece, and nights of trying to hang on. When there were no distractions, the pain was constant. The vivid memories and images seemed to cling to me no matter how hard I tried not to think about it. Nothing made sense. I didn't understand why I settled for 'safe' and low-paying jobs all the time. I didn't care about anything, or so I thought. I remember feeling drained during this time. Would I always be that bundle of chained emotions? I wanted to change, but I didn't know how. I just remember living on what my mother used to call survival mode. To her, that meant taking life day by day, hour by hour, or even minute by minute. To look at me, you may not have known that inside was a continuous storm of emotions that threatened my sanity, and my life. My mask was firmly in place. I couldn't afford anyone getting close enough to see the real me. The real me is soft inside. I couldn’t take anyone else stealing another piece of me, or destroying the little good I thought I may’ve had left.
I thought 'maybe' I was a good person, but all I heard in my head were the bad things I'd believed about myself since I was a child. Sometimes I wonder if the actual act of being molested is the bigger crime. For me, the bigger crime is what the act has done to my heart, mind, and soul. I've grown up with all of these feelings that were overpowering, devastating, and ultimately, not a true reflection of who or what I really am. A child always blames themselves when something bad happens, and I think that's what I did. I remember thinking that I must’ve done something wrong to be treated that way. It became my fault. So the bad feelings developed, and they stayed. If you can picture it, my feelings seemed like this object that literally sat on my heart. Like they were an entity totally separate from me. As a 5-year-old child, there was no possibility of coping with all the feelings of anger, shame, hate, or confusion. All of those ugly things became a part of me.
I found it very hard to balance my true self with what I saw in the mirror. I saw a fat woman. I saw a defeated woman. I saw a woman who used her anger against herself, and everyone else. I saw a woman-child afraid, alone, miserable, and misunderstood. I saw a weakling who had given up. I despised weakness, or anything I perceived as weakness. Especially in myself. I saw everything I hated, and embraced nothing good or positive about myself.
On to my 40s. Thank God!! This is the decade when I blinked in to a lot of truths. Some good, and some not so good. All my truths have been eye-opening and a blessing. My process of healing began with a decision to not spend the rest of my life as a victim. I decided I have a life to reclaim, and start living. I began saying prayers to God to help me. I'm talking about desperate, tearful prayers. In the past when I prayed, I wouldn't hear or feel anything. I suspect that I wasn't really trying to hear anything. To acknowledge His words in the past would mean that I would have to open my heart, and I wasn't ready for that. But the more I prayed, the more I noticed my life had slowly begun to change. I prayed for a healing, and that's exactly what I'm getting.
Healing is not an easy process. It means taking baby steps while everyone around me seems to be running. It means blinking in and recognizing what was taken from me before I even knew I had it. Healing is looking at myself in the mirror and not recognizing this brave new person staring back at me. It's been me taking many, many honest looks at myself, and accepting me no matter what. Healing for me is learning not to beat myself up. I've done things to myself that continued the cycle by abusing myself, and my body. Healing has been forgiving myself, and learning to let go of my feelings of worthlessness. It's me now learning to take compliments, and believing I am the good things that people say I am. Healing is now being proud of my accomplishments, and my beautiful qualities.
Right when I started this journey of healing, I experienced a couple of hard knocks. In October 2005, my apartment burned down while I was at work. I pretty much lost everything, and had to start over from scratch. I find it odd that among the few things that survived the fire were all of my pictures, and my bible. That made me scratch my head, and take a serious look at the heavens.
Then 14 months after the fire, I lost my mother, who was only 61 when she died. Losing her is a pain I'm still dealing with a day at a time. Most days, I'm able to celebrate her, and her life, and move on. I don't have to say how the other days are, as I'm sure most of you have lost someone you love. I don't fall too far because I know she's still around. She makes her presence known, especially when I'm going through something. I have no doubt that life and love are eternal. I was taken aback by her death, but I knew that my journey was nowhere near over. It was just getting started.
I used to think I was a mess not worth fixing. That is no longer my truth. I now know that I settled for so many things because I was scared to believe my life could be any better. For me, healing has been a matter of opening my mind to the possibility that I could one day be a whole person.
For my life, turning to God was the only thing that made sense. Talking to friends didn't really work. I didn't feel I could trust a psychologist, so as an adult, I never sought one out. Maybe I should have, but I didn't feel there was a person alive who could heal my heart. I needed to be healed, and not just understood. I felt a psychologist would attempt to get who I was on a cerebral level, and that wouldn't be enough. It felt like I'd be going to a family doctor, when what I needed was a trauma center.
Slowly, I began trying to hear Gods voice in the midst of bad memories and thoughts that constantly played with my mind. When I couldn't pray, I cried. When I couldn't cry, I wrote. When I couldn't write, I screamed. I kicked and threw things. Sometimes I'd beat my hands against the wall so hard, later I'd be surprised that they weren't broken. I got it out any way I could.
I'd come to a point where I was going to change my life, or I was going to take it. One day, I actually went as far as taking out a razor blade. I stood there looking back and forth between my wrist and the razor. The only thing that stopped me was the thought of my mother having to identify my body, and then having to bury her only daughter. I loved her more than my own life, and I knew I couldn't do that to her. I swore after that day, I'd never take my life. I thought about it, but not in a serious manner. So, my only choice was to change.
Dealing honestly with my feelings about what happened allows me to look at it, and let it go. I don’t mean to over-simplify this step. This step sometimes takes months for me to achieve. The longer I held onto my pain, the more it became a part of who I was, and thus, harder to release. My pain was my crutch. When I was scared, my pain lied to me and said I was better off alone. When I would feel a little hope, the pain spoke up and reminded me I’d get hurt again. Pain was/is the ultimate double-edged sword. It was the devil that sat on my shoulder, but also my protector when someone got too close.
Know that as I write this today, the feelings of shame I used to have about myself are gone. I revel in the fact that my life is not over. I have talent that I've barely tapped into. I wrote my first poem at age 7, and my love of writing has returned. When I write, it comes from my heart. A heart that is no longer bound by fear, shame, hopelessness, or uselessness. My life has meaning. I dare say more meaning than I may know at this point.
I now know that when I find myself slipping back into my old thoughts, it's usually because I'm scared of moving forward. It's at those times that I remind myself that I'm being gently pushed in the right direction, even though it shows up as fear. When I recognize that I'm settling on something, it makes me irritable because I don't want to take any steps backwards. I know you sometimes have to take a step back before you move forward, but I see my irritability as part of my healing. At least I'm now able to recognize if I settle.
I still have some bad days, but I'm not letting a dirty perv have the rest of my life, or my emerging happiness. I'm worthy of this hard-won peace of mind.
I've been overweight most of my life. Since starting on this road of recovery, for the first time, my inside doesn't match my outside. I know that the fat is a just a manifestation of all the bad things that happened to me, and is an obvious display of my not giving a damn about myself. The fat has to go. So far, I'm down 25 pounds. I have more to lose, and I will.
Forty years ago, someone took my life in his hands, and he destroyed it for his own pleasure. It's been painful coming to terms with my feelings about being molested, but I’m doing it. I'm doing it in spite of the one who hurt me, and because I'm strong enough to move forward. I've stared my pain in the face. By sharing this experience, I now step over it, and begin walking a new walk. It's a walk I'm no longer afraid of. I look forward to whatever life puts in my path. I'm just getting started, and I have dreams I will absolutely pursue.
In the past, I was probably my own worst enemy. I had help getting to that point, but I acknowledge my part in this whole thing. My part wasn’t that I fell down. It was that I stayed down. I’m not beating myself up though. It is what it is. I'm a survivor of sexual abuse, and other abuse as well. I don't see myself as weak anymore. Not even close! I thank God that I'm still here, and that I returned that razor to the cabinet. I can already look back and see how far God’s brought me. God and me. I say that with confidence, gratitude, self-love, and in all humbleness. I'm more than a survivor. One day, I will be a conqueror.
If you've been abused, it's never too late to get help, or take your life back. Whether it's with a therapist, through religion, writing it out, or talking with someone you trust – please get the help you need. The days you spend living in the past are days you can't have back. It happened, and it's over. Every step you take in the past is a step you're not taking towards your future. I live by those words now. I would never have been able to tell you my story if I had continued living in the past. I don't know what's ahead of me, but I do know that I'm not scared of it.
Maybe God let me live so that my words would reach someone who needs them more than I do. Whoever this is for, the first step is yours to take. Take it.
Copyright Antoinette Davis, October 2009
February 28, 2011
"I Am"
"I Am"
The question of who I am
is what keeps me awake
I’m a woman on a journey
but I walk with a limp
one foot firmly planted on a new path
the other wanders through my past
I’m no longer who I used to be
nor am I who I am to be
I am alive
but not in the truest sense of the word
through silent tears
I have survived my childhood horrors
I did not know losing my dreams
would be the price of surviving my childhood
I am angry
I am a wife with no husband
I am a mother with no child
I am a lover with no one to love
I am fierce and fearful
I am strong and subdued
tenacious yet timid
and cautiously confident
I am a giver who won’t receive
I have a vision
but I’m never sure of what I’m seeing
I am a dreamer surrounded by empty vessels
a writer who stifles her words
a romantic with no romance
I am loyal
generous and giving
I am talented
humble and proud
I am God-fearing
yet sometimes without faith
I am witty
and dare I say a bit charming
I believe in love and hope
even when they are nowhere to be seen
I am pure gold
even when voices from my past say otherwise
what I have settled for is now evident
and not even close to being enough
I am beautiful
if only in my eyes alone
I am a jumble of emotions
I say I am faithless
but how can that be true
a dream does not survive without faith
one day when I’ve walked through this fire
I will graciously accept beauty for my ashes
like you
I am a lot of things
a complex wonder of walking contradictions
I am a mess
and a masterpiece
a child of God
on a path with steps unseen
I am a butterfly
changing colors right before your eyes
the moment you turn your gaze
I will fly
and my beauty will be seen by all
© Antoinette Davis
February 28, 2011
January 30, 2011
"God, please let me die"
Now that I have your attention, know that this is not a suicide note, nor a cry for help. It is, instead, a peek into my spiritual journey, and the power of God. Walk with me for a while.
Anybody who knows me, or reads my blog, knows that my mom passed away 4 years ago. She died in the 12th month, on the 12th day, in the 12th hour in December of 2006. When I lost her, I lost a piece of my heart, and a good chunk of my faith. Everything I believed in was put to the test, and I assure you that I failed some of those tests.
I understand that my mom couldn’t stay here and have any quality of life, so I was ready to let her go. Multiple surgeries, illness, and living on machines is something she told us she never wanted. I was ok with that, but one of the things that ate at me was not knowing if she left this earth in peace. People always say that when this life is over, you are at peace, and walking the paved streets of gold.
I didn’t know if I believed that anymore. I wasn’t even sure that I believed in God or His mercy anymore. About 3 years after her death, I started praying that God would let me die for a minute. Just 1 minute of heaven is all I wanted. I prayed to feel and experience the peace that I have always heard about. I needed to feel what she felt when she left us. Even if it was bad, I needed to know. I prayed that it was good, but I had resigned myself to the possibility that I may not get the result that I wanted.
For about a year I prayed this prayer. To pray for death should give you an idea of how badly I needed my answer. It sounds so crazy to ask God to let you die, right? I thought that I had peace about her death, but in reality, I did not. After praying for a year, I was pretty certain that God was not going to answer this prayer. It hurt my heart to think that God would watch me suffer and not step in to ease my pain. Fast forward to December 12, 2010 – the 4th anniversary of her death. I had a dream. I’m going to call it a dream, but honestly, I’m not sure that I was dreaming.
I was out in the middle of this abandoned field. It was nighttime, so it was pitch black except for the moon. There was this bridge in the background on the left, but it was unfinished. The bridge was the only tangible thing there. There were no people, or anything other than the bridge. There was also no sound, and it felt very desolate and lonely. I decided to lay down for some reason, and found a spot on the ground. I was looking up at the sky, and the clouds kind of parted. These little white birds showed up from nowhere. They appeared to be small doves. I saw them and just kind of marveled at them. They flew off to the left, and then this big black bird appeared. I saw it, and immediately knew it was the angel of death. At least, that was the feeling I had. This bird stopped to look at me, and I was scared. Then the bird started quickly swooping down towards me. But as it got close to me, it morphed into this big, huge, beautiful dove. I mean it was huge! It just grew and grew until it almost eclipsed the moon. I remember seeing the silhouette of the dove against the moon. All I could see was the dove and white light everywhere. I took it that this giant dove was God. Then the bird looked down at me, and I knew it was time to go. I hesitated a few seconds, then I said ok, take me up God. I lifted my right hand up, and I could feel my spirit leaving my body. I felt total ease at letting God take my hand. I wasn't scared at all. I just remember feeling like I was part of something that was loving and peaceful, and easy. After a while of this love and peace, I told God that I was ready to go back to my body, but I didn't go back immediately. I didn't get scared until I thought I might not be allowed to come back. I don’t know how long this went on because it didn’t seem like it happened in a time I could pinpoint – like saying it was a minute, or a few seconds. I do wish I had stayed longer. For some reason, I feel like I missed something.
Ok, whew! Even thinking about it now brings all kinds of emotions to the surface. I’m trying to reign in my feelings now so I don’t come across as a rambling mental patient! Silence, peanut gallery! This experience/dream was one of the most profound and real things to happen in my life. This was as real as love, hate, and any other intangible emotion you can think of. I was allowed to feel something I find hard to put into words. To say that I felt peace, love, and contentment does no justice to the love that filled my spirit. There are no words powerful enough to convey the way I felt. Lots of things God does are hard to put into words. I want people to understand how I felt, but all of these words seem so cheap. How do I describe something I’ve never felt before? How do I tell you how I felt when I know in my heart that the love I experienced is not of this world? There’s our definition of love, and there’s Gods love. Two totally different entities.
After I woke up, or was sent back to my body, a scripture fell so hard on my heart – to be absent from your body is to be present with The Lord. These words hit my spirit, and I’m telling you the tears fell, and fell, and fell. Truth, beauty, and revelations to my spirit brings tears of joy for me. After I was able to speak, about 30 minutes later, I called my sister from another mother. The second she heard my voice she asked if I was ok. Through my tears, I told her what happened. She didn’t think I was crazy (thanks sis!), and neither do I.
I learned that God listens to me, and even answers my prayers when HE gets ready to. Even though I had been asking for resolution for a year, He waited until the time was right. Could there have been a better time than on the anniversary of my moms’ death? I now know that life is hard, and death is so easy. When God took my hand, I took no troubles from this place with me. Fear was a thing of the past, and in an instant, this world no longer existed for me. It was me, God, and peace. Nothing else.
To this day, I don’t know if this experience was a dream, or if I left here for a while. At this point, it doesn’t matter to me. It was an answer to my prayer, and it served its purpose. I know how my mom left this earth, and that’s enough for me. I will miss her always, and there will still be the occasional tears. But I know that I will never grieve her death in the same way ever again. How can I be broken when I know that her beautiful spirit walks in indescribable peace? How can I want her here when there’s nothing here that compares to the love that she has now?
The only other thing in that dream/experience was the unfinished bridge. I can only imagine that the bridge represents something that still needs to be done here. I’m guessing that I have things to do here. God knows that I’m nowhere near ready to leave this earth. But I know that when I do, I’ll be holding Gods hand, and I’ll leave any and all worries behind me.
So it came to be that on the anniversary of my moms’ death, I received the blessing of a lifetime, and I was set free. My prayer was answered, and I have the peace that surpasses all understanding. Isn’t God awesome? I’m out.
© Antoinette Davis, January 29, 2011
Anybody who knows me, or reads my blog, knows that my mom passed away 4 years ago. She died in the 12th month, on the 12th day, in the 12th hour in December of 2006. When I lost her, I lost a piece of my heart, and a good chunk of my faith. Everything I believed in was put to the test, and I assure you that I failed some of those tests.
I understand that my mom couldn’t stay here and have any quality of life, so I was ready to let her go. Multiple surgeries, illness, and living on machines is something she told us she never wanted. I was ok with that, but one of the things that ate at me was not knowing if she left this earth in peace. People always say that when this life is over, you are at peace, and walking the paved streets of gold.
I didn’t know if I believed that anymore. I wasn’t even sure that I believed in God or His mercy anymore. About 3 years after her death, I started praying that God would let me die for a minute. Just 1 minute of heaven is all I wanted. I prayed to feel and experience the peace that I have always heard about. I needed to feel what she felt when she left us. Even if it was bad, I needed to know. I prayed that it was good, but I had resigned myself to the possibility that I may not get the result that I wanted.
For about a year I prayed this prayer. To pray for death should give you an idea of how badly I needed my answer. It sounds so crazy to ask God to let you die, right? I thought that I had peace about her death, but in reality, I did not. After praying for a year, I was pretty certain that God was not going to answer this prayer. It hurt my heart to think that God would watch me suffer and not step in to ease my pain. Fast forward to December 12, 2010 – the 4th anniversary of her death. I had a dream. I’m going to call it a dream, but honestly, I’m not sure that I was dreaming.
I was out in the middle of this abandoned field. It was nighttime, so it was pitch black except for the moon. There was this bridge in the background on the left, but it was unfinished. The bridge was the only tangible thing there. There were no people, or anything other than the bridge. There was also no sound, and it felt very desolate and lonely. I decided to lay down for some reason, and found a spot on the ground. I was looking up at the sky, and the clouds kind of parted. These little white birds showed up from nowhere. They appeared to be small doves. I saw them and just kind of marveled at them. They flew off to the left, and then this big black bird appeared. I saw it, and immediately knew it was the angel of death. At least, that was the feeling I had. This bird stopped to look at me, and I was scared. Then the bird started quickly swooping down towards me. But as it got close to me, it morphed into this big, huge, beautiful dove. I mean it was huge! It just grew and grew until it almost eclipsed the moon. I remember seeing the silhouette of the dove against the moon. All I could see was the dove and white light everywhere. I took it that this giant dove was God. Then the bird looked down at me, and I knew it was time to go. I hesitated a few seconds, then I said ok, take me up God. I lifted my right hand up, and I could feel my spirit leaving my body. I felt total ease at letting God take my hand. I wasn't scared at all. I just remember feeling like I was part of something that was loving and peaceful, and easy. After a while of this love and peace, I told God that I was ready to go back to my body, but I didn't go back immediately. I didn't get scared until I thought I might not be allowed to come back. I don’t know how long this went on because it didn’t seem like it happened in a time I could pinpoint – like saying it was a minute, or a few seconds. I do wish I had stayed longer. For some reason, I feel like I missed something.
Ok, whew! Even thinking about it now brings all kinds of emotions to the surface. I’m trying to reign in my feelings now so I don’t come across as a rambling mental patient! Silence, peanut gallery! This experience/dream was one of the most profound and real things to happen in my life. This was as real as love, hate, and any other intangible emotion you can think of. I was allowed to feel something I find hard to put into words. To say that I felt peace, love, and contentment does no justice to the love that filled my spirit. There are no words powerful enough to convey the way I felt. Lots of things God does are hard to put into words. I want people to understand how I felt, but all of these words seem so cheap. How do I describe something I’ve never felt before? How do I tell you how I felt when I know in my heart that the love I experienced is not of this world? There’s our definition of love, and there’s Gods love. Two totally different entities.
After I woke up, or was sent back to my body, a scripture fell so hard on my heart – to be absent from your body is to be present with The Lord. These words hit my spirit, and I’m telling you the tears fell, and fell, and fell. Truth, beauty, and revelations to my spirit brings tears of joy for me. After I was able to speak, about 30 minutes later, I called my sister from another mother. The second she heard my voice she asked if I was ok. Through my tears, I told her what happened. She didn’t think I was crazy (thanks sis!), and neither do I.
I learned that God listens to me, and even answers my prayers when HE gets ready to. Even though I had been asking for resolution for a year, He waited until the time was right. Could there have been a better time than on the anniversary of my moms’ death? I now know that life is hard, and death is so easy. When God took my hand, I took no troubles from this place with me. Fear was a thing of the past, and in an instant, this world no longer existed for me. It was me, God, and peace. Nothing else.
To this day, I don’t know if this experience was a dream, or if I left here for a while. At this point, it doesn’t matter to me. It was an answer to my prayer, and it served its purpose. I know how my mom left this earth, and that’s enough for me. I will miss her always, and there will still be the occasional tears. But I know that I will never grieve her death in the same way ever again. How can I be broken when I know that her beautiful spirit walks in indescribable peace? How can I want her here when there’s nothing here that compares to the love that she has now?
The only other thing in that dream/experience was the unfinished bridge. I can only imagine that the bridge represents something that still needs to be done here. I’m guessing that I have things to do here. God knows that I’m nowhere near ready to leave this earth. But I know that when I do, I’ll be holding Gods hand, and I’ll leave any and all worries behind me.
So it came to be that on the anniversary of my moms’ death, I received the blessing of a lifetime, and I was set free. My prayer was answered, and I have the peace that surpasses all understanding. Isn’t God awesome? I’m out.
© Antoinette Davis, January 29, 2011
September 8, 2010
"Ray of Hope"
I wrote this story intending to enter it into a contest. The contest was scrapped (gggrrrr!!!), but I like the story anyway. Hope you enjoy it.
"Look at him. Smug bastard", Shauna thought to herself.
She was way beyond being his doormat, but you'd never know it. Her picture-perfect smile was always in place. Though her heart broke a little each day, she wore a mask of happiness.
Looking around her 3-story home, something seemed different to her. She took inventory of her pristine surroundings. Nothing was out of place, but something was wrong. Sitting quietly, it finally dawned on Shauna. It was a long time coming, but she realized that she was different. Married nearly 20 years, she was no longer a young woman with her head in the clouds. She was now in her 40s, and the price she paid for the quest of perfect wife and mother was more than evident. What she wanted didn’t matter anymore. The dancer she used to be was gone. Any other dreams she had evaporated the day she said "I do". Carefree days lunching and laughing with her girlfriends were nowhere to be seen. Truth be told, Marvin was jealous of time spent with anyone but him. He was more than happy to have Shauna under this thumb.
Shauna had all the trappings, but she was trapped. She had no money to speak of, and dropped out of college when Marvin caught her eye. She knew for years that Marvin irked her last nerve, but this had nothing to do with him. Plain and simple, she was unhappy. She filled her days with mindless shopping, if she could get any money out of Marvin. He was a fire-breathing dragon when it came to giving Shauna money. She knew she’d have to lower herself to get it, but decided the trade-off was worth the humiliation.
Her stomach knotted up at the thought of what was about to happen. Marvin’s secretary announced her. Cautiously, she walked in and sat down.
“Why are you here? You know I’m busy, Shauna.”
“I…need money.”
“Why? You have everything you need.”
“I want a few things.”
“What things?”
“Bras, panties, and maybe a blouse or two.”
“Mm hmm. You came all the way down here for that, Shauna?”
“You know I don’t have any money, Marvin. Why do you always make me beg?”
“Because it’s my money, that’s why. You didn’t do a damn thing to earn this money. Any time you want what belongs to me, you have to ask for it.”
“You wouldn’t have the money if it wasn’t for me. Who worked two jobs to help you get your degrees? I did!”
“Don’t piss me off, Shauna. You think I won’t kick yo ass because we in public? Get the hell out my office. Don’t come back down here. And to answer your original question- hell naw you can’t have no money!”
“Marvin…”
“Bye, Shauna.”
She picked up her purse and quickly left Marvin’s office. Once again, her husband had hurt her feelings. She’d cried so many times that her heart was mostly hardened to his hateful ways. Nothing ever kinked her armor until today. Once in her car, Shauna made a frantic phone call.
“Daddy, this is Shauna.”
“I know the sound of my baby girl’s voice. What’s wrong?”
“Just a little tired. Daddy, will you pick the kids up from school for me?”
“That’s no problem.”
“Thank you, Daddy. I’ll get them tomorrow.”
“Why don’t I keep them until Sunday? I’ll even drop them off for you.
“You’re a life saver, Daddy!”
“You sure you’re ok, honey? Do I need to get my gun?"
"No, Daddy. I just need some rest. I’ll see you Sunday."
Shauna hung up the phone feeling relieved. Marvin kept an emergency credit card in his desk drawer at home. She’d deal with the consequences later, but today, the card belonged to her. She had no idea where she was going, but she was going. She threw some clothes in a bag, and she was in the wind.
Although Shauna wanted to leave town, something pulled her in another direction. She drove about 30 miles, and happened on a secluded bed and breakfast inn. She was just far enough from home that she felt like she was escaping. After checking in, she took a walk around the grounds. A beautiful fountain with cascading waters seemed to be calling her name. Shauna took a seat on the edge of the fountain, and began to pray. Desperate prayers. First on the list, she wanted out of her marriage. She'd wavered on this subject before, but no longer. She prayed for the safety of herself and of her children. She’d need money, a place to live, and a job. Her needs seemed impossible, but she prayed anyway.
A catnap by the fountain would've been heaven, but Shauna noticed a man lurking nearby. He was an old man of about 80 years. His skin, dark. His hair, totally gray. His eyes shined as bright as any light she'd ever seen. He probably didn't pose a threat, so Shauna remained seated. All smiles, he took the seat right next to hers. The old man looked shabby. Possibly even homeless.
"Sir, if you came to ask for money, I don't have any."
"A man never takes money from a lady. Besides, I don't need money."
"Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that you look...I thought..."
"I know how I look, Ma'am."
There was silence as the man did his best to straighten his old clothes.
"Do you need help, sir?"
"Actually, I'm here for you, dear."
"Here for me? You don't even know me."
"Ahhh, that's where you're wrong. I know all about you, Miss Shauna."
"Please don't hurt me! I have children that need me!”
He wanted to laugh, but instead, reassured Shauna, and led her back to her seat.
"You're sure my husband didn't send you?"
"Like I said, I'm here for you."
"What do you want from me?"
"I don’t want anything from you.”
"Then why are you here? How did you know I'd be here?
"I've been watching you for awhile, Shauna."
"Are you stalking me?"
"Not stalking. Just watching. I've been worried about you."
"Who are you?"
"Ray."
"Ray, who"
"Just Ray."
"Alright, just Ray. What do you want? I'm not asking you again."
"Still have a temper, I see."
Shauna shot a dirty look in his direction, prompting an answer.
"I live on your street. Seven doors down on your right. I’ve seen you rushing to get your family out of the house every morning. I've also seen you on the front porch with your head hung low. I know all kinds of things about you."
"Like what?"
"I know your you lived in New York before you moved here."
"So. You could have gotten that information on-line."
"I know that your nickname is Antsy Nancy, because you're afraid of your own shadow."
"How could you possibly know that? My mother was the only person who called me that, and she's dead."
"I know. You should stop blaming yourself for her death. It was an accident, Shauna. There was nothing you could've done. I also know that your husband took a swing at you last month. But you ducked. I know of your dreams to be a dancer. Should I go on?”
"Who told you those things?"
"Everything will be revealed in due time."
Shauna scrutinized every move he made, and dissected each word he’d spoken. She didn't know what to make of Ray, but he had her full attention.
"I know you're scared, Shauna. You don't know me, but I know you. Not only are you in a bad marriage, but your life is in danger."
"Excuse me?"
"Your husband’s not who you think he is.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s wicked.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“He wants you dead.”
"Marvin wouldn't do anything like that to me!"
"Then why did you ask me if your husband sent me to hurt you?
What could she say?
Go home, Shauna.”
"Are you serious?! Why would I go home if I was in danger?"
"I know it sounds crazy, but you have to trust me. Go home. But whatever you do, don't answer your door, or any of your phones. Marvin will say he's going on a business trip for the weekend, but don’t believe him. The second he clears your street, you leave out right behind him. And don’t come back until Sunday night. Don't tell nobody where you're going! There will be money in your mailbox. Don’t use any credit cards. Get as far away as the money will take you. Check into a hotel with a phony name. When you get home Sunday night, the spit should be hitting the fan. Do exactly what I've said, and I promise you'll be safe."
"How did you find out about this?"
“In due time, Shauna. You don't have time to waste. Marvin will be home at his regular time. Go home."
In her gut, Shauna felt that Ray might’ve been telling the truth, but still prayed for signs that trusting him was the right thing to do. She arrived home to find Marvin sitting on the couch, angry as usual.
"Where da hell you been, Shauna?"
"I just ran to the store."
"Hurry up and fix my dinner before I really get mad."
