Chapter One ~ God Hates Me
God absolutely hated me. I remembered as a very young child, raising my fist high in the air, screaming, “I hate you God.” From a child’s point of view, I couldn’t believe God would put me in such a position of fear and powerlessness. So there I was, screaming to the top of my lungs at a God I thought loved all children. Why didn’t I matter to God? I might add, I felt guilty and afraid of being mad at a God who didn’t t like me.
I was surrounded by perverted neighbors who did corrupt things to my young, pure body. What they did to me was against the law, but I was the one who ended up being sentenced for life.
Richard, the trusted next door neighbor, was the worse degenerate out of the group of people who were lead astray morally. Richard and his wife Faye were religious fanatics. They would cry over God and people who sinned. Richard was talk, thin, and had dark hair. Faye was meek and fair skinned.
My family would be over visiting Richard and Faye. He would pick me up, turn me over on my stomach, and pretend to be spanking me for fun. The other adults would be elsewhere in the house. His fraudulent hands would go places I’d rather not discuss here on white paper. I was suppose to be laughing.
He would hunt me down like an animal hunting for a piece of meat. I would run and hide, but eventually, he would find me. I finally told mother what Richard was doing to me one night while she was driving up a hill. Richard and Faye were confronted in our living room, and they cried uncontrollably. I was given a baton for my troubles. I should have bashed Richard in the head with the baton. Instead, I bashed myself.
The next culprit to interfere with my sanity was Jerry. He lived behind us. I plaed with his sister, Elaine. He would lock me in a small, empty room. There was a bright light glaring from the ceiling, without any fixture to cover the light bulb. He did things again, I’m too ashamed to discuss. To this very day, I can’t ride elevators and I hate overhead lights.
This was a very toxic, middleclass, white neighborhood. The house was located on Robin Road in Decatur, GA. When I was eleven, our family moved to Durham, NC. Within a few months, I was approached again sexually. The man exposed himself to me and two of my girlfriends, Mary Lou and Karen. We were at the movie theatre to see Cat Ballou. He came inside the restroom and exposed himself. We screamed and he ran. He got caught.
Not long afterwards, I would stay up all night because I was afraid to go to sleep. To pass the time, I would pick the hairs off my arms and eyebrows. I still pick the hairs off my arms today, but not at night.
My parents were always fighting. Chaos and insanity surrounded me. I hardly ever felt safe. I was the oldest out of three children. My brother, Mark chased me around the kitchen with a butcher knife. It was because I was playing the piano. My sister Sandra, was off in her own world some where else in the house. None of us siblings got along well with each other. As of now, I do not communicate with either my brother or sister.
What did I do so wrong in God’s eyes? Why do I attract pervert’s and psycho’s? I’m not perfect, but I do try hard not to upset people. This started as a child. I did not want to upset either of my parents. This was my way of keeping some type of peace in the house. I carried this same behavior into my adulthood, trying to be perfect.
I shouldn’t have taken up drinking. I know God wasn’t happy about my drinking career. Neither was my daughter. I’m especially mad at myself. I didn’t know how else to numb the pain and the dark thoughts going on inside my head. My self image was so bad, but when I drank, the shyness disappeared until the alcohol wore off it’s nasty pretense.
I married and divorced three times. The first husband, Chris, ran around on me. He didn’t beat me, but he did drag me by the head of my hair one time. The second husband, Brad, gave me a black eye when I was pregnant. The third husband, Johnny, tried more than once to kill me.
One of my boyfriends, Earl, stalked me for six years. Paul, another boyfriend, drove me way up into the mountains in my red BMW. He threatened to throw me off the mountaintop, saying no one would ever find me. He held me hostage in a motel room for two days. Excluding Earl, all of these men had very high IQ’s.
My drinking career was handed to me on a gold plated, silver platter with diamonds. No one had ever given me any warnings on how alcoholism ran in our family, the consequences, and especially how hard it was to stop drinking. I found out the hard way. By drinking. Then, by becoming addicted. The only way I could numb the pain and the brain, was to drink the poison to insanity. That kind of thinking was crazy, but that’s part of the disease.
Because of my drinking, I’ve lost the one and only thing that gave me a sense of purpose in life, my daughter Ashley. This type of thinking was not healthy. When you’re saddled with bi-polar, post traumatic stress disorder, attention deficit disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, and alcoholism, your thinking goes haywire.
Ashley use to come busting through the door, all excited to see and share with me what happened throughout her day. I listed very attentively, with either concern or excitement.
