In Pain on Purpose: A world of hurt can change your destiny

Preface

I spent many years of my life judging myself for my outward appearance. I watched tv or reality shows fantasizing about being a slimmer, prettier, more glamorous me. The truth is, I wasn’t ugly on the outside but damaged on the inside.

It took many years and many relationships for me to realize that I was worth more than gold. I had surrounded myself with people that had no purpose. They lacked any real insight into life. Surrounding myself with other individuals who lacked the very foundation that I sought to gain would never change my mindset or my heart. The heart of a person controls their thinking, their beliefs, and moral reasoning.

Annie was my mother by definition; she lacked the gift of parental guidance and motherly affection. Annie displayed the misguided love of a mother. She was known in the streets as Queen. She ran drugs for all the b-boys in the neighborhood. She had a gift for hustling, and they knew she would do anything to feed her habit. Hank was the gangsta love of my life. He was bold, arrogant, and confident. He took what he wanted, from whoever he wanted, including me. Hank was the most selfish, inconsiderate man I have ever loved! My relationships with Hank and Annie can best be described as a journey through hell and back, twice!

Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Nyla. I am a young woman who has experienced more in my short years of life, than a 70-year old woman. As I lie here, in this hollow grave, I can’t help but reminisce on the painful events of my past. So many memories flow in and out of my mind like short movie clips.

The memories flow through my mind so vividly I can feel my heart racing. The memories take me back to the most painful times in my life. The hurt and pain of my past felt all too real. It was as if I was experiencing each moment for the very first time. At the age of three, I can remember my father setting our house on fire. As our home burned to the ground, I can recall my mother running around in a panic. She tried to gather my sister and I as the flames raced toward the furniture. Dark, thick smoke filled the room as the burning items were engulfed in flames. You could hear the sounds of sirens from afar. My mother held us tight in her arms as tears rolled down her face. We stood outside of the apartment building as the flames grew thicker and larger. The flames seemed to be growing out of control. When the firefighters arrived on the scene, the fire had spread through three-quarters of the single level, single file, apartments. A firefighter rushed into the building to save a screaming woman. She had been trapped in the bathroom with her young child.

At the age of 11, I encountered a man that stole my innocence. Molestation can create negative imagery of one’s self. It steals your self-esteem, your worth, and your purpose. A thoughtless act can change the entire course of your destiny. The victim is left with the shame and guilt of what happened, leaving their existence in question; a residue of hopeless decisions with endless consequences. At the age of 14, my mother was sent to prison for a manslaughter conviction. Later that year, I gave birth to my first child. My child was born out of the need to feel unconditional love and acceptance. At the age of 16, I was engaged for the first time. He loved the beautiful woman he saw inside of me, but I couldn’t see her for myself. At the age of 17, I had my second child. At the age of 19, I graduated from high school. At the age of 20, I got married for the first time.

This seems like a simple progression of events, but nothing about my life has been simple. I wondered if this was the end of my life or the beginning of my future.

Chapter 1 - Being ME

People have always looked at my life and judged it. You look too serious, you don’t have enough education, you have too many children, and of course, you’re too loud and too outspoken. The events of my life have changed my perception of people and those who I allow into my inner circle. As I lie here, staring at the sky from this hollow grave, I reflect on the decisions I have made. Was I a reflection of the traumatic events that had occurred in my life? I spent years trying to get out from under the shadow of shame and guilