About a year ago, I prayed:
“God, please get whatever is in my way OUT of the way, so I can truly fulfill my destiny.”
I never thought it would be my marriage.
I never imagined it could be my body.
I NEVER dreamed I’d have to embrace my self-hate.
Let me start over.
Actually, let me start at the beginning—the very beginning.
“Thus saith the Lord, thy redeemer, and He that formed thee from the womb, I am the Lord that maketh all things …”
So God gave me to Momma and Daddy.
Momma loved daddy.
Daddy used momma.
Momma became pregnant.
Daddy was proud.
Momma scheduled an abortion.
Daddy threatened momma’s life if she killed me.
Momma went to jail for daddy.
Daddy had a warrant, so he couldn’t come around.
Momma’s love for daddy turned to hate.
Daddy waited for momma’s release.
Momma got out of jail, because I was in her belly.
Daddy came to the hospital—so proud.
Momma said he will NEVER see his daughter.
Daddy tried to reason.
Momma picked up the phone to call in the warrant.
Momma became a sadist—in the name of love.
“I should have flushed you down the toilet when I had the chance,” momma hurled on the regular.
“You ain’t sh$t. Just like your father.”
“You ugly, stupid, and dumb. You should never have been born.”
“I hate you. You make me sick. I can’t stand you. Get the fuck out my sight! You stupid b#tch. Ugly whore. You are good for NOTHING.”
“I dare you to cry! If I see one tear, I’ll beat the sh%t out of you! Go ahead and try me! Cry, b#tch, cry. I dare you.”
“Get on your knees. Apologize, b#tch, for making me hit you. You brought it on your d*mn self.”
“Take off your clothes. Sit in the tub. Turn the hot water on. I don’t want to hear SH%T from you!”
“You are a piece of sh*t. Always have been, always will be.”
“Who the HELL do you think you are??? Give me your money—I’ve been takin care of you all this time; you need to help out around here!”
“Momma loves you,” (wearing a saccharine-sweet smile barely masking malicious intent). “You need to pay the light bill if you want to stay here. At least you are good for something. You need to pay the phone bill next week or get the f$ck out!”
I have known my entire life I should never have been born. I was trained to believe that from the first breath I drew. I was breech, and it was my fault.
That wound—knowing I never should have been born—has haunted me my whole life. It caused me to focus on finding ways to be useful. Paying bills, tending to people who say they love me, self-sacrificing and acquiescing … all so I didn’t get aborted, kicked out, or turned out.
So when I prayed to God about my destiny, EVERY structure, relationship, ideal, belief, and stronghold came tumbling down …
… until all that was left was me.
With all the love my heart can hold…