Just a Heathen

I am learning that righteousness doesn't come BEFORE we begin a relationship with Jesus Christ, it comes BECAUSE we begin that relationship. We become convicted, we stand for something, we have boundaries and morals, even if our old life was full of iniquities, we are made new.

I was once filled with sadness and despair. I believed that I was doomed, accursed even. I thought that no one would ever love me, so I sought to try to MAKE someone love me with what I knew how to do. Even if for a moment...
I was so empty. I had this hole that I was filling with depravity, which paradoxically only unearthed more unrighteousness. I always believed that I had to clean up, you know, "get good" before I could "get God". I was a bad girl trying to get good. I needed the revelation that I was a sick girl who needed spiritual healing to get well. Thank you Doctor! The Almighty Healer. I've been sober for almost 6 years, but it has been a daily process for me. Some days I take 2 steps back, but I have yet to take a drink or drug to dizzy up the world. It's like shaking a snow globe to watch the glitter fly around, but imagine that glitter falling on your arms and in your hair and no matter how hard you try, you can't get it off. That's been my struggle with sobriety. I don't go to meetings any longer. I go to church. Some scoff, some praise. That's fine. It's a choice that I have made. I am grateful to AA for giving me the avenue to walk with God again. It began opening those doors that I had boarded up.

I was what I guess you would call an agnostic, but in the deep south, I was affectionately referred to as "just a heathen". I argued that the Holy Bible was just a book, it was a few men's account of history, very well written and interesting, boring in parts with the "this one begat that one" and such. I believed that God existed, I just didn't believe that He really cared about me. I wasn't worthy of His grace and mercy, and still am not but He bestows it anyway. All I was doing was justifying my own sin and trying to convince you that what I had to say was right. In reality, I was scared to death. I was alone. If I could capture an audience with some quips, then I felt adopted for a moment. I spent more energy trying to argue idiocrasy than I did competing for understanding (which I know now I can only strive for, to minimal avail). I was my own worst enemy. I never felt a part of anything no matter what I became involved in. Any shrink can tell you that was my own insecurities and conscience.

In case you don't know how to change, you just start over. Ask for God's help. Confess with your mouth and believe that Jesus Christ is your Saviour, that He died on the cross so that all humanity is reconciled with God. He paid the price for all of humanity's sins, past, present, and future. Start today and turn away from sin. I believe that God loves this wretch. My relationship with Jesus Christ has restored my esteem. I never feel alone anymore. That, my friends is a miracle. I now belong to a body of believers...I BELONG. No one made me dress up or act right (at first), they just said, "come on, girl". So what are you waiting on? Your life can change today. Right now, if you want.

The Gravity of Depravity

I understand why you treated me the way you did. My comprehension of your actions does in no way condone them or detract from your depravity. It does, however, ease the pain a little knowing that you were also a recipient and only acting in defense. It would be existentialist of me to believe that nothing influenced you and that you just hated me of your own conclusion. Surely, you jest! It's sad, really, that one person can destroy so many. We allowed him to infiltrate what could have been beautiful and healthy. The damage is done and there is no repairing, only forgiveness. Time is lost and the need is no longer evident. I needed you. I wanted your love and compassion and hugs and comfort. It wasn't there, because you didn't have it to give. You were void of empathy, void of unconditional and thankless caring, void of tenderness and benevolence. The wages of your misdeeds has been paid, thankfully. You have been forgiven, if you asked for it. I have forgiven you without request. It's not hard to love someone who treats you this way, because my love is unconditional, no matter what the circumstance. I will always love you. I have forgiven you, I have not forgotten, nor have I forgotten my purpose here. I thank you for ALL that you drilled into me as a child. I pray for your salvation. I pray that your prayers are sincere and that your heart is soft, it's only the exterior that is leathered.

Please don' t Judge

Friends, I want to remind you who I am to you. To most of you, I am that honor student that always finished her work first in class. I am the clarinet section leader in our high school band. I am in drama, loving being the center of attention because I'm just a cut up whose always smiling, always joking. I am that girl who received a scholarship for playing Emily in the play "Our Town" in the beautiful auditorium that was built our senior year. Many of you may not know it, but I got that part the night before the play because Bernadette didn't show up for dress rehearsal and I was her under study!!! I hadn't learned ANY of her lines because I just KNEW that she was gonna be there. I originally had the part of the stage manager (narrator). I am that girl who was in science club, math club, Aeropagus. I am that girl who loved to dance!

I am also an alcoholic and a drug addict. I have been deep into ungodly places and done things that I have never shared with another human being, and never will. I am that person that people shake their head at and go, "She had so much potential. She was going places."


What none of you knew was the terror and fear I lived with everyday. I didn't let on that I was being abused or that I hurt so much inside. I hid that pain pretty well, and I tried to fit in to your circles, but I just never quite made it to the middle. But I wore a smile. I was a tough little cookie...wouldn't back down from anyone. Even in the abuse, I didn't give in without a fight a lot of times. See, there was more than one person abusing me in that home. The others didn't know that they were not the only one, as far as I know. I would physically fight these abusers, especially one, off of me. I would come in the house with scratches on my neck or face and bruises on my arms. No one said a word. Just ignored the unignorable. This front I put on for all of you was a considerate ethical rejection of chaos, as if to say in the face of this hostility "You'll never get me for real."
What I wanted was a center, a place to be home base, even if I disregarded it most of the time. I needed safety. But I wasn't going to let YOU know that. You might think I was weak.

I have that now. Don't pity me, don't fear for me. I am standing in the Victory. I have a relationship with Jesus Christ that sustains me and grounds me. Thank you God for the suffering. I did more damage to myself in the years of my addictions and alcoholism than any abuse ever could have, so the person responsible for my detriment is me. I was grown and over 18 when I made the decisions that I did. I was a smart girl, according to Smiths Station High School guidance counselors and all those gifted tests they subjected me to. I knew the difference between right and wrong and I chose...

