Short Stories

Why we repeat history…

Why do we repeat our past? Is it because we did not learn the lessons we were meant to learn from our trials and experiences? Or is it because we somehow forgot those lessons learned? What ever the reason, we tend to revisit our past to find answers, to gain perspective, to see where we were and to decipher how far we’ve come. If, however, we thought we were moving forward only to discover we’ve gone full circle and ended up right back where we started, then it may be time to take a closer look at the steps we took and perhaps try a different path.

Granted that during our analysis we sometimes find patterns and similarities that are downright astounding, often we have to go back and analyze before we can fully appreciate or understand how to move forward. In the past, we may have dismissed an event as simply a coincidence. But under careful scrutiny we may discover that several similar incidents have occurred. So was it actually just happenstance or a subconscious choice we made based on some truth we unknowingly seek?

A person with unresolved issues with his/her parent may unknowingly choose a mate with many of the characteristics as that parent and attempt to make that relationship work as a way of correcting the parent-child dysfunction of the past. But often enough the relationship doesn’t work because the person is faced with the same series of problems with no clue of how or why things are going wrong or how to fix things. One solution would be to simply dismiss it as bad luck and plow ahead to the next relationship in hopes that new one would work. Others may say, let the past remain in the past and happily leave their baggage locked away. But my obsessive, compulsive, detail-oriented need-to-know nature is forcing me to deal with this head on — to go back to the source, the parent, to try to find resolution there. Or if complete resolution cannot be found, then at least the healing process would have begun. The hardest part is taking the first step back to a painful period but as hard as it is sometimes it has to be done.

I am at that point now! I don’t know what to say, I don’t know how to start, I don’t know if this time my voice would be heard and I don’t know if going back will actually help or if it can somehow make things worse. Should I write a letter? Should I call? Should I meet in person? I don’t yet have the answers to any of these questions but I do know that I’ve procrastinated about this for years and now I don’t think I can put this off any longer. My only wish is that God put the right words in my mouth and speak on my behalf. I NEED to heal…I NEED to break free of this burden…I NEED to move forward for myself and for my sanity.

A good friend said to me recently, that our past comes back to haunt us when there is unfinished business to be resolved — kind of like ghosts in horror movies. He may have a point! Without closure the ghost of unresolved issues will continue to haunt my soul.

Contents written: 10/2/2010  |  Copyright 2014 Moylom Enterprises | Copyright © Inner Ramblings Boulevard 2017


And then I cried…

Insanity does not run in my family but the way I’m feeling lately I think it may very well be starting with me.

I’m broke – so broke that I’m behind on all, and I mean ALL my bills. I’m tired – tired to the point of feeling worn beyond my years. I try to sleep to separate myself from my worries, if only to seek solace in my unconsciousness, but sleep does not come because my mind keeps racing – it just won’t turn off the noise of my life. So I try to pray and for the most part all I can say is JESUS HELP ME! He knows all the details so why bore him. He knows I need help but sometimes He just wants us to ask. So because I am so ashamed and feel sorry for myself I cry. I cry uncontrollably to the point where I feel like I’m losing my mind. I cry because I know I’m supposed to put my troubles to God and have faith that He will deliver me in His own time, but my faith is weak, so I ask His forgiveness as I cry.

I cry a lot now, mostly in the shower when I think no one can hear me or wouldn’t discern the noises mixed and muffled among the other shower related ones. Or when I lay my head down to sleep praying to God for a miracle, the tears trickle down my cheeks, slow at first, then fast as though in a rush to soak my pillows as if to keep me awake even longer with the mundane chore involved in replacing the wet with a new one that’s dry. But why bother, it will soon be wet again.

I don’t like crying. Some say it is good medicine for the soul. Some call it therapy. I say yes to both, for the flood of tears releases pent up emotions which I cannot process and for which I have no solution. But crying makes my head hurt. It makes my eyes puffy. It makes me feel ugly and helpless. I don’t like feeling weak. I don’t like having to depend on others to help me. And I most certainly don’t like bothering God with my little problems. Why can’t I be tougher? Why wasn’t I born into a rich family?  Why am I alive?

I remember when I was younger that my tears used to be of a broken heart — of young love – a boy. Or my tears would be for the simple sadness for the loss of a loved one. Very rarely were my tears of joy except when a lot of blood sweat and tears had gone into a major accomplishment. But now my tears are of deep sorrow: the loss of a marriage that was based on a lie; the loss of all the love that I gave but never got back in return, at least not truly; the loss of all my possessions as I start all over from scratch; the loss of my feeling of safety as I now feel like I must live my life in hiding to survive for the sake of those that remain to put the pieces back together – my children. Alas, I cry because this is not the life I expected, not the life I imagined, not the life for which I asked. I cry because the overwhelming sadness I feel only surfaces when my strength is low and my will to survive is being challenged by forces beyond control.

I survived a lot. But in retrospect the key word is SURVIVED. At the hands of the one I loved I was assaulted, raped, cursed and left to hide in shame – to retreat in fear. But I did not retreat. I hid only long enough to resurface to face him — to tell my story IN COURT. The first day I saw him I trembled inside for all the horrid memories surfaced so fast as if to burst out of me and into the sky. But I prayed and God gave me the strength to press on, to face my fear, to face the monster of a man who promised to be my everything but instead caused me to lose it all. I faced him that day then never saw him again. The trial ended with a hung jury and then I cried.

How could they after seeing all the images of my attack, after hearing me pour out my soul, after hearing him tell so many lies, have the nerve to say, even partially, that what he did to me was okay? How could I face him again for a new trial? My lawyer’s answer to my questions astounded me to no end. She said that because I am articulate and able to explain myself well and obviously have a hire level of education than he does it is quite possible that all those attributes, though desirable, may have worked against me. Some may think that I used my intellect to get him to do this to me. Huh?

The irony is that I don’t consider myself that intelligent, at least not to the level to which she eluded. I never even finished college, although that was for financial reasons, yet I never finished! And since when is it a crime to be intelligent? I was furious! I could not believe what I was hearing — And then I cried. I cried so much my chest hurt…as though my heart was about to burst. But reality soaked in. I had kids depending on me to care for them and keep them safe from all the chaos that was now spinning uncontrollably all round me, around us. So I picked my self up, prayed, put one foot in front of the other, prayed and kept on praying. They needed me to be strong and the only way I could do that was to hold on to God. I needed him to carry me for my legs were weak, my heart was frail, my spirit was broken, my soul was sore. I ached all over emotionally — the agony was unbearable — And so I cried. I cried out to Jesus to save me.

A few weeks later I got a call from my lawyer. My ‘so called husband’ was arrested for possession of a weapon. No one knows for sure what he planned to do with that gun but you and I both could justifiably imagine what he planned to do. He was coming for me — To shut me up; To end the nerve I had to speak ill against him – me a little black girl from the country, how dear I speak ill of him to an open court? Him, a white man of much more significance than I ever could be – at least I’m guessing that’s what he thought for that’s the way he treated me in the end. But little did he know that while he was planning to shut me up, God was planning for him. I cried out to God and HE saved me – HE saved me from my husband, HE saved me for a purpose, HE saved me because there was a job HE needed me to do. He needed me to stand my ground and fight for my right be treated as a human being and not be silenced by violence. I am not a rag to be used and tossed aside; I am a human being who did nothing to deserve the poison which he spewed from his mouth upon me – the verbal abuse (while pregnant), the mind games, the constant trying to get me to spend more time with him and less time with my family or friends.  The good Lord knew all and answered my prayers.

So today I am thankful. Thankful for it is my belief that God allowed these circumstances to befall me to draw me closer to HIM. He saved me so I can sing of HIS mercy to others, so I can teach HIS love to my children, so I can remember each day that life is a gift – a precious gift we should never take for granted.  I still cry on the tough days, when the burden seems too much to bear; when my mind feels frazzled by the frustration single parents know all too well; when my body is so tired I can barely get out of bed. But I am also learning to sing — to praise the wonderful name of the ALMIGHTY, for without him I would not be alive today. I am safe in the arms of JESUS , I need not fear for HE is with me always – even when I cry.

Contents written: 12/9/2014 | Copyright 2014 Moylom Enterprises