This story chronicles the trials and tribulations of a young woman who is dealing with issues of faith, family and personal failures. Take a privileged look into the private thoughts of a tortured soul.
Spinning off from her first novel; Lost Letters of a Lonely Girl, Cherry Devore has continued the saga of pain and sadness, in the heart of a young woman, under a generational curse.
|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.28(d)|
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UNComfortable In My Chaos
By Cherry DeVore
AuthorHouse LLCCopyright © 2014 Cherry DeVore
All rights reserved.
January 4, 2011
I drop kicked him, punched him then spat on him. He bled, sputtered and gurgled beneath his tightly gaged lips as he writhed underneath his overly tightened restraints. I wanted to enjoy the misery I was inflicting upon him, yet the years of pain and loneliness, that accented my life, were hindering me from having a glorious good time with my permanent prisoner.
I slammed the large black object, that was dangling from the dimly lit basement wall, into the back of his matted and damp head. He went limp. I poured scalding water on his lap, from the boiling pot on the old wooden stove near my left hand, he lurched forward and his eyes went wild, but at least he was conscious. I needed him to feel every moment, every ounce of insidious pain that I was bringing his way. There was no time for fainting now. He was not allowed to die on me or pass out, not while I was in the midst of dealing with my overwhelming anger issues.
I grabbed his now unrecognizable face and made him look at me. I didn't wear a disguise because I wanted my image to be seared into every fiber of his memory. I squeezed him, where he was already sore and bruised and then with my other hand I tried to choke the life out of him. I hated him. After six days of unrelentless torture, maybe he has finally figured that out. As his once beautifully handsome, dark skin began to change colors underneath my grasp, and as his feet tap danced feverishly on the cold concrete, I knew I had to end our torture session for the day. He could not die yet, not yet. I was not going to allow him to die for a very long time. It took me years to find him and now I was not ready to let him go. I was going to keep him until I was fully convinced that I had destroyed my own personal inner demons.
I let go of his neck, smeared his sweat and blood all over my now stained, designer jeans. He stared at me, through frightened and swollen eyelids, as he tried to allow the air to re-fill his lungs. There were tears on his face, the same sized tears that mirrored the ones streaming down my cheeks. I was so angry. I had been angry for so many years. I was so filled with hatred and bitterness, and it was all because of him. I collapsed on the floor next to him, and found myself in a recent puddle of his bodily fluids. I didn't even care. At that moment, nothing mattered to me. I cried. I sobbed as I thought about my pitiful sham of a life. So many people thought they knew me, but I didn't even know me, so what could they possibly know.
I left my prisoner in pain. I left him in solitary agony as I retreated back to a world that I silently resented. I wondered if he knew it was me ... I wondered if this despicable example of a human being understood why his life had changed so drastically.
January 5, 2011
I know you don't exist, however, I have decided to create you and communicate with you since I have no one else to talk to. I will make you become the sister I never had ... even though we will not share any biological parents in my imaginary world.
In my head you are tall, dark skinned, heavy set and maternal. Your hair is very natural and you normally wear it in a puffy bun, which is neat and well manicured. You have a great sense of fashion, but sometimes you can be a label whore. You are not married, although you truly long to be. You have three children, two girls and a boy, all of whom are grown and out of the house. You have one grandchild, whom you dote on and spend all of your free time with. You work for the government, but I am not sure what you do. You are very blunt, sarcastic at times, and not very open to the idea of communication, yet I still reach out to you, because you are the only sister I have in this world. You love watching old black and white movies and you are addicted to outdated soap operas. You are a great cook, and a wonderful host. Your house always smells of warm baked pies or smothered pot roast. In my head, I come to see you often, just so I can eat your comfort food and spend time with your over-indulged grandbaby.
I have started writing to you in this journal, because my therapist suggested I do so. Well, he didn't suggest I create an imaginary sister, but he did suggest I start journaling about my feelings. Here is the problem ... I am not sure what my feelings are or even that I have a whole lot of valid feelings. I just know that I am in a really sad, lonely and desperate place, and you are the only person who can identify with me.
January 6, 2011
I am not sure if I believe in love. I want to believe in love. But unfortunately love has never believed in me. I am 5'4, 139lbs, with rich caramel looking skin. I have slightly slanted eyes and high cheekbones, with a very full mouth and a smile that makes a room stand still. I have always been told that I was not just beautiful but I was exotic. Men and women have all attempted to posses me, but only one person has ever conquered my soul.