I can never convey what it was like to live there. I can't compare it to any movie that I've seen or any book. I've seen glimpses of my experiences in print and film. These things have brought me closer to you. There are so many times that I encounter people who have some sort of experience and I can say, "I've been through something like that" , and I can listen with empathy. Whether it is rape, molestation, physical abuse, domestic violence, loss of a parent, addiction, alcoholism, promiscuity...the list goes on. I tell people all the time that no one's worst tragedy or loss is worse than the next person's because to each, it is the WORST. It may be that one man's life was devastated when his parents divorced and that sent him spiraling out of control because he no longer had his father in his life. In my eyes, that is just as bad as my father beating my mother to death in the front yard. It's the same. We experienced the same emotions. Both of us lost a parent. So, look for the similarities and not the differences when you are walking in this world. Remember that each of us has something. Don't envy or "hate on" your neighbor. Love them. You just never know...

Ephesians 4:32 "Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another,just as God through Christ has forgiven you."

May God bless you all.

The Crown of Life

I ran this morning and it was invigorating and satisfying, indulgent even. I found myself reminded of some great ideas that I have had, things that I should be doing. I don't know if any of you do this, but I got this burst of energy that for some reason invokes introspect about all the good things that I could be doing to accompany this ONE good thing.

As I was cooling down sitting on the scratchy beige carpet on our apartment floor, I stared out onto our patio. I was trying to conjure up how I could plant a few veggies -squash, peppers, tomatoes, maybe some green onions. I've not done this since I was a kid and was forced into it, but secretly loved it. I've talked it over in my brain numerous times. I have simple dreams and desires that don't really compare much with what I hear others say they want. There's this issue, though. It would require continued and absolute commitment from me. I would have to tend it, weed it, fertilize it, harvest it, and cook it. So, I haven't done it. Yes, I'm going somewhere with this: continued and absolute commitment.

I have never really completely finished or truly committed myself to anything. Some people who really know me understand and would agree, others not so much. There have always been such expectations of me- mostly from me. If I lived up to my potential I could be an asset to this civilization. All I focused on was my limitations and weaknesses. In Judges 6:14-16, God tells Gideon that he can overcome and rescue Israel if he will allow God to work through him.

Today, God is working through me, on a much smaller scale than Gideon! My attitude has changed. My outlook has changed. I am learning obedience, humility, responsibility, patience, and discernment. Matthew 7:5-10 reminds me not to tear others down in order to make me look better, don't debate the Word with unbelievers, be persistent and don't give up. He believes in me, so why shouldn't I? He has always been there while I was running zigzags searching for answers in ungodly places.

I have to be reminded that I won't understand everything. I am not omniscient. All the good that has come to me is because of God. I have found myself in a desperate place many times throughout my life asking "Why won't you let me die?!" He's been patient and waited on my commitment and undivided attention. He's answering my questions. I can hear Him now. Sometimes He says, "Just wait, child. Just wait."

James 1:5 tells me "If you need wisdom, ask our GENEROUS God, and he will give it to you. He will not rebuke you for asking."

James 1:12 says "God blesses those who patiently endure testing and temptation. Afterward they will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love Him."

Have a great weekend, friends!

Real Men Pray on their Knees!

Have you ever been in the midst of some one's plight that made any trivial complaint you may have about anything seem utterly ridiculous? Where your issues become insignificant in comparison? This is how I feel today about my friend and her family. Such is also the case when my brother was sent to a residential treatment facility.

After I left the Morgan's house, my siblings were disrupted and "farmed" out to various state entities. My sister and brother went to Lee County Youth Detention Facility first, as though they had committed some wrong. They didn't understand and they didn't deserve it, but that aside, they had now set sail on a new and different journey. My youngest sister remained in Mrs. Morgan's custody - I'm still unsure exactly why, but it's irrelevant now. I can't recall all events but I know that something transpired and my brother was sent to the Bradley Center in Columbus, Georgia. He was 15 years old. The memory of events leading up to it are vague, but I remember how I felt. My brother was my "twin". He and I shared a soul, a heart, a mind. We had a language that was unspoken. Knowing that his expression was caged and medicated crushed me. I know that the suffering we endured in that home battered him and sent him into an overwhelming state of despair.

The first time I visited, my anger engulfed me. I hated seeing him blunted like that - staring into nothing, speaking like a warped record. I believed that what he was experiencing did not need medication or treatment because it was a normal reaction to an abnormal situation, that his mental outbursts and violent flings were necessary. I had the same feelings that he was feeling, but my intellect battled my psyche and somehow defeated the mania brimming, at least momentarily. I had appearances and expectations to preserve, as if I was "just fine".

My brother had reached a place where "his" world and "the" world had parted ways. The Thorazine and Tofranil had taken his words, mumbled his intellect - it was a dose of brain chemo, as if it would eradicate the psychosis and put it in remission for a period. I had a seething envy that I was ashamed of and it presented itself as a misguided anger. I secretly wanted this cocktail of no accountability, even if it meant giving up my dissimilarity. I wanted to stare into nothingness and feel void and do absolutely nothing with no obligation to anyone. I was jealous of the attention he was being afforded. I wanted someone to dote on me like they did him - we had the same experience! Why is it that I was expected to be solid and steadfast? And yet when I looked at him, I wanted to steal him away and make it all better. I had this empathetic ache for him that WAS sincere, beyond the resentment, I would have done anything to relieve that pain. No amount of Thorazine or Tofranil could do that. Being in the Bradley Center for a year and a half impacted him negatively. It stunted his growth as a man. It was like he had been in prison. These are the same feelings (codependent) that I have felt in dealing with an addicted husband. The correlation is embarrassing, but an honest deduction. No one likes to admit it.

My brother now works for a ministry called Wings of Life in the streets of Mobile, Alabama, ministering to the people who are sometimes forgotten and lost. He has struggled with mental illness, addiction, and alcoholism and now he uses his suffering and testimony to bring people to Christ. My brother is highly intelligent and intuitive. I am so pleased with his accomplishments. It is indescribable. You have to understand the severity of his downward spiral - at one point not too long ago he was living in a bus behind some one's house and I was taking him left over food from lunches that pharmaceutical reps brought to my job. He had lived with me off and on for years, but once I got sober, our relationship changed. A counselor once told us we were too close - like a married couple instead of siblings. I jumped at her over her desk and threatened her. She must have hit a nerve with me, but considering the sexual abuse and other traumas we had endured at the hands of our caretakers, I didn't take kindly to incestuous insinuations. Regardless, she was right. We shared so much and I took care of him and he tried to take care of me, and when all of this came out - he felt like less of a man because he was supposed to be able to protect me. He thought that the emasculation that Mr. Morgan had so intentionally committed was permanent. Well, little brother, you have come full circle, sir. Real men pray on their knees. YOU are not ashamed to humble yourself and do God's work and that is the most CoURAGEOUS thing a man can do. YOU, my dear brother, are and always have been an inspiration to me. I love you.

Suffering with Purpose

I have a friend that is very dear to me who is hurting right now. I ache for her with such empathy, I just can't express it. It's like all of my scars itch. I can absolutely feel her pain. I have no words for her. Only emotion that can not be spoken. I'm so glad that she has support from her family, but even with that I'm sure she feels alone. The shame is expulsive.

The Bible tells us this in Philippians 4:6-7 "Don't worry about anything, instead pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God's peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus."

I think back to all of the "Dr. Phil" advice that I have received over the many years that I have dealt with issues and none of it compares to what I have learned in the past year. You know, people always have an answer for you but it never seems to work. Oh, it may for a while, but anything that credits self or humanity as being the answer to life's problems is heresy. NO MAN CAN SAVE HIMSELF. Colossians 1:20 tells us this: "and through him God reconciled everything to himself. He made peace with everything in heaven and on earth by means of Christ's blood on the cross." That's the only way...the blood of Jesus Christ. I love in Colossians 2:11 where Paul tells us of the "spiritual circumcision - the cutting away of your sinful nature". That is so poetic. It relieves me to know that I have that reprieve.

I have been told that when you give advice, it should always be backed by Scripture. That way, if a person gets defensive or angry, it's not your opinion, it's in the Bible. The Book has every lesson we need. "I am glad that I suffer for you in my body, for I am participating in the sufferings of Christ that continue for his body, the church." (Col 1:24) Paul tells us to suffer joyfully (sounds crazy, I know), but the reason is that it can change people's lives and bring people to God's Kingdom. You all have told me many times to write this story that I have been sharing, and that is why. Now, my friend, I'm telling you that the suffering will change people's lives in a good way. I pray that God gives you strength for endurance and patience, to tough it out. I pray that He gives you wisdom and understanding. I pray that He removes this sickness from your husband's body in the name of Jesus. I pray that all things will be made new and His perfect will be done. Amen.

I love you , my friend. I am with you in spirit and please remember, you are alive!

Quitter or Committer?

I have quit many things in my life. I quit drinking, drugging, overeating, smoking, fornicating, and stealing just to name a few. Some of you might say, "Well, goodness, she's saved!" What does that mean? To be saved?

As a Christian, salvation is what we seek. We grow closer every day in our walk with Christ. The Word tells us that no amount of good works can merit our salvation. Our righteousness means nothing. Ephesians 2:4, 8-9 "Once you were dead because of your disobedience and your many sins. God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can't take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it."
Salvation is a gift from God.

All that I have done is quit doing some of the sins that were holding me back, keeping me further away from Christ. I have grown closer to Him in the past six months than I did my entire life. Growing up in the house of horrors, we were in church every time the doors were open. We received attendance pins for never missing a day! And I only knew there is a God. What I did not have was a relationship with Jesus Christ, the One who can save me from this life of sin. I cried out to God many times asking "Why? Why me Lord?". WHY NOT ME? No one is worthy of salvation. We deserve hell. God is gracious and merciful enough that He sent His own Son in body to be human and suffer on this earth, die by crucifixion, and rise again so that we may have eternal life. The suffering that I have endured is miniscule and insignificant. They have given me a testimony and only drawn me closer to the One that I love today.

Know this: we will always sin. There is no reason to be pessimistic about this or disgruntled. The more we focus on our depravity, the more exalted Christ becomes. The cross becomes more beautiful. Romans 8:7 tells us "For the sinful nature is always hostile to God. It never did obey God's laws, and it never will." Romans 2:23-25 tells us how we are pardoned and delivered to freedom by Christ's death. In believing that Jesus sacrificed His life and shed His blood, we are saved and freed fromt he penalty of our sins. Thank You Father!

So, today, I am committed and convicted. I am in covenant with the Lord, not contract. A covenant is non-negotiable whereas a contract is. This covenant is cut in blood, is unchangeable, and is eternal. A contract is temporary. A covenant requires a commitment and that is what God wants. So today, I stand committed.

Humility...Just when you think you've got it, you've lost it!

I have had some things weighing on me lately. You know, you can't appreciate freedom unless you have ever been convicted. I've lived most of my life thus far a prisoner to many different things. I'm fortunate that I never had to spend any significant time in prison, only a few nights here and there in jail. Paul wrote much of the New Testament from prison. When I think on that it is amazing to me all of the selflessness that is in his writing. All he wanted to do was spread the Word and call Christians to faith and freedom in Christ. He writes in Galatians 5:1, "So Christ has truly set us free. Now make sure that you stay free, and don't get tied up again in slavery to the law." In Phillipians, he speaks of joy - in suffering, serving, believing, and giving. The man was in prison and he is joyful!? Yes, because he knows that Christ reigns and we should always rejoice in that.

We allow our daily successes and failures to define who we are. We take these privileges that are afforded us and make them inconveniences. We forget the suffering that goes on everyday and we whine of our petty issues. As Americans, we are the brats of the world, so spoiled and pretentious. I am always enamoured to learn of someone's trip to get here, to America. I have listened intently and in awe as some of my co-workers have told me of riding in a boat eating only rice with her father, a fisherman, just to get to the "land of the free". Another told me of escaping her country riddled with gangs and guerilla warfare in Central America, where she had to hide out to keep from being raped or killed, just to get to the "land of the free".

I pray, and I've said it many times, that I NEVER forget where I came from or what it took to get me where I am today. It is the remembering that keeps me humble.

Prayer and Fasting

The following poem was written by me during the fast I did to begin the year with the church. We had 21 days of continuous prayer and fasting. The one thing that I received from this fast was humility and I learned the beginnings of obedience, just going forward and doing what is suggested. There are rewards for obedience and there are consequences for disobedience. Living with consequences will hopefully teach us to think and choose more carefully. True freedom comes from obedience and knowing what not to do. You don't have to do bad or evil to gain more experience about life.

So, here is the poetry. I hope you like it. It's simple, but honest.

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I am a representation of God's mercy and grace
With every breath that I take.
I have fallen short many times
And refused to recognize
That He covered me
He favored me
He restored me
He anointed me
And Yet - I still ran.

Like a wayward child demanding independence
I refused to accept my pennance.
Today, here I am, Father.
Your child humbly kisses your feet
And raises her arms to you.
Please, catch me and hold me
Love me - just as you always have.

Pamela Whitehead
January 10, 2010
(In prayer and fasting)
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Learning and Living...Not Living and Learning

My attitude has changed. I am no longer a child. My first year of sobriety was a cloud clearing. It took a while for the haze to stop looming over me. I continued to do as I did when I was drinking to some extent. I still suffered from terminal loneliness, but slowly I started listening to what I was hearing in AA and heeding the words of wisdom. Most of my adult life was run on self will. I was in charge and no one else. Nobody was going to tell me what to do or how to do it. All of that changed.

I have learned that everybody submits to someone. We all have to learn this respect. The only one who is in charge of it all is God. In I Corinthians 11:3, Paul tells us "But there is one thing I want you to know: The head of every man is Christ, the head of woman is man, and the head of Christ is God." Submission is not giving up, like surrender. It is meant to prevent chaos, to allow harmony and no divide, a unified commitment. It provides a way to work together. It is a choice. If we were forced to worship and submit to God, wouldn't our commitment be hollow? The same with any relationship. Our pastor says all the time, "We are made to complete, not compete." Rings true every time.

Roger and I married on March 21, 2005. We have been through a lot together and we will continue to the end. It has not been easy, in addiction or in sobriety. I've been sober almost 6 years but he struggles still. I am here. I am in the race and I am leading by example. Many people don't understand and would quit. I have made that error once in my life and I believe that this marriage is forever. I love this man. He and I breathe on the same rhythm.

So many people give up because life gets too difficult. Remember this...Jesus Christ was beaten, crowned with thorns, and nailed to a cross for OUR salvation...so they WE can have eternal life. Nothing, and I mean nothing that any of us has or will go through will compare to being the sacrifice for the entire human race and their transgressions. "For I was born a sinner - yes, from the moment my mother conceived me!" (Psalms 51:5)

I have tried to give up, but God did not give up on me. He rises for me everyday. The least I can do is join the race. I have left the place where I was captive to my limitations and I am standing in the victory, knowing that I am winning. I am forgetting what has been done to me and I now relish what has been done for me.

In believing that everyone submits to someone, I also believe that you don't have to succumb to everything. One definition of succumb is "to die", another is "to give up or give in". Has God given up on you? If you think He has, check your pulse. I'm sure it's the other way around, YOU gave up on Him. He is always there waiting, longing for you to turn to Him and say, "I need you. Help me Lord. Show me the way." Most of the time, He has given us the instructions, we just don't want to do the work. Nothing of value or substance comes easy. How spoiled we would be if everything was just handed to us and we didn't have to work or feel or do anything.

This road I have travelled so far has been treacherous. That's my fault. My life didn't have to be this difficult. I made choices (as an adult, I'm not talking about as a child) that carved a path for my life. Each choice opened a different door and I didn't have to walk through, but I did. And I'm here and I'm not ashamed. Life isn't a bucket of rainbows and lollipops today. There is a difference now. I have a friend in Jesus. Whenever I am alone, scared, anxious, sad,mad, happy, glad, excited, ...I can call on Him and He will always be there. I have the Word of God as a play book for the victories and the defeats.

I know the only reason I am here today is God's grace and mercy.

The Nitty Gritty

There is a moment in every life that will define what the rest of it will be like. I pray that moment has not come and passed me by, but I believe that it would be apparent. My life has slowly but progressively gotten better every year since I got sober.

After my divorce, I indulged. I became even more out of control, it was as if chains had been lifted and I was set free once again. All that really happened was I transferred to another prison. After a few months, I was emaciated. I could not eat, all I did was drink. I tried to convince the Army that I was not starving myself, I just could not eat - my hand shook at every bite and I didn't understand what was happening to me. I lost 17 pounds in 3 weeks. The friends I lived with were worried, they saw something happening in me. I was labeled anorexic, medically. I weighed less than 90 pounds. I was ordered to see psych again. I rather enjoyed some of the attention, at least it seemed as though someone cared. I self referred to the Army's alcohol and drug program on an outpatient status. It was nice to share stories, but I wasn't really interested in getting help. I was just a part of something where we all had common interests - alcohol and drugs and partying. My perception was that no one was really trying to change, and I wasn't going to be the only one for sure. There were just trying to satisfy the powers that be, commanders and what not, for transgressions they had committed. After a little while, the counselor in charge of my case recommended Track III, inpatient treatment. This seemed drastic. There had to be someone who needed that more than me. She was afraid for me and could see there was hope. She said I had a lot of trauma that needed to be dealt with and I was medicating and numbing all of that inner pain. (Like I didn't know that, it was working for me). I agreed to go. If nothing else, it was a vacation from the structure and discipline I had actually come to appreciate.

I was supposed to be at William Beaumont Army Medical Center for 4 weeks. I was not an enthusiastic patient (attention seeker) when I got there. They wanted me to share things and complete assignments (work?!) that I thought had nothing to do with why I was here. No one was paying me a salary to devise these conclusions. I just offered them as a calculated opinion. Had I given it much thought, all of this would have made sense and may have saved me 7 more years of misery - but, that was necessary and all part of God's plan, I am sure of it.

I learned a lot in that treatment center, but I hadn't had enough. I began a relationship with a man that I met there. We were both stationed at Fort Benning (how ironic?) and both lonely. I suffered from terminal loneliness because I had a hole in my soul. I didn't have anything that I could hold on to or turn to, so I thought. My new hostage and I took a long trip - 3 months across the country through Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas, and up to Vegas. I got pregnant on that trip and we turned back and gave in. He went to jail for some pending charges stemming from a crack binge of 12 days that included grand larceny. I was discharged and sent on my merry way - to where? I went to Montgomery, Alabama because I had an aunt there, my mother's sister. She agreed to let me stay with her and I got a job right away. I managed to stay sober throughout the pregnancy, it was not even an issue. When this baby was born, something was different for me. This time around, I had all these feelings and instincts that came so naturally. I had a midwife and this child was born healthy, without medication, and peacefully. I was ready for this. I had prepared and educated myself as much as possible and I knew that I had to do this. There was no back up plan here. When Courtney was born I recognized what love felt like for the first time in my existence. I realized that my life had meant nothing before now. Nothing.

I moved out and got an apartment when she was 2 weeks old. We did fine. I was nursing and staying sober, going to work everyday, just being a responsible citizen. Her father came home when she was 10 months old and I immediately went back to drinking. The next few years were filled with the dysfunction that accompanies alcoholism and cocaine addiction. We were both out of control and I had started to use cocaine also. He wised up and left in 2000. I spun even more out of control. I reverted to the selfishness and indulgence that I had before, like a trigger had sprung and these defects just rose up again.

During the few years that we separated, I became pregnant by another man. I wasn't ready for this at all. I struggled with trying to make a decision. I solicited the advice of some family members. Without considering that I was carrying a living being in my womb, the questions that came up were about my relationship and the fact that this man was black. Because I had no beliefs or foundation in faith, I was listening to the opinions and advice of other sinners. I had an abortion in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. It was only 2 weeks after my dad had gotten out of prison, and he went with me. It was awful and anyone that tells you it is not is a liar. It haunts me to this day. I remember the day that child was due, February 25, 2002. God forgive me.

I maneuvered in and out of relationships over the next few months. I stayed drunk and high. I had 3 procedures in the same year, knee surgery, a tonsillectomy, and this abortion which all required that I take pain medication post operative. I learned how to use that medication to make my other pains disappear as well, if I mixed my Budweiser with it, all of the misery seemed to drown.

I tried living with my dad after he was released. I thought it was the right thing to do and realized quickly it was not. We fought physically. I was a drunk and he was a drunk. There was too much resentment there and it was a powder keg waiting to be detonated. Thankfully we both got out of that one alive and chose to just depart from one another.

I had no stability at this point, nor had I for a while. I met a girl through a friend of my brother who offered me and Courtney a place to live, with her in a home that her mother owned. I was grateful because I hadn't paid my rent in over a month and was going to be evicted. We moved in. We lived there for about 2 years and I was working as a contractor on the Air Force Base. Everyday when I got off work, I went directly to the store and got a 12 pack of beer. I had 2 down my throat before I got home and I only lived 4 miles away. I would go home and wait until the last possible minute to pick up my daughter from daycare. I was avoiding living life. I was shunning all of my responsibilities. I was a shell of a person. I drank myself into oblivion every night, so excited when the 18 pack was brought out because it meant I didn't have to go back to the store that night, I would have all that I needed to get me through. It was awful and sick. I was beer bloated and disgusting, binging on cocaine and pills on the weekend. This particular weekend in April, I decided we needed to take a road trip. We left Courtney with my friend's mom and 4 of us piled into my Mustang and headed to Orange Beach. We were staying in a "friend of a friend's" condo. I couldn't tell you all the drugs I did over the next 2 days, but my drug test did not lie. This weekend was going to be my last hurrah, and I didn't even know it.

I reached a point that night that was a reaching through the flames moment. All of a sudden, the party was over for me. It was like the death of a life. I announced that I was leaving and if you were riding with me, let's go. I drove 120 mph , high on crystal methamphetamine, all the way back to Montgomery. I got to my daughter and she looked at me like I was a monster. I broke down. I asked my friend to take me to my brother's house and then to the hospital. I needed prayer and help. My brother prayed over me and came to the hospital with me. I was injected with Ativan and Haldol when I got there, so the next 2 days of detox are lost. My drug test was positive for Cocaine, Amphetamine, Benzodiazepine, Opiates, and Barbiturates. My blood alcohol level was .14 - and my last drink was at least 6 hours before that. This was April 25, 2004. My sobriety date is April 26, 2004. I am still sober today ONLY by the grace of God. Nothing I have done or will do can keep me sober, it is all because He has pardoned me.

What now...

So now, I'm out on the loose. I'm living with a friend. All I want to do is party and I want everyone else to do it with me. I break the rules in their home and am asked to leave. I was caught having relations with someone in their house. While I was staying there, I was trying to attend college and work my little job at the same time. I had a drama scholarship to the community college...big time, I know! I was excited. But I couldn't get past my desperate need for affection and acceptance and attention. I was promiscuous and rebellious. I was completely selfish and ungrateful. I was 18. I was in the beginnings of alcoholism and dabbling in drugs.

My first suicide attempt came in January of 1992, I think. I was staying with another friend and I can't even remember exactly what happened, but I downed her little bag of something which sent me to the ER getting a charcoal cocktail. I didn't want to die, but I wanted it all to go away. I just really wanted to be like the other girls with moms and dads and normal problems. I don' even know if I ever told that friend and her parents "thank you"...I have so many amends to make.

Over the next few months I became more and more unchaste. I was out of control. I'm surprised that I didn't end up diseased or pregnant (Thank you God). The worst of it was I would go out alone or stay out after everyone else was ready to go...I was never ready to go. I was always chasing that feeling ...the feeling I got when I took that first drink of bourbon when I was 11 years old. Sometimes I got that feeling from sex. Sometimes from drugs. Sometimes from alcohol. I put myself in such grave danger. I've been raped numerous times, gang raped once or twice. You have to understand, as I'm sure my fellow alcoholics and addicts do, it's a hazard of the disease for us women and some men also. I should not be alive today. I know without a doubt that God has been with me always. It's evident in every breath I take today.

I almost succeeded in this suicide deal. I was staying at my maternal grandfather's house this time. I had managed to get in touch with him and he was a changed man. He had been saved and was so gentle. He always knew the right thing to say. I love my PaPa and I am sorry for what I put him through. He didn't deserve it. I had been institutionalized at some point for attempting suicide for the third time in one year and they had prescribed medication for me. This particular night I was having flashbacks and I couldn't stand it. My PaPa's wife was in her bedroom, my PaPa was at work. I took that bottle of 75 mg Elavil and I popped each one in my mouth, one at a time, and backed it with Coca-Cola. I counted 17 and started to loose myself in space. I got scared, because I didn't really want to die. I stumbled to her bedroom and slurred something. She called the ambulance. I don't remember what happened after that. I was in a coma for 3 days. I was 18 years old and throwing my life away. I had nothing to hold on to...no foundation. I didn't know what to do and this was my cry for help. Everyone kept telling me I was strong and look how strong she is and she is such a rock and she's gonna be somebody...all I wanted was someone to acknowledge that this DID happen and it was TRAUMATIC and it was DEVASTATING...so I had to show them. I ended up in another psychiatric facility, Northridge Hospital. They really tried, but I manipulated and just wasn't interested. One thing they recognized was my alcoholism. I refused to admit that. My picture of an alcoholic was painted a long time ago and I look nothing like that picture. First of all, I am a woman. My picture was a man who beat his wife, couldn't keep a job, didn't shower or shave, and peed in corners of the house thinking they were the toilet. NONE of that was me. So , no way, no how, not me. BUT, I agreed to attend one of their meetings at the Agape Center. Now, this was a sight. No women, proved my point! It didn't matter...everything those old men were saying in there was relevant and I thought they knew me. They say it a lot in AA, you'll always hear what you need to. I was hearing it before I even spoke the language. I still refused to believe that was me. I was only 18.

So the next year was unabated debauchery. I found my friend in alcohol. It was my social lubricant. I was the life of the party and people (men) seemed to like me. I met a man while I was on the Army post. We started going out and he took me home to meet his mom and dad in Detroit and Toronto. I was plastered the whole time. Poor guy, it was just a road trip for me and he was in love. I was oblivious. I was such a user and it continued in every relationship I had friends, family, lovers, and my new husband.

I got married February 12, 1993. He was in 3rd Ranger Battalion, a hot bed for fine young men (Hooah!). Soon after, like days, he left for Korea for training. I partied the whole time he was gone. I left for basic training in mid-March. Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri here I come! He came for my graduation, which was nice. I went to AIT (Army Individual Training) in San Antonio, Texas. I had to be there for 5 months. It was party central and I was right in the middle of it. I had no self control. I would do things when I was intoxicated and I didn't care at the time, but the next day I wanted to kill myself. The other girls weren't doing these things, like waking up in the men's barracks with no clothes on, or waking up in the bathtub with vomit all over their hair and face, or peeing in their bed. What was wrong with me? Were they right...alcoholic? Really?

Toward the end of my training some friends and I went out to the enlisted club to have a good time. These were people that I trusted, they had never acted out toward me at all. There were 3 guys and 3 girls. Nobody was hooking up. It wasn't supposed to be like that. We left the club and decided to go on the men's floor and play cards. This is where that moment of clarity comes for those people who aren't alcoholics and they say no. The other two girls left me in the room. I woke up the next morning being shoved into my room by 2 boys who were carrying me. I had faint remembrances of someone on top of me, but most of it is hazy. Turns out, 3 of them took advantage of me that night and much to their detriment they took polaroid pictures which were found in the ceiling tiles. They were all court martial. The lesson here is this: I put myself in a position for this to happen. It's not my fault, but it could have been prevented. Easily prevented, if I had just stayed in my barracks and studied instead of needing to be an attention hog.

My husband didn't believe this story, and I don't blame him, but he knew what he married in to. To say our marriage never had a great start is an understatement. I don't know if he loved me because at that time I wouldn't have recognized true love if you slapped me in the face with it. I thought everyone wanted something from me and if I could, I would give it to you. I got pregnant in 1994. He was elated. I was afraid. The baby was born 9 weeks early. He weighed 4 lbs. 10 oz. He was in the NICU for 3 weeks. We went out the whole time he was in the hospital. I was breastfeeding and drinking alcohol. I would pump whatever was made after the night of drinking and throw it out, but as much as I drank, I didn't need to be nursing. I was frustrated when he came home from the hospital. There were moments when I thought I was going to freak out. I would call him on the phone and tell him he had to come home right now! I couldn't take it. I never bonded with him. Something was missing. I thought I could never be a good mom.

We couldn't make it. We fought, I was unfaithful and he was unhappy. I was selfish and distant. We jumped into all this grown up stuff like we knew what we were doing and we had no idea...we bought a house, 2 cars, had a baby...all in the same year. He wanted a submissive wife and I was unwilling to be that. I was unwilling to be anything except drunk.

We divorced in May of 1996, officially. We separated before that. I gave up custody of my son to him. I knew that there was no way that I could take care of him, all I wanted to do was get drunk. He would be in my way and it just wasn't fair. At the time, I made the decision selfishly. Later, I realized I had never made a better decision in my life. It may have saved his life.

Free at last!

I got braces when I was 15. I was not excited and it happened on my birthday. I couldn't even eat my own cake. Or enjoy the awesome homemade ice cream that she made...it was always good. She didn't make much that wasn't good. Except for carrot, apple, raisin salad. UUGGHHH. The rule was if it was on the table, you had to eat some. Some was variable, but it had to be at least nominal. My sister was a rebel , a stubborn one at that. She would stuff whatever preparation it was being forced on her into her cheeks and hold it like a gerbil. Mrs. Morgan did not like this, she found it disrespectful, and rightly so! This particular day she chose to thump my sister's cheeks to make her chew and swallow. She got a face full of carrot-apple-raisin salad. THAT, my friends, was incomparable.

I was escorted by HIM for most of my orthodontist appointments. I can't remember any of the appointments because my mind was always on the aftershow. He would usually take me to breakfast. He would bring me back to the house. We would go into the kitchen. He placed a pillow on the table and would have me lay on it, my hips on the pillow, my feet over the edge of the table. He was sitting in his chair at the head of the table. I would count the stains on the ceiling as he performed one of the only acts his aging, impotent body could.

This quality time we spent together proved to be valuable evidence against him in court. A paper trail, the fact that I knew he was impotent...he never checked me back in school until well after the appointment and there was no explanation for that time. It never had to be presented. He plead guilty. All of it came to an end in October 1991. The World Series was on television, which proved to spoil the careful plan I had devised. He was supposed to go to bed and I had a ride arranged, one of his son's friends had taken a liking to me and I had convinced him that I had to run away. My ride came and went. He finally fell asleep and I just grabbed a paper bag, placed my Del Taco uniform in it and slammed the door behind me. He showed up at my job to convince me that I was stupid and I let him have it. I worked in the mall and I had already warned security that he would show up, so he was asked to leave. I was free...but I had to get my siblings. I was staying with my friend and I told her I needed to go get some things in the house and let my brother and sisters know that everything was going to be fine. I couldn't believe that he wanted all of us to sit at the table and "discuss" this thing. He had no clue what I had to say. I told him I was not coming back. He told my brother and sisters to go pack their things because if I was leaving, they had to leave. His wife got up and left the table. That sealed the deal for her. At that moment, I knew that she knew. She had always treated me like "the other woman" and never like a daughter. This was confirmation.

Embrace me

Embrace me

Stop my trembling insides

I want the pain to come

In waves not shards

Of glass slicing

My veins

Slowly I will recover

I am a rock

I will recover

I can recover

I have to recover

It is so sad

This death of a life

This life of death

I want no pity

I want to feel the love

That I gave

That I have

For you

I want it back

Give it back to me

Please

I want to feel that loved

Embrace me

Just once

Love

Me

Homemade wine...

My brother and I learned to be bad reeeeaaaallll good. We learned to smoke cigarettes together. We also found learned how good that homemade muscadine wine makes you feel when every cell in your body aches from misuse in some fashion. It didn't taste too good the first time, or the second. It didn't take too many swigs before it didn't matter how it tasted. It was like getting an injection of liquid courage. We would talk big about how we were gonna whoop them and run away and do this and do that...



I joined the band in 6th grade because my maternal grandmother gave me a clarinet for my birthday. In seventh grade, I was in the marching band. It felt wonderful to be involved and be a part of something good and productive. We went to every football game and I loved every minute of it. School was my refuge and I excelled. I was gifted, according to test scores. That didn't really mean much to me except that I got to get out of class to go tool around on a computer (Commodore 64) or make ceramics or paint. This was supposedly fostering my gifts. It just gave me an outlet. Band was an outlet. Drama was an outlet. School was an outlet. The only issue with me being involved in these activities was HE was always the one who picked me up from practice. HE taught me to drive. HE took me to orthodontist appointments. No wonder SHE hated me, HE spent all of his time on me. All of these excursions were opportunities for him and humiliation and misadventure for me. He would always give me cigarettes (he knew I smoked because I was stealing his Tareyton 100's) which apparently meant I owed him in some way or maybe I owed him because he was picking me up from the game or maybe I owed him because he had saved me from a life of Cheerios and ketchup sandwiches and Kool-Aid with no sugar. Either way, I always paid up. He always let me stay up late to watch Arsenio Hall and In Living Color. He would let me toke on his cigarette and he would make me a drink. I always knew what it was leading up to, but I really wanted to watch TV. I would try to talk loud so someone would get up. Didn't work. He would coax me into the living room after warming me up with cigs, totties, and laughs. Why couldn't someone just wake up in that house full of people? Sometimes, I felt as though someone was watching. He always took me to drive to dump the trash in the dump (we burned our trash, no trash pick up). There was this road that went up a hill on 280 that he had apparently scoped out or used before. I hated that hill. He would pull me to the edge of the truck seat with my legs hanging outside the door. The door was opened and I was grateful because I could look up in the sky and count the stars and just forget about what was happening to me.