She threw together a quick meal of left-overs, and sat down to eat with Marvin. He always looked across the table with disgust. Tonight was no different. They ate in complete silence. She was scared to talk to him, so she welcomed the quiet.
"Shauna, go upstairs and pack me a bag. I'm going out of town on business this weekend. I should be back some time Sunday."
Ray’s warning rang in her ears. She ran upstairs and quickly began packing his bag. She was just about done when the phone rang. There was no way in hell she was answering the phone, even with Marvin yelling for her to pick it up. Shauna rushed downstairs with his bag, and escorted him to the door.
"Why you rushin' me out the house?"
"No rush. I know you hate to be late. That's all."
Marvin glared in her face, and left her standing at the door. Shauna watched him until she could no longer see his car. This was her chance to get away. She was halfway down the street before remembering there was supposed to be money in her mailbox. She rushed back to find $500 waiting for her. How could she not believe Ray now? She was more scared than ever.
She found an out-of-the-way hotel about 200 miles away. All weekend, she checked the locks on the windows and the door over and over. She managed to grab an hour or so of sleep here and there. She wanted to call her family, but remembered what Ray said. She knew things had gotten bad between her and Marvin, but she couldn't bring herself to believe he'd ever want her dead. That was a pain she wouldn't allow herself to feel. She didn't have the luxury of wallowing in her emotions.
Sunday came all too soon. Shauna drove slow, pulling over many times to whisper a prayer.
"What if Ray is setting me up? What if he's wrong, Lord? What would I do?"
She prayed for God's protection before heading home. She could only rely on her little bit of faith, and hope that Ray was truly there to help her.
"Be with me, Lord" was the last prayer she sent up as she pulled onto her street. Everything seemed pretty calm. Very much unlike what Ray had promised. Shauna was devastated.
"Did Ray lie to me? Why would he go out of his way like that and then lie? I don't understand, God."
She knew her kids would be home soon. What else could she do except go home? Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw when she rounded the corner. All hell had broken loose. There were police everywhere. All of her neighbors gathered around her house, the apparent scene of the crime. Shauna hurried to park her car, and ran to her front door, where she was stopped by an officer.
"Are you Mrs. Johnson?"
Yes I am."
"Ma'am, will you come with me?"
"Am I in trouble?"
"No But I do need to talk to you."
He took Shauna to his car, and proceeded to tell her of Marvin's plan.
"Mrs. Johnson, I’m Officer Gaines. I know this is hard to hear, but your husband hired someone to kill you. We received an anonymous message from a gentleman who had very specific details of the plot. We tried to call you, but we couldn't reach you. When we arrived to check on you, we caught a man breaking into your house. He had 2 guns, a map of your house, and he even had your cell phone number. With all those things, plus the fact that we caught him red-handed, he confessed, and implicated your husband as well. It's a good thing you weren't here."
Shauna was done. She stood there like a lost child with no expression.
"Would you like to see your husband before we take him away?"
"No."
"Don't go anywhere, Mrs. Johnson. We may need to speak with you again."
The only thing Shauna wanted to do was thank Ray for all of his help. She was pretty sure he’d made the anonymous call. Remembering he lived 7 houses down, Shauna quickly cut through the crowd, and down the street. When she got there, she was baffled. There was no 7th house. Only an empty lot. Shauna was at a complete loss. She was absolutely sure Ray said 7 houses down. She spotted Mary, one of her neighbors.
"Mary, come here! Hurry up!”
"Shauna, calm down!"
"Mary, where’s the house? Didn’t there used to be a house right here? Wasn't there a house?!"
"Yeah, but that was like 10 years ago. Why?"
"Who used to live here? Did you know them?"
"Yeah. They were the sweetest old couple. I think the wife’s name was…Millie"
"What was her husband's name?"
"Why are you asking about them? They've been dead for years, Shauna."
"Mary, will you just tell me his name, please?!"
"His name was Ray."
© Antoinette Davis
August 23, 2008
“Ray of Hope”
Shauna's day started out the same as any other. Or so she thought. How could she know that this day would define the rest of her days?
She rose promptly at 5:30 each morning to a list of daily demands. Cooking breakfast, packing lunches, fussing children, and her persnickety husband, Marvin. Just the sight of him sent her eyes rolling to the ceiling.
"Look at him. Smug bastard", Shauna thought to herself.
She was way beyond being his doormat, but you'd never know it. Her picture-perfect smile was always in place. Though her heart broke a little each day, she wore a mask of happiness.
Looking around her 3-story home, something seemed different to her. She took inventory of her pristine surroundings. Nothing was out of place, but something was wrong. Sitting quietly, it finally dawned on Shauna. It was a long time coming, but she realized that she was different. Married nearly 20 years, she was no longer a young woman with her head in the clouds. She was now in her 40s, and the price she paid for the quest of perfect wife and mother was more than evident. What she wanted didn’t matter anymore. The dancer she used to be was gone. Any other dreams she had evaporated the day she said "I do". Carefree days lunching and laughing with her girlfriends were nowhere to be seen. Truth be told, Marvin was jealous of time spent with anyone but him. He was more than happy to have Shauna under this thumb.
Shauna had all the trappings, but she was trapped. She had no money to speak of, and dropped out of college when Marvin caught her eye. She knew for years that Marvin irked her last nerve, but this had nothing to do with him. Plain and simple, she was unhappy. She filled her days with mindless shopping, if she could get any money out of Marvin. He was a fire-breathing dragon when it came to giving Shauna money. She knew she’d have to lower herself to get it, but decided the trade-off was worth the humiliation.
Her stomach knotted up at the thought of what was about to happen. Marvin’s secretary announced her. Cautiously, she walked in and sat down.
“Why are you here? You know I’m busy, Shauna.”
“I…need money.”
“Why? You have everything you need.”
“I want a few things.”
“What things?”
“Bras, panties, and maybe a blouse or two.”
“Mm hmm. You came all the way down here for that, Shauna?”
“You know I don’t have any money, Marvin. Why do you always make me beg?”
“Because it’s my money, that’s why. You didn’t do a damn thing to earn this money. Any time you want what belongs to me, you have to ask for it.”
“You wouldn’t have the money if it wasn’t for me. Who worked two jobs to help you get your degrees? I did!”
“Don’t piss me off, Shauna. You think I won’t kick yo ass because we in public? Get the hell out my office. Don’t come back down here. And to answer your original question- hell naw you can’t have no money!”
“Marvin…”
“Bye, Shauna.”
She picked up her purse and quickly left Marvin’s office. Once again, her husband had hurt her feelings. She’d cried so many times that her heart was mostly hardened to his hateful ways. Nothing ever kinked her armor until today. Once in her car, Shauna made a frantic phone call.
“Daddy, this is Shauna.”
“I know the sound of my baby girl’s voice. What’s wrong?”
“Just a little tired. Daddy, will you pick the kids up from school for me?”
“That’s no problem.”
“Thank you, Daddy. I’ll get them tomorrow.”
“Why don’t I keep them until Sunday? I’ll even drop them off for you.
“You’re a life saver, Daddy!”
“You sure you’re ok, honey? Do I need to get my gun?"
"No, Daddy. I just need some rest. I’ll see you Sunday."
Shauna hung up the phone feeling relieved. Marvin kept an emergency credit card in his desk drawer at home. She’d deal with the consequences later, but today, the card belonged to her. She had no idea where she was going, but she was going. She threw some clothes in a bag, and she was in the wind.
Although Shauna wanted to leave town, something pulled her in another direction. She drove about 30 miles, and happened on a secluded bed and breakfast inn. She was just far enough from home that she felt like she was escaping. After checking in, she took a walk around the grounds. A beautiful fountain with cascading waters seemed to be calling her name. Shauna took a seat on the edge of the fountain, and began to pray. Desperate prayers. First on the list, she wanted out of her marriage. She'd wavered on this subject before, but no longer. She prayed for the safety of herself and of her children. She’d need money, a place to live, and a job. Her needs seemed impossible, but she prayed anyway.
A catnap by the fountain would've been heaven, but Shauna noticed a man lurking nearby. He was an old man of about 80 years. His skin, dark. His hair, totally gray. His eyes shined as bright as any light she'd ever seen. He probably didn't pose a threat, so Shauna remained seated. All smiles, he took the seat right next to hers. The old man looked shabby. Possibly even homeless.
"Sir, if you came to ask for money, I don't have any."
"A man never takes money from a lady. Besides, I don't need money."
"Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that you look...I thought..."
"I know how I look, Ma'am."
There was silence as the man did his best to straighten his old clothes.
"Do you need help, sir?"
"Actually, I'm here for you, dear."
"Here for me? You don't even know me."
"Ahhh, that's where you're wrong. I know all about you, Miss Shauna."
"Please don't hurt me! I have children that need me!”
He wanted to laugh, but instead, reassured Shauna, and led her back to her seat.
"You're sure my husband didn't send you?"
"Like I said, I'm here for you."
"What do you want from me?"
"I don’t want anything from you.”
"Then why are you here? How did you know I'd be here?
"I've been watching you for awhile, Shauna."
"Are you stalking me?"
"Not stalking. Just watching. I've been worried about you."
"Who are you?"
"Ray."
"Ray, who"
"Just Ray."
"Alright, just Ray. What do you want? I'm not asking you again."
"Still have a temper, I see."
Shauna shot a dirty look in his direction, prompting an answer.
"I live on your street. Seven doors down on your right. I’ve seen you rushing to get your family out of the house every morning. I've also seen you on the front porch with your head hung low. I know all kinds of things about you."
"Like what?"
"I know your you lived in New York before you moved here."
"So. You could have gotten that information on-line."
"I know that your nickname is Antsy Nancy, because you're afraid of your own shadow."
"How could you possibly know that? My mother was the only person who called me that, and she's dead."
"I know. You should stop blaming yourself for her death. It was an accident, Shauna. There was nothing you could've done. I also know that your husband took a swing at you last month. But you ducked. I know of your dreams to be a dancer. Should I go on?”
"Who told you those things?"
"Everything will be revealed in due time."
Shauna scrutinized every move he made, and dissected each word he’d spoken. She didn't know what to make of Ray, but he had her full attention.
"I know you're scared, Shauna. You don't know me, but I know you. Not only are you in a bad marriage, but your life is in danger."
"Excuse me?"
"Your husband’s not who you think he is.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s wicked.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“He wants you dead.”
"Marvin wouldn't do anything like that to me!"
"Then why did you ask me if your husband sent me to hurt you?
What could she say?
Go home, Shauna.”
"Are you serious?! Why would I go home if I was in danger?"
"I know it sounds crazy, but you have to trust me. Go home. But whatever you do, don't answer your door, or any of your phones. Marvin will say he's going on a business trip for the weekend, but don’t believe him. The second he clears your street, you leave out right behind him. And don’t come back until Sunday night. Don't tell nobody where you're going! There will be money in your mailbox. Don’t use any credit cards. Get as far away as the money will take you. Check into a hotel with a phony name. When you get home Sunday night, the spit should be hitting the fan. Do exactly what I've said, and I promise you'll be safe."
"How did you find out about this?"
“In due time, Shauna. You don't have time to waste. Marvin will be home at his regular time. Go home."
In her gut, Shauna felt that Ray might’ve been telling the truth, but still prayed for signs that trusting him was the right thing to do. She arrived home to find Marvin sitting on the couch, angry as usual.
"Where da hell you been, Shauna?"
"I just ran to the store."
"Hurry up and fix my dinner before I really get mad."
She threw together a quick meal of left-overs, and sat down to eat with Marvin. He always looked across the table with disgust. Tonight was no different. They ate in complete silence. She was scared to talk to him, so she welcomed the quiet.
"Shauna, go upstairs and pack me a bag. I'm going out of town on business this weekend. I should be back some time Sunday."
Ray’s warning rang in her ears. She ran upstairs and quickly began packing his bag. She was just about done when the phone rang. There was no way in hell she was answering the phone, even with Marvin yelling for her to pick it up. Shauna rushed downstairs with his bag, and escorted him to the door.
"Why you rushin' me out the house?"
"No rush. I know you hate to be late. That's all."
Marvin glared in her face, and left her standing at the door. Shauna watched him until she could no longer see his car. This was her chance to get away. She was halfway down the street before remembering there was supposed to be money in her mailbox. She rushed back to find $500 waiting for her. How could she not believe Ray now? She was more scared than ever.
She found an out-of-the-way hotel about 200 miles away. All weekend, she checked the locks on the windows and the door over and over. She managed to grab an hour or so of sleep here and there. She wanted to call her family, but remembered what Ray said. She knew things had gotten bad between her and Marvin, but she couldn't bring herself to believe he'd ever want her dead. That was a pain she wouldn't allow herself to feel. She didn't have the luxury of wallowing in her emotions.
Sunday came all too soon. Shauna drove slow, pulling over many times to whisper a prayer.
"What if Ray is setting me up? What if he's wrong, Lord? What would I do?"
She prayed for God's protection before heading home. She could only rely on her little bit of faith, and hope that Ray was truly there to help her.
"Be with me, Lord" was the last prayer she sent up as she pulled onto her street. Everything seemed pretty calm. Very much unlike what Ray had promised. Shauna was devastated.
"Did Ray lie to me? Why would he go out of his way like that and then lie? I don't understand, God."
She knew her kids would be home soon. What else could she do except go home? Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw when she rounded the corner. All hell had broken loose. There were police everywhere. All of her neighbors gathered around her house, the apparent scene of the crime. Shauna hurried to park her car, and ran to her front door, where she was stopped by an officer.
"Are you Mrs. Johnson?"
Yes I am."
"Ma'am, will you come with me?"
"Am I in trouble?"
"No But I do need to talk to you."
He took Shauna to his car, and proceeded to tell her of Marvin's plan.
"Mrs. Johnson, I’m Officer Gaines. I know this is hard to hear, but your husband hired someone to kill you. We received an anonymous message from a gentleman who had very specific details of the plot. We tried to call you, but we couldn't reach you. When we arrived to check on you, we caught a man breaking into your house. He had 2 guns, a map of your house, and he even had your cell phone number. With all those things, plus the fact that we caught him red-handed, he confessed, and implicated your husband as well. It's a good thing you weren't here."
Shauna was done. She stood there like a lost child with no expression.
"Would you like to see your husband before we take him away?"
"No."
"Don't go anywhere, Mrs. Johnson. We may need to speak with you again."
The only thing Shauna wanted to do was thank Ray for all of his help. She was pretty sure he’d made the anonymous call. Remembering he lived 7 houses down, Shauna quickly cut through the crowd, and down the street. When she got there, she was baffled. There was no 7th house. Only an empty lot. Shauna was at a complete loss. She was absolutely sure Ray said 7 houses down. She spotted Mary, one of her neighbors.
"Mary, come here! Hurry up!”
"Shauna, calm down!"
"Mary, where’s the house? Didn’t there used to be a house right here? Wasn't there a house?!"
"Yeah, but that was like 10 years ago. Why?"
"Who used to live here? Did you know them?"
"Yeah. They were the sweetest old couple. I think the wife’s name was…Millie"
"What was her husband's name?"
"Why are you asking about them? They've been dead for years, Shauna."
"Mary, will you just tell me his name, please?!"
"His name was Ray."
© Antoinette Davis
August 23, 2008
"I Can't..."
Just a little poem I wrote some time ago. A moment of clarity ♥
"I Can't..."
Believe it's taken these years
to have a glimpse of what is real
and what is my truth
I can't see all You've given me
and not acknowledge Your power
and Your love for me
I can't walk a path in the past
without knowing
that every step I take there
is a step away from my future
I can't ridicule your flaws
without first examining my own
I can't accept a love
that is not as pure as my own
I can't see your face
without remembering your love
can't remember your love
without tears of joy
and the ever-present twinge of regret
I won't be your jester
when I was born to be a queen
I can't live my life with no hope
because someone in the heavens
refuses to let my hope die
I can't sit quietly
while the moments of my life tick away
I can no longer hate you
or the pain you caused
your ugly ways
have only added to my strength
I will not be afraid of what's to come
for it is my destiny
and my story waiting to be told
I can see a light at the end
of a long-traveled tunnel
and it is good
and about damn time…
© Antoinette Davis
August 11, 2008
"I Can't..."
Believe it's taken these years
to have a glimpse of what is real
and what is my truth
I can't see all You've given me
and not acknowledge Your power
and Your love for me
I can't walk a path in the past
without knowing
that every step I take there
is a step away from my future
I can't ridicule your flaws
without first examining my own
I can't accept a love
that is not as pure as my own
I can't see your face
without remembering your love
can't remember your love
without tears of joy
and the ever-present twinge of regret
I won't be your jester
when I was born to be a queen
I can't live my life with no hope
because someone in the heavens
refuses to let my hope die
I can't sit quietly
while the moments of my life tick away
I can no longer hate you
or the pain you caused
your ugly ways
have only added to my strength
I will not be afraid of what's to come
for it is my destiny
and my story waiting to be told
I can see a light at the end
of a long-traveled tunnel
and it is good
and about damn time…
© Antoinette Davis
August 11, 2008
June 17, 2010
I'll be back soon
I'm taking a break right now, but I'll be back with SOMETHING to say! Things are crazy now. It's hard growing up! I'm out ;-o)
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