I told her almost daily she had it ALL, and there wasn’t anything she couldn’t accomplish in life with all of the positive qualities she had been given. I would go into a sixty second rant on all the attributes that made her such a unique person.
I taught her the importance of honesty, having good manners, helping people of all races, the importance of eating healthy, exercise, proper sleep, and the dangers of drugs and alcohol.
I put love notes inside her lunch box every day. I volunteered at her school. I made sure her room was full of the books she wanted to read. I wanted my daughter to feel loved, safe, grow up to feel good about herself, and be a positive contributor to society. She has turned out to have most of these attributes. I’m proud of my daughter. I wish she liked her mother. Maybe, after I’m dead.
She doesn’t open up about anything to me anymore, even when she lost her job due to the doomed economy. I found out on myspace.com. The way she looked at me the last time I saw her in Los Angeles, CA, was like “God, how did I get that for a mother?” My heart sank, and was shattered to pieces. She viewed herself as having had the misfortune of a mentally ill mother.
Ashley has a god mother who was rich, had a good career, and was stable. She has a step mother who was rich, had a good career, and was stable. When I visited Ashley’s myspace.com website page, her god mother and step mother were on top of her photo page. She would have a real nice comment underneath their picture. I was at the very bottom of the photo page. The comment said, “this is where I came from.” I could only imagine what she felt inside her head about where she came from, this horrible, pathetic mother.
While raising Ashley, some of my friends would encourage me to date more often. I rarely met men I wanted to date. If I did go out with another man, Ashley became very upset and possessive.
When Ashley turned thirteen, I met another devil besides my father. He even had the same name, Johnny. That’s when our mother and daughter relationship went into a huge decline, and has never been the same. This began in 1995.
Another reason I don’t feel God has been on my side is, I have had over one hundred jobs over the last thirty nine years. Just imagine what it’s like your first few weeks on a new job. The stress of learning a new job, along with getting to know your co-workers.
After I’d quit, I’d had to begin the hunt for a new and better job. I’ve got to snag the interview, then answer some of their ridiculous questions. My favorite question was, “where do you see yourself five to ten years from now?” I always wanted to answer, “Buddy, if I make it through today, a miracle has occurred.”
I did pick the worse field someone could pick who is acutely sensitive, which is sales. I don’t have a college education, so that puts me in the minimum wage category. The reason I didn’t go to college is because, I was brainwashed into thinking I was stupid. I had never heard of a stupid person being accepted into any college.
With sales, I had an opportunity to make more money. I didn’t get the sales jobs with prestige, but the money was a lot better than minimum wage. Most of the jobs I had in sales, management trained us to go for the jugular. They also made suggestions of things we were to say to potential clients that were lies. We had to do this with excitement in our voice and a smile on our face. It made me sick to my stomach.
Being very good at my job caused resentment with some of my co-workers. The people who gave me the hardest times were mostly the slackers. Most of the bosses I had didn’t have a clue how to train or manage salespeople. I could either sink or swim. I would start out swimming very well, but between the lies corporate wanted me to tell, and the ruthless co-workers, I eventually drowned.
The thing I observed over and over were the ass kissers getting the calls coming in from potential clients interested in our product or services. Since I was the one good at cold-calling, that was what I always had to do, and it was a lot harder. Cold-calling also took longer to make the sale, and therefore, make the commission. The slackers had it handed to them. I had to sweat blood to land the accounts.
I had the ability to walk in and immediately open new accounts by calling on strangers. I was able to do this because I worked hard, smart, and educated myself on how to be the best in sales. My bosses were amazed at my abilities, but they were too stupid to reward me for my hard work.
After the boss would witness me coming in and rapidly opening up new accounts, they would question some of my co-worker’s, “why can’t you open up accounts like Pam.” This caused them to lose confidence in their abilities, then the resentment towards me would start. Management put us together in a pit bull ring to fight it out. I never won. The lies and back stabbing would take over.
Mix in the bi-polar, and post traumatic stress disorder I was saddled with, and I always lost. My obsessive compulsive disorder would kick in on the very first day of work. Most offices to me looked dirty and unorganized. Add the ugly fluorescent lighting along with the noise, and there I go again, running out the door.
There were two things I needed most in my life. Number one, my daughter‘s love and admiration. Number two, financial security and respect in the world of corporate America. I don’t have either of the two.
God, can you please help me out with one of the two? I’ll pay you back.