As an avid athlete, I have the body fit for a magazine cover and the walk of a runway model. Yet, I have never liked the way I look, because I have always been aware that it has distracted people from getting to know the true inner me. I have always tried to hide my 36DD's and my cinched waist line, because I didn't want to be objectified ... but it didn't seem to matter, because somehow, someway ... I always seem to allow it to happen. I must have a sign on my forehead that says abuse me, use me, then throw me away ... because I attract them and they come running. I give and they take. I offer and they steal. I reach for them and they turn their backs. And then I cry. I sit in my uncomfortable chaos and I cry. Like a baby desperate for her mother ... I simply hold myself and I cry.
January 8, 2011
I want to pray. I want to learn how to pray. But not for the same reasons that most people pray. I have questions that I want to ask God. If I could talk to Him, I would ask Him: "Are You the kind of God who can forgive people for having a life filled with Anger? Can You forgive a person like me for living on a diet of hatred and resentment? Can You still love someone who does not know how to love You back? Are You there God and if so, why have You allowed my life to be filled with so much pain and disappointment? I'm hurting God. Can't You simply see that I'm hurting. So many times, I have heard people say that Weeping May Endure for a Night, but Joy comes in the Morning ... Well how many mornings will I have to face before MY joy comes. I have slept on a waterbed full of tears for more nights than I can recall ... I have cried myself to sleep way before the sun has gone down ... and still joy has yet to knock on my door, kiss me on the shoulder and introduce me to morning. Where is this joy, what is this joy and why has it ignored me ... all of my life? My Daddy told me if I take one step forward, You will help me take two ... well, I have taken 100 steps forward, and I have found myself 200 steps behind the starting line. I have found myself in a place that is as cold as a valley and as dim as a miner's cave. I have tried to find a way out ... I have tried to find a way around ... I have tried to escape this place called Life ... but You won't let me die. Some days ... most days ... I wish You would just let me die. Take me out of this place and remove the burning pain that is in my heart. It is lonely in my world and my Daddy told me that You would not leave me Comfortless ... but I can't feel the arms of anyone around me ... except the countless perverted faces who needed to release themselves on me and in me. My mother preaches about Your goodness, Your mercy and grace ... but my mother is also one of the loneliest women in the world. Why did You make her that way? Why did You allow her to leave me and start a life without caring about my existence? I want to love You, God, but I am so angry with You! I want to know You, but I am so hurt by You. I want to believe in You, but I'm wounded. I'm broken. I'm beyond repair. I am hardened and cynical. I am no good. I am actually rotten to the core and pretty soon the world will see right through me. How did I become this person, this disgrace ... this embarrassment?"
But I can't really say all those things to God, because I've been told that God will never take the time to hear a desperate and demonic soul like mine.
January 11, 2011
Don't give your pearls to the swine ...
At least that is what the preacher said ...
But I am not sure what the preacher meant ...
Because I have no pearls and
I am definitely more filthy than the swine.
I wallow in my mud ...
I bathe in my own tears,
I shower in my pain and no one comes to my rescue.
Don't give your pearls to the swine.
Does the preacher know me?
Does the preacher even recognize that I don't want those pearls ...
Because I can't afford those pearls ...
All I want is for someone to look at me.
Not preach at me, Not preach to me ...
... but truly look inside of my core and identify with me.
I know I am nothing to you ...
Every time I come in your presence,
I am reminded that
I am nothing more than
dirty, filthy swine ...
But before you slaughter me, slay me and kill me ...
before you judge me and write me off ...
Please know that I am really just a lonely little girl ...
longing for the day when someone ... anyone ...
can look beyond my clammed up shell ...
and recognize the jewel within me.
My Priceless Pearl.
January 15, 2011
I recently started seeing a licensed clinical therapist, in order to make some sense of this jumbled mess I call my life. I have only been seeing Dr. Rob for two weeks now, and yet it feels like a lifetime of dishonest release. The first day I went to Dr. Rob's office was shortly after the near mental breakdown I suffered over the emotional neglect from my boyfriend, Jafar, and the hatred I harbored for my mother. I had gone to the emergency room for a severe migraine, and somehow ended up confessing to the nurses that I was sad, depressed and had thoughts of ending my miserable life. The only reason they didn't keep me or admit me was because I didn't have a concrete plan to commit suicide. The attending physician referred me to Dr. Rob and asked me to sign a safety contract that stated I would not harm myself and I would go see Dr. Rob tomorrow morning at 10am.
I have always been taught that only crazy people go see Psychologists and Counselors and I knew I was not crazy!! So what I have stalked and kidnapped another human being. So what I have gotten away with murders that no one knows about. So what I was abandoned by my mother and I have lived my life in her shadow. It still does not mean that I am crazy, it only means that I am a very damaged human being.
It took me over an hour to get through the busy downtown traffic on Highway 85, but I had allotted plenty of time for this much needed appointment. I pulled into the valet circle of the Fidelity Building in the Buckhead area of Atlanta, and sat in my car for over seven minutes while I pulled myself together. I wasn't sure if I was ready to take this leap of faith and trust my life to the hands of a man whom I had never met. I wasn't sure if I was ready to make any changes to my life, although I was clearly delusional and somewhat deranged, according to my recent violent actions. Part of me was afraid to open the locked door to my emotions, but another part of me realized that I honestly needed the help. I thought about the helpless prisoner I had locked away in my basement and I smiled a sad wicked smile. He was the reason for most of my pain and childhood trauma and still I knew that no one could convince me to spare his life.
Before I could change my mind, put the car in gear and pull off, the young valet attendant tapped on my drivers side window and gave me the most sheepish smile. I looked up at him, then in my rearview mirror. There was a line of cars, impatiently waiting on me to make a decision. How long had I been sitting there? I unlocked my door and he opened it as though I had just arrived. He handed me a ticket stub as I grabbed my purse and knockoff shades. I jumped out of the car, ignored the stares, walked through the revolving glass doors and made my way to the elevators and pressed the call button. It arrived shortly and I entered with three other people, two men and an elderly woman. I pressed the button marked 10 and up we go.
I was glad I was the last to get off as I didn't want the others to see where I was headed. I got off the elevator, grateful to see there were many offices housed on the 10th floor. I read the directory placed to the left of the mirrored elevator doors. It instructed me that "New Foundations Christian Counseling Center" was in Suite 1036, down the hall to the right. I found the office and was greeted by a heavy set young lady in her mid 20's who identified herself as the receptionist. She was very warm and friendly with a thick Southern accent. She laughed a lot and had the prettiest rosy cheeks that turned red every time she smiled. She sat at a large Oak desk, in the corner of the dimly lit waiting room, that was comfortably furnished with a low volume TV, suspended from the ceiling. She signed me in on a flat screen computer and said "Dr. Rob will be with you momentarily".
I was kind of surprised that I didn't have tons of paperwork to fill out first, but relieved as well. She offered me some tea or coffee from a pot brewing on a table underneath the TV, which I declined, but I thought it was a very nice touch. I was still apprehensive about being there and I was just about to tell her that I changed my mind, when Dr. Rob appeared out of nowhere.
I knew instantly that the receptionist was his daughter because they looked like twins! He had the same rosy cheeks and the same Santa style laugh. "Ms. Caldwell?" He said my name with a twinkle and a near laugh, as though he were actually reading from a Christmas list. The receptionist stood and smiled and gestured towards me, even though I was the only one in the room. "Thank you Lizzie," he responded a little too loudly.
"Your welcome daddy, I mean Dr. Rob," she responded fondly and blushed.
He gestured for me to follow him through a side door next to Lizzie's desk. I walked past her, still baffled at how much the two looked so much alike and how much he looked like Santa Clause without the beard. Dr. Rob and his daughter seemed to be so genuinely happy and I angrily began to wonder why I've never felt that way. What part of my life had been damaged so badly that joy refused to take up refuge in my heart? It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair that I lived a life of public and private pain, while the world around me seemed to thrive and shine at every turn. I hated Dr. Rob and his daughter for having something that was foreign and unavailable to me. I hated them and I no longer wanted to be here. I wanted to go home, beat the crap out of my prisoner and swallow as many pills as I could get my hands on. But instead, I followed him into his office and I willed myself not to cry.
Excerpted from UNComfortable In My Chaos by Cherry DeVore. Copyright © 2014 Cherry DeVore. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse LLC.
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