SHINY4UJESUS
Member
Welcome to Me: From the Gutter to God
(personal testimony)
-Part One: Rough Start-
Life began on a sour note for me, as I entered the world with only one parent; a single mom who was forced not only to raise two boys alone, but inevitably attempt to offer answer when we asked the questions she had little answer for. It was a source of confusion for me, wondering who my dad was; and why he hated me so much he didn't even want to meet me. For years I battled low self confidence, bitterness, anger, resentment, and confusion; wounded and scarred by the abandonment. For many of those years this emotional baggage led me to a life of hatred, envy, and outrage.
Before I was even 2 years old, I had almost died; having spent six weeks in ICU/burn ward with severe burns due to a pan of 350 degree grease being dumped on me. While I am now too old to remember this; for years I endured terrible nightmares that depicted that day, the incredible pain, and the concern from never being sure if it was accident-or intended. Thankfully I was given a second chance at life, though the medical professionals said it was nothing short of a miracle. The burns had melted 90% of the skin and tissue on my back; even searing the tiny lungs and organs inside. Doctors said 3 things saved me: 1). Apparently I had a stubborn and undeniable will to live. 2). Since I was so young, my body was creating and even regenerating tissue at an accelerated rate; this helped the grafting set. 3). God obviously had a hand in this, because physicians were quite at a loss as to how I was even still alive when I arrived at the ER at all.
I remember little from those first 5 years, except some pretty poor babysitters. One as I recall, would let the daughter tie me to chairs and beat on me with pots, pans, or any object that amused her to throw at me; needless to say, it was not an ideal environment. The other I recall was far, far worse. When mom was there, the babysitter was all sugar and spice, but as soon as mom left; things changed. We were yelled at, abused, belittled, and forced to sit without food or drink as we watched her daughter gleefully eat in front of us. If we asked for anything,we were sent to "'the room." This seemed like a setup to me and my brother; as though tempted to ask in order to merit discipline.
The room was a small bedroom, more of a large closet truly. It was filthy; with broken glass, sharp metal, rusty nails all over the floor. Mice, roaches, and spiders were all over-which to a three year old is quite disturbing I assure you. The only furniture at all was a small urine-stained mattress with springs poking out. Once in the room; I'd be stuck there until mom came, sometimes for 8 hours or more. I remember standing at the one window in the room crying in terror for hours; watching, hoping for mom to come around the corner. My hands and fingers would be full of splinters from the decaying windowsill. It didn't matter how long it took, I cried and waited; desperately afraid of the room behind me and the evil it was. It took quite some time before mom finally came to realize my terror and despair were not just melodrama, but sincere; eventually she saw "'the room," and knew.
Until I was about 6, mom tried a few times to have a romantic life; to add a potential father figure to our lives. Sadly, abuse and alcohol were commonplace; as these men took out their frustrations on us. We were beaten simply if we showed face, we were beaten if we were hungry, we were beaten if we weren't completely silent; and if we cried at all, (even from the beer bottles upside the head,) we were beaten all the more. To her credit, mom tried to defend us, but got just as bad or worse in return.
Finally things culminated when the last guy threw mom from the car as we were driving over a bridge. I remember her crying as she screamed at us to be sure we were buckled in. One moment she was reaching back to secure our seat belts; the next she was pushed out of the car. My brother jumped out of the moving car after her-at 6 years old. I couldn't undo my seatbelt to do likewise; but the man skidded to a halt, opened my door and yanked me from the car before speeding off.
Some time later, the man tried to return; but for the first time in his life got exactly what he deserved. Though mom was easily 100 pounds lighter and far shorter, she cocked back and blasted that guy so hard he literally was sent backwards off the porch. I'm not sure what was said, but we never had problems with him again.
This however, was the last straw; and as mom later explained, she decided that being single was safer for all of us than adding another temporary " uncle, " that would only hurt us. We lived on the cusp of complete poverty, but thanks to mom's hard work and constant sacrifice we at least had what we needed in the most basic sense. Looking back; mom went weeks sometimes, with little more than a bite of bread or soup so we could eat. She sacrificed any chance at romance, any shot at social life; but for all her incredible effort, she also had her demons.
I was often told I was hated; told she wished I'd never been born, called worthless, and constantly bore the brunt of her anger and judgement-as my brother was highly favored and could do no wrong it seemed. Of course I know now that mom was overwhelmed, she was bitter, she was hurt, and she was venting; that these things were not literally sincere, at least not every time. However, given the lack of a father, the abuse and evil I'd already grown tragically accustomed to; piling on the "I hate you," " You're worthless," and " I wish you were never born," caused a great deal of harm.
How could a child not feel unloved, worthless? I felt like a complete failure and waste of space; I felt as though something I'd done had caused this. This is a terrible weight no child should EVER have to bear. These things began to take a serious toll on my worldview of society, of proper family dynamics, and of God. The bitterness, the hurt, the confusion began to create a supremely defiant, vengeful and vindictive nature in me. I became a cold and uncaring child by age 7, and was already having severe behavioral, mental and emotional issues that manifested in moments of rebellion and outrage. These were moments that became increasingly numerous; almost commonplace.
By fifth grade I'd been banned from the school bus system and expelled from several schools;finally landing in a behavioral modification environment in school. I often assaulted other children, teachers, even police; and by age 11 I was adjudicated "CHINA" (CHild In Need of Assistance.) Guardianship was relinquished by mom as I became a "ward," of the state, and thus began the next stage of my life. From age 11 to just prior to my 18th birthday, I was bounced from one placement home or detention facility to another. Very few times did I even get to see mom, and the removal of me from home, the constant relocation from one unloving place to another; further added to the scars that already were sadly too numerous to imagine.
I recall that on my 12th birthday, in a place called C5; mom brought me a birthday cake. After she left, staff made me sit in silence and watch as all the other children ate my cake; all the while staff belittled and bashed me for being such a defiant and worthless child. For a couple months I simply stayed in the "control room,' a large padded closet used to discipline children who were uncontrollable. To me, it was a safer place; so I frequently gave cause to be placed in it...at least in there I was not being hurt.
Folks, I caution any parent considering throwing their hands up and surrendering their children to the system. While there are some environments that aren't so dark, and situations calling for extreme measure; there are just as many places that greatly destroy a child's worldview, hope, self worth and ability to develop a healthy emotional and mental outlook. This also piled on more scars and baggage to a jaded child all too accustomed to pain and suffering; warranted or not. From that poin on, I was unceremoniously uprooted from one soul crushing habitat to another until 18, seeing mom but one time from 13-18. I can hardly even look back upon this period as an adult, and keep from completely breaking down in sorrow; imagine what it felt like for a child.
(personal testimony)
-Part One: Rough Start-
Life began on a sour note for me, as I entered the world with only one parent; a single mom who was forced not only to raise two boys alone, but inevitably attempt to offer answer when we asked the questions she had little answer for. It was a source of confusion for me, wondering who my dad was; and why he hated me so much he didn't even want to meet me. For years I battled low self confidence, bitterness, anger, resentment, and confusion; wounded and scarred by the abandonment. For many of those years this emotional baggage led me to a life of hatred, envy, and outrage.
Before I was even 2 years old, I had almost died; having spent six weeks in ICU/burn ward with severe burns due to a pan of 350 degree grease being dumped on me. While I am now too old to remember this; for years I endured terrible nightmares that depicted that day, the incredible pain, and the concern from never being sure if it was accident-or intended. Thankfully I was given a second chance at life, though the medical professionals said it was nothing short of a miracle. The burns had melted 90% of the skin and tissue on my back; even searing the tiny lungs and organs inside. Doctors said 3 things saved me: 1). Apparently I had a stubborn and undeniable will to live. 2). Since I was so young, my body was creating and even regenerating tissue at an accelerated rate; this helped the grafting set. 3). God obviously had a hand in this, because physicians were quite at a loss as to how I was even still alive when I arrived at the ER at all.
I remember little from those first 5 years, except some pretty poor babysitters. One as I recall, would let the daughter tie me to chairs and beat on me with pots, pans, or any object that amused her to throw at me; needless to say, it was not an ideal environment. The other I recall was far, far worse. When mom was there, the babysitter was all sugar and spice, but as soon as mom left; things changed. We were yelled at, abused, belittled, and forced to sit without food or drink as we watched her daughter gleefully eat in front of us. If we asked for anything,we were sent to "'the room." This seemed like a setup to me and my brother; as though tempted to ask in order to merit discipline.
The room was a small bedroom, more of a large closet truly. It was filthy; with broken glass, sharp metal, rusty nails all over the floor. Mice, roaches, and spiders were all over-which to a three year old is quite disturbing I assure you. The only furniture at all was a small urine-stained mattress with springs poking out. Once in the room; I'd be stuck there until mom came, sometimes for 8 hours or more. I remember standing at the one window in the room crying in terror for hours; watching, hoping for mom to come around the corner. My hands and fingers would be full of splinters from the decaying windowsill. It didn't matter how long it took, I cried and waited; desperately afraid of the room behind me and the evil it was. It took quite some time before mom finally came to realize my terror and despair were not just melodrama, but sincere; eventually she saw "'the room," and knew.
Until I was about 6, mom tried a few times to have a romantic life; to add a potential father figure to our lives. Sadly, abuse and alcohol were commonplace; as these men took out their frustrations on us. We were beaten simply if we showed face, we were beaten if we were hungry, we were beaten if we weren't completely silent; and if we cried at all, (even from the beer bottles upside the head,) we were beaten all the more. To her credit, mom tried to defend us, but got just as bad or worse in return.
Finally things culminated when the last guy threw mom from the car as we were driving over a bridge. I remember her crying as she screamed at us to be sure we were buckled in. One moment she was reaching back to secure our seat belts; the next she was pushed out of the car. My brother jumped out of the moving car after her-at 6 years old. I couldn't undo my seatbelt to do likewise; but the man skidded to a halt, opened my door and yanked me from the car before speeding off.
Some time later, the man tried to return; but for the first time in his life got exactly what he deserved. Though mom was easily 100 pounds lighter and far shorter, she cocked back and blasted that guy so hard he literally was sent backwards off the porch. I'm not sure what was said, but we never had problems with him again.
This however, was the last straw; and as mom later explained, she decided that being single was safer for all of us than adding another temporary " uncle, " that would only hurt us. We lived on the cusp of complete poverty, but thanks to mom's hard work and constant sacrifice we at least had what we needed in the most basic sense. Looking back; mom went weeks sometimes, with little more than a bite of bread or soup so we could eat. She sacrificed any chance at romance, any shot at social life; but for all her incredible effort, she also had her demons.
I was often told I was hated; told she wished I'd never been born, called worthless, and constantly bore the brunt of her anger and judgement-as my brother was highly favored and could do no wrong it seemed. Of course I know now that mom was overwhelmed, she was bitter, she was hurt, and she was venting; that these things were not literally sincere, at least not every time. However, given the lack of a father, the abuse and evil I'd already grown tragically accustomed to; piling on the "I hate you," " You're worthless," and " I wish you were never born," caused a great deal of harm.
How could a child not feel unloved, worthless? I felt like a complete failure and waste of space; I felt as though something I'd done had caused this. This is a terrible weight no child should EVER have to bear. These things began to take a serious toll on my worldview of society, of proper family dynamics, and of God. The bitterness, the hurt, the confusion began to create a supremely defiant, vengeful and vindictive nature in me. I became a cold and uncaring child by age 7, and was already having severe behavioral, mental and emotional issues that manifested in moments of rebellion and outrage. These were moments that became increasingly numerous; almost commonplace.
By fifth grade I'd been banned from the school bus system and expelled from several schools;finally landing in a behavioral modification environment in school. I often assaulted other children, teachers, even police; and by age 11 I was adjudicated "CHINA" (CHild In Need of Assistance.) Guardianship was relinquished by mom as I became a "ward," of the state, and thus began the next stage of my life. From age 11 to just prior to my 18th birthday, I was bounced from one placement home or detention facility to another. Very few times did I even get to see mom, and the removal of me from home, the constant relocation from one unloving place to another; further added to the scars that already were sadly too numerous to imagine.
I recall that on my 12th birthday, in a place called C5; mom brought me a birthday cake. After she left, staff made me sit in silence and watch as all the other children ate my cake; all the while staff belittled and bashed me for being such a defiant and worthless child. For a couple months I simply stayed in the "control room,' a large padded closet used to discipline children who were uncontrollable. To me, it was a safer place; so I frequently gave cause to be placed in it...at least in there I was not being hurt.
Folks, I caution any parent considering throwing their hands up and surrendering their children to the system. While there are some environments that aren't so dark, and situations calling for extreme measure; there are just as many places that greatly destroy a child's worldview, hope, self worth and ability to develop a healthy emotional and mental outlook. This also piled on more scars and baggage to a jaded child all too accustomed to pain and suffering; warranted or not. From that poin on, I was unceremoniously uprooted from one soul crushing habitat to another until 18, seeing mom but one time from 13-18. I can hardly even look back upon this period as an adult, and keep from completely breaking down in sorrow; imagine what it felt like for a child.
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