painful childhood memories

well today i finally got busy around my train-wreck of an apartment. i started with the pile of dishes (for the life of me, i dont understand if it's only two of us in the house, how the dishes seem to multiply like freakin' rabbits!?!?!?!?) scrubbed the kitchen sink, washed pots and pans, wiped down my refrigerator - at least enough to where i wont turn my head in disgust - swept the kitchen floor and the bathroom rugs, and now i'm taking a break.


i had a tearful talk with God last night because i was feeling very overwhelmed about a lot of stuff -- namely, my friend V. she called me back last night in tears herself feeling like nobody understood her and she had said she was tired of always having to put on a front to people like "nothing's wrong". i told her i knew how that felt (believe me I do) and just listened and tried to offer her encouragement. after a while she calmed down, and we hung up.

i was attempting to watch "The Fighting Temptations" on cable, but there was a scene that ordinarily would not have upset me, but for some reason it did, and that was the scene where "Aunt Sally" had died and Rev. Shirley Caesar was singing about "going home". and seeing "Aunt Sally" laid out in that casket reminded me of my own aunt, who died last year in October. i guess it triggered me, because the next thing i knew, i was in tears. the anniversary of my aunt's passing is coming up on the 10th of October, and i guess seeing that scene in the movie made me think of her. i couldnt watch no more of the movie because the tears started flowing uncontrollably, and i shut off the TV, held my pillow and cried from way down deep in my soul -- gut wrenching tears. i was asking God to please, please help me get out of this terrible funk i've been in, and to also help my friend V, who was going thru her own inner turmoil, and cried and prayed until i couldnt no more. after that, i laid down and finally drifted off to peaceful sleep.

mind you i'm not a Bible-thumper by any means, but i do have some spirituality -- it's just that i dont use it the way i should until i have reached the point of no return and wind up in tears crying to God in the darkness, because i feel like i cant go on. i'm really not fond of going to church, but sometimes i feel the need to visit a neighborhood church to get that spiritual "fill up" like when your car runs out of gas and you need a "fill up". i'm not a Bible scholar, in fact, i grew up Muslim under the late Elijah Muhammad's "Nation of Islam". my mother was a fanatic about the NOI movement, and she used to drill it into me by either beating the shit outta me, or snapping at me for not 'obeying' what The Movement told us to do. i didnt have a real childhood where i could go out and play like regular kids, instead i was confined to my house under my mama's ever watchful eye, and made to read the mystic catechisms of the NOI and listen to reel to reel tapes of Elijah Muhammad's speeches. and if i even thought about deviating in any way, well my mama would find whatever she could put her hands on and beat me senseless, and sometimes i would get a double beating if she told my daddy -- and my daddy would beat me with the saying "i'm gonna make you remember this". my little body would be bruised and sore all over and a lot of times i cried myself to sleep.


i dont know what made me reflect back on my childhood....but since i've started i may as well finish. as i said, my mama was a religious fanatic and she felt it was her Muslim duty to make sure i didnt get out of hand.. yet i also believe my mother suffered from bipolar disorder, not to mention going thru menopause and having extreme mood swings to where she'd be singing a song to me and the next minute beating the hell out of me. i remember getting a beating from her where she used one of her shoes going all upside my head and my body literally screaming at me to 'stop that damn crying' all the while i am crying with terror as she whupped my ass. i guess i must have been about 5 or 6 -- i cant remember exactly, when i was crying, she tried to smother me with a pillow all while beating the living crap out of me. sometimes i'd get whuppin's for things i didnt even do, all because some of those old busybody biddies in the mosque had told her some lie about me.

it was a living hell most of my childhood. i vividly remember a time when my mama had whupped me for something and then went to sit on the couch. i was still in my room crying to myself and i was around 6 years old i think, and then my mama came in the room and told me to pack my things because "she didnt want me anymore". i started to cry all over again, my 6 year old brain thinking 'why dont my mama love me no more? why do she want to give me away' and she yelled at me to "hurry up and pack your shit and get out!" by then i was bawling like mad, all the while taking my clothes out of the drawers and stuffing them in a brown shopping bag. i was a little girl -- where could i go? still crying i had filled the shopping bag and still crying, i said "mama, i'm finished." then she said, good. i asked "where am i gonna go?" and she said, "i dont care. just GET OUT!" i walked to the front door crying and dragged the shopping bag along with me. i was afraid, deeply deeply hurt that my mama didnt want me no more and it just made me cry even harder. i guess i must have sat out on the steps with my bag and then the next thing i knew, my mama opened the door, and said, 'well i guess you can stay.'

crying, i came back in the house and went to my room. i didnt know why mama was so mean to me, and why she would always seem to be beating me for no reason.

i remember another painful episode from my childhood. i guess i must have been about 10 or 11, and i was playing with this little girl, and she offered me some of her candy. well, the way it was with my mama, i was not supposed to have candy. but the girl offered it and i took some. then that little heffa went back and told my mama that i was eating candy. why did she do that? my mama went off, threatening me that she was gonna "whip me good" once we got home. i was a nervous wreck, because i knew my mother's temper when she got really angry.
all the way home she said, 'i'm gonna half-kill you!" and as soon as we got in the door, she started wailing on me, with an extension cord at first and then her fists, all while i'm screaming and crying " i wont do it no more mama! please! i wont do it no more!" and she kept on hitting me and hitting me until we wound up in the kitchen, and thru my tears and to my horror, she held a rusted butcher knife in her hand, and the look she had on her face was of pure evil. she came at me with the knife, waving it in my face saying, "i oughta cut your goddam head off your body" i was terrified and started crying and pleading saying 'mama please dont kill me! i'm sorry!" then she took the knife and held it to my throat and said, "i'm gonna cut your goddamn head off!" i could see the rage in her eyes, and i begged and pleaded for my life because i thought my mother had gone insane with rage and had that knife been razor sharp, she would have decapitated me and i would not be here today. she held it at my throat for a long time, the rage and evil in her eyes frightening me even more. after a while she said, "get out of my face. you aint worth it." i think i pissed myself after that and went to my room to cry myself to sleep.

a loving muslim mother? hardly. though my mother was an excellent cook, kept a clean house and would bake her own bread and cakes, knew how to preserve food, her extreme mood swings kept me constantly on edge. i was a loner all thru elementary and high school, and some of my teachers used to say that i was 'anti-social' or 'lacks social interaction with other students'.
and dont let me come home with a bad report card...that called for another beatdown, and as i said sometimes a double beatdown if she told my father. my father's pet peeve with me was keeping the dishes washed, and i remember getting the beating of my life because i failed to wash the dishes. my daddy came into my room beating me out of my bead with a broom stick all the way to the kitchen even while i was crying and trying to wash the dishes, he was still whaling away on me. yet and still i loved my daddy more than my mama, and i think my mama might have been jealous of that fact. i dunno. they arent here no more. mama died in June 1987 from lung cancer unrelated to smoking, and my daddy died this past March from complications from Alzheimers.


some of you who may read this may say, "huh. your childhood was a piece of cake compared to mine." perhaps so. but the memories and the pain is still there.