New Dawn...a New DAY

So began yet another series of horrors that I had no control over. I didn't get a good night's sleep for years...until recently actually. The house we lived in had 5 bedrooms, 3 down and 2 up. All the boys slept upstairs, 2 to a room. Girls were downstairs. I shared a room with my sisters...until I was 11.

What was once a storage room became my bedroom. I was the only one in the house with my own room. Most girls would be elated, I was devastated. This only meant that I had no protection. I'm sure that some people reading this know what raw anxiety feels like. Every night, I dreaded stepping into that pretty yellow room that during the day reminded me of the sunshine, but at night became a den of evil. It always seemed that right as I thought I was safe and started to drift to sleep, the moonlight would be split with his shadow. I just froze every time. I always tried to be dead. I was dead.

About this time I was instructed that I had to take a bath alone, no longer with my siblings which I had been doing since we came there. We had a well, so we tried to conserve water and all 4 of us would bathe at once. Not any more. There was a window in that bathroom that always seemed to be open when it was time for me to bathe. I was given commands from that window to do things that are seen in peep shows on movies. I have asked myself many times why didn't I just not do what he was asking. I don't have the answer. I just don't know.

I don't speak of the beatings much. My brother endured more than me. He was emasculated nearly everyday by this coward. My brother was slight and I had always took up for him, so that didn't bode well for him. We did lots of chores and they were assigned only to us, not their natural children. Most of mine were inside and my brother's were outside, like burning trash, raking leaves, and mowing the grass in the front yard that was as big as a football field with a push mower. This particular day, he couldn't get the mower started. That devil came outside and began to kick him with his work boots and shoved him onto that hot motor. I will never forget the pain in my brother's eyes. There is something so mortifying watching the castration of a boy that hasn't even had the opportunity to become a man. All he keeps hearing is "you'll be just like your daddy" "you'll never be nothing" "you're stupid" "what are you a sissy" . This was my defeat as much as his. I was supposed to protect him. He didn't know my secret, but we all knew the whackings that he took. But, he had another secret that was blocked until years later.

We only had contact with a few biological family members. One was my great grandmother, Granny Davis. She lived in Columbus, Georgia, right across the Chattahoochee River. We had visited her and she gave us 9 Mars bars, one for every member of the family. In this household, we weren't allowed to just go into the kitchen and get what you wanted. We ate and drank when it was time to eat and drink and we were told when it was time. Well, these Mars bars were sitting on the washing machine in the kitchen in a grocery bag. I can't remember who ate it, but one was missing. It may have been me, I don't know. What I do remember is the inquisition of the entire family and me being dragged by my hair through the house, into the back room, told to drop my panties, lean over the bed, and being whipped with a belt. All this over a candy bar. You can only imagine the many others that came before and after this for much worse transgressions.

In spite of all of this, I learned A LOT of good things in his house. Hard work was a given. I learned how to roof a house, put in an alternator, change brake pads, build a playhouse, grow a garden, sew a dress, can tomatoes, make jelly, and ...homemade wine.

Learning lessons the hard way

I have to say that I learned how to be a housewife living in the Morgans home in Phenix City, Alabama. Almost as soon as we got settled, I was put in the kitchen to learn how to cook and wash a dish. Naturally at the time I despised every second that I had to dip my hands in that wash pan, especially when there was a perfectly good dishwasher (automatic!) right next to my knee. There was a calendar that hung in the kitchen next to a mustard yellow rotary phone that had mine and their 3 boys initials on each day. Of course, it always seemed that they had something better to do than dishes or they magically disappeared or were unavailable and unreachable on the night that the first letter of their name was scribbled underneath the date. It wasn't so bad, really, except when the inspection came. It wasn't enough to just do the dishes and sweep the floor and wipe everything down (mind you, there were 9 people living in this house), it had to pass inspection. Remember, this is Alabama and we cook with grease. Grease is not the easiest substance to clean off of a counter, unless you are "high class white trash" and you buy Dawn dishwashing liquid instead of Ajax. So I worked out a lot of frustration on those brown mushroom tiles and the grout in between them. She would stand back and close one eye and look for the grease spots and make me go over it again and again and tell me how stupid I was and how I just can't do nothing right. Or worse, just look at me with that look. You know the one, right?

This family had a knack for growing vegetables. They even had a 50 gallon drum on the side of the wood shop to catch rainwater for irrigation. I learned so much working in that garden. Patience (that didn't stick!), tenacity (that did), consistency. We grew everything we ate. In the summer, we got up while the grass was still wet, put on old tennis shoes and old clothes, and picked okra, tomatoes, peas, beans, and corn. We would weed the garden with our hands, my brother and I were not allowed to use a hoe. All of this hard work shaped me and molded me. All of the abuse that went with it only made me resent the hard work.

I can't remember the first time he touched me. I know that the smell of Vaseline makes me vomit to this day. I can't remember the first time he gave me a drink...BUT I can remember the way it made me feel. That bourbon touched my mouth and it was on FIRE! It was like my body was a thermometer and you could watch the mercury rise, literally. It put a rouge on my cheeks, a sparkle in my eye, and a pep in my step. I could care less...this was the danger. I learned that when I wanted to forget, remove myself, or just be somewhere else, alcohol would do it for me. And I was only 11 .