Skeletons Revealed

by Augusta Rain

Overview

As the daughter of a drug-addicted mother and a child-molesting father, author Augusta Rain had the odds stacked against her from the beginning. In Skeletons Revealed, she narrates the story of her rocky upbringing and shares events she has kept secret for many years.

In this memoir, Rain confronts the skeletons of her past—a young girl’s cry for help as she releases her secrets one by one in an effort to stop the cycle of abuse. The youngest of six, she tells how she kept the secrets to protect her family at all costs. Skeletons Revealed tells how Rain and her siblings often lived with no food, electricity, or water, and how they endured being battered, drugged, and raped.

The true story of a survivor, Skeletons Revealed encourages others to gain the courage, break the silence, and speak out and act against abuse. It communicates that there comes a time to take a stand and control your own destiny. You can’t control your future unless you make peace with your past.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781475935486
Publisher:	iUniverse, Incorporated
Publication date:	07/25/2012
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	80
File size:	156 KB

Read an Excerpt

SKELETONS REVEALED

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By Augusta Rain

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Augusta Rain
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-3547-9

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Chapter One

Childhood Memories

I am the youngest daughter of my mother's six children. For reasons unexplained to me, I spent a lot of my earliest years being raised by my grandparents in Augusta, Arkansas. There was only one streetlight that I remember back when I was growing up there. Our town's population was less than 3,000 people, so it wasn't uncommon for us to leave our doors unlocked. We all knew each other. If I haven't painted a picture yet, I challenge you to remember the last place or time when you could pump your gas before you paid, or use store credit leaving only your name.

Though our town felt safe, blacks couldn't venture off too far in any unfamiliar direction. There are still very strong Klu Klux Klan areas in Arkansas that live in the past with no remorse for violence brought upon a traveling negro. Despite that, Augusta felt like a safe place. It wasn't the town that felt uneasy. It was the secrets lurking within the walls of my home that were disturbing.

There were times when I would visit my mother and siblings in Little Rock, Arkansas. The environment was much different there. My mother was a beautiful nurse with a very dominant husband. She spent a lot of time working, so I didn't get the attention I had grown accustomed to at my grandparent's house. I also never felt like I belonged, because I was the child that she conceived during a time she and her husband were temporarily seperated. That's one way to describe it. A more forward way to describe their separation is by admitting that she met my father while her husband was in jail. Her husband had his own stories of infidelity also, but they remained together trying to make it work for the family. I think that though people have good intentions by trying to remain steadfast for the sake of having the picture perfect family, the impact on the children can become a negative one. In reality, your marriage is how you teach your children what type of love, respect, and commitment they should value. If your child witnesses abuse from a man that you tell them loves you, you have taught them that it's okay for someone to hit, as long as they say that they love them. You have raised them to make excuses for misbehavior. If you are in a loveless marriage with someone for financial security, you are teaching that money is more important then love. If you have already shed too many years in a regretful decision and have decided not to start over, talk to your child once they are old enough to really understand, about how you feel concerning the choices you made in the past. It helps if you admit to misguided decisions and express that you wish for them to make better decisions than your own in the past in regards to certain things. I've never heard my mom express regret about being with her husband or my father. I think if I had, it would have kept me from subjecting myself to more than a few of the people I came across as time went by.

I'm not sure why my mothers husband went to jail. I was young, so nobody explained it to me. My father worked at the prison and took it upon himself to let my mothers husband know that he had been sleeping with his wife. You see, I am the ugly duckling that came out of wedlock. I am the child that has a different father, and for some reason I always felt it in the air when I was around my mothers husband. My mother was consistently in denial and insisted that he loved me just the same. His tone was a bit standoffish towards me, which reassured me that he would never treat me like one of his own children.

My mother left him eventually, and moved all of her children to Inglewood, California around the time I was seven years old. She knew my grandmother wouldn't let me go easily, so she tricked her. She told my grandmother she was taking me Christmas shopping. Little did I know I wouldn't see my grandma again for years.

Nevertheless, at last, I was with all of my siblings. My mother had a new boyfriend named Kevin, who seemed a bit nerdy. He was the complete opposite of her husband. Kevin was nice, but not financially stable. I don't remember him ever hitting her or being mean to us. I do remember him teaching my brother how to use a condom by putting one on a banana. I didn't know what I was watching exactly. It just looked like a deformed water balloon to me. I even used them as water balloons whenever I found them in my brother's room.

Our first house was a pretty nice size with a huge garage and lots of fruit trees. I remember Kevin and my mom having arguments about money about a year after we arrived in California. Shortly after that, our lights were cut off. Our water was soon to follow. The money my mom saved for our big move had been completely depleted. Our food became nonexistent, and before long we were in line waiting on county food boxes. I was excited to see the county office. I didn't know as a kid that it was a sign of pure desperation. All I knew is that we would get to go home with a box of food! It was tricky living with no running water. We had buckets that we filled up throughout the night from an outdoor faucet. We went to an apartment that had an outdoor faucet late at night and filled as many jugs as possible. We all pitched in to help steal water at night. As a kid, this was fun to me. I hadn't realized we were poor just yet.

Poor life taught me some new tricks as a kid. I learned how to flush a toilet using a bucket of water. Kevin had a saying ... "If it's yellow let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down." I even learned how to refill the oil lanterns we were using for light. We didn't have television so we all told each other bedtime stories at night by candlelight. This was my favorite part of being poor.

We eventually lost our house and had to spend a few nights sleeping in a church that offered temporary housing. It seemed like a big poor slumber party with a bunch of strangers. I thought it was kind of fun. After that though, we moved into a small apartment in a rough neighborhood that overlooked an alley. This was to be the home where I saw firsthand what an ugly alley rat looks like. I was taking the trash to the dumpster and almost died of a heart attack! It looked like a monster! It was a fearless rat on steroids! I dropped that trash on the ground and took off running. It turned out that we ended up having quite a few mice in our apartment as well. We caught several of them with sticky pads. My sister Tonya woke up with one in her hand once. It was a hilarious occasion. She was screaming, while I was dying of laughter. We even bought a cat. Well, I doubt we bought it. We may have found it somewhere. Pitbulls and rottweilers were the favored neighborhood pets in our neighborhood, though I wouldn't suggest trying to touch them or look them in the eyes. Those dogs were just as bitter as the people in our streets.

There was always some type of drama going on in our area. We had a brick thrown through our window once for no reason. One night I saw a woman being attacked outside of my bedroom window. I now know it as rape. I recognized the look in her face but never related it to danger. She wasn't screaming but she had pain and defeat in her eyes. The attacker had his hand around her neck and was choking her. I could hear her crying. You could tell that she was afraid of him. I just continued to watch. It was my first time seeing people have sex. I found a few dirty magazines under my brother's mattress before to peak at, but I had never seen the real thing. Now that I'm older I wish I had called the police. I was home alone around age 9 with no one to tell. I wasn't even sure if what I was seeing was wrong.

Home life sucked, and my new school wasn't much better. The children at school made fun of my clothes a lot. I didn't have many so I wore my older sister's clothes, which were too big to pass for my own. I figured out during the harsh teasing of the other school kids that I indeed was pretty much poor. I had one bully in particular who just took it too far. She was twice as big as I was. She knocked my books out of my hands, called me names, and would do just about anything else she could think of to annoy the hell out of me. I honestly had no earthly idea why she chose me to harass. I use to sing, and the teachers would request songs from me at times. Maybe she was jealous of that. Who knows? She and her girls cornered me in the bathroom one day pushing me, and talking foul to me. It was the usual. However, sometimes you just have one of those days when you aren't in the mood for anyone's bull. This time they got the bright idea that it would be fun to throw water on me. Bad move. I got fed up and exploded. I started kicking, scratching, and punching full strength! I tore her butt up! I couldn't believe I was actually beating up this big girl who bullied me endlessly all year long. She was twice my size! Her friends saw the rage and took off leaving me in the bathroom with her until a teacher came and pulled me off of her. I was suspended for 3 days at first. Every time I saw her after that, I treated her exactly like she had treated me for the whole year I put up with her mess. Eventually, she stop coming to school.

One day, I was called to the office and everyone was there. This girl was there with her parents, and my mom had been called in as well. Her parents found out she had been skipping school and came to see what the problem was. She said I wouldn't stop harassing her, so the principal called for a meeting. Can you believe this? The nerve of her being a tattletale when I took her harassment for what felt like an eternity! I was furious! They made us shake hands. Yuck! The principal then sent us to class, but we never made it that far. I punched her as soon as we turned the corner. Needless to say, I was expelled from school before my mom ever left campus.

It felt good to finally stand up for myself. I punched anyone who said anything in regards to my family, my clothes, anything! I was fed up! I had a lot of frustration inside of me and fighting became my release. I had a move that was a sure winner. I have curve nails so I would do an even but deep claw print across my rival's face. It was always unexpected and it insured that I would be deemed the winner of any fight. You see at that age, the loser of the fight was the person with the most scars. I just made sure I got the person's face really good and I was set.

When I was 9, we all bore witness to the Los Angeles riots due to the police beating of Rodney King. My mother took advantage of the situation by stealing food from grocery stores in the middle of the madness. Other people were stealing from appliance stores or simply vandalizing out of anger. We needed food badly, so my mother was out in the middle of all the madness getting it for us. I had never been so happy to see a turkey in all my life! My sister was also out in the middle of the riots grabbing things we needed. Unfortunately, the only thing she brought me was a pair of mermaid socks. I sat at my doorstep, watching people run up and down the streets screaming, and shouting remarks about the tainted police department. I watched people run with stolen items. I watched people set fires. I watched police lose control in the midst of all the insanity. I watched a reporter get beaten up. I watched my neighborhood go from bad to worse.

We couldn't catch up in California, so on my 10th birthday, we rented a van and headed back to Arkansas. Whereupon, I was sent once again to live with my grandparents. It felt different leaving the big city, and returning to the heart-stopping pace of Augusta. I wasn't the nice little polite child that they remembered. I was a bit of a problem child, but my grandmother didn't give up on me. Without the distraction of bad schools, poverty, and riots, I excelled in school and became a model teen.

I am old enough now to know that being sent to my grandparents was one of the best decisions my mother made on my behalf. My father was in jail for reasons unknown. My grandmother was very involved and led a stern household. My grandfather was a minister with a relaxed demeanor. They had a cool system in place to promote good behavior. I was given money for good grades and achievements. I took full advantage. I became an honor roll student. We didn't have a middle school, because our town was so small. After elementary, kids went straight to high school. It was devastating yet exciting at the same time.

My grandmother introduced me to God and got me involved in all types of church programs. I had become very popular. I participated in the choir at church, as well as in school. I was part of a community dance group. I was a point guard on our school basketball team. I was in flag line at school. I was Vice president of the Beta Club, and I had finally been nominated for the "Cutest" banner at school. It was something our school did every year. The same girl seemed to get it every single year. Her name was Waszell Watson. I always figured it was because she had this long pretty hair. Well I finally did it! I got the award! To me, that was just as good as getting "Most Popular", or "Most Likely to be Remembered." I'm not sure if they allowed me to keep it, because my mother took custody of me again a few days after they awarded it to me. I never got a yearbook for that year.

I was 16 years old at the time my mother came back for me. It was a huge adjustment after being back in my grandmother's household. I left my small town of Augusta and moved to Little Rock, Arkansas. It was much larger compared to Augusta. I moved to a bad trailer park neighborhood, and attended a horrible middle school. The streets were infested with real and fake gang members trying to prove themselves. I was placed in Honors classes due to my transfer grades, but I quickly realized that being an over achiever at this school did not make you popular.

I was threatened by other kids and constantly harassed about getting jumped into a gang. This meant I would have to be voluntarily beaten by a group of gang members in order to join their affiliation. After that point, they would become my gang family and we would protect each other and become dominant among others. This was my first experience and my first learning lesson of gangs at all. I had no interest in being a gang member and just avoided wearing most colors at that time. My locker was always being broken into and I constantly had girls wanting to fight me because I was pretty. I had adopted a style of one of my favorite singers, and imitated it quite well. I was also allowed to add weave to my hair, so I took full advantage. I wore long hair and nice clothes that my grandmother had purchased for me before I moved. Quite a few boys had crushes on me at my new school, so some of the girls were a bit furious at the thought of competition. I hadn't done anything to these girls personally, and being a Christian, I didn't want to return to my past habits of fighting. I had girls telling me that I didn't belong in their neighborhood or school. They would dare me to walk home, claiming they would beat me up if I did. I made sure I had my butt on that bus, but it was definitely a gut punch to my pride. After all these years, here I was getting bullied again.

My mom was never home, which left my siblings and I to raise ourselves. I allowed my grades to slip, and became friends with two big girls that I let cheat off of my homework. In return they kept the jealous girls off my back. My home life was just as reckless. I was witness to two of my big sisters being in abusive relationships with the fathers of their children. Their domestic disputes resulted in broken noses, bloodshed, cracked skulls, and damaged vehicles. I always felt helpless during these incidents. You never knew if they would make up and get back together later, so I didn't want to do anything that would make my sisters mad at me in the future. They had witnessed our mom going through abuse, and it seemed the past was shining on their lives as well. I knew I couldn't allow myself to fall prey to those types of relationships.

These childhood memories are just a small mirror glimpse into what was my every day reality.

Chapter Two

Daddy Has A Secret

I was very young when I experienced what I now know as molestation. Around age six you know what it means for someone to tell you to keep a secret, even if you don't fully understand why. If the request is from your father per se, you assume it must be alright.

I can tell you that I have never received an apology from any man who has wrongfully touched me. It is much too often that these criminals live their daily life never having to accept responsibility for their actions. They don't walk with you every step of your life and truly witness the impact that they have had on your relationships, your business, your self-esteem, and your morals. They don't see that they opened the door for repeat occurrences beyond their own. They don't understand that, as an innocent child, there was meant to be a bright future ahead that didn't consist of secret insecurities molded by family. And that after suffering abuse, the brightness of that child's future is clouded by their past. Maybe a person thinks that a child at age six has no memory. Maybe it was thought that I would forget in a year or so, and that no real harm would have been done. That couldn't have been further from the truth.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from SKELETONS REVEALED by Augusta Rain Copyright © 2012 by Augusta Rain. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Introduction....................ix
Chapter 1 Childhood Memories....................1
Chapter 2 Daddy Has A Secret....................9
Chapter 3 Home is Where the Start Is....................17
Chapter 4 7th Grade Secret....................21
Chapter 5 Mothers Addiction....................27
Chapter 6 Gang Rape....................33
Chapter 7 Is He Or Isn't He?....................41
Chapter 8 Not Again....................47
Chapter 9 Why I Let Him Hit Me....................53
Chapter 10 Date Rape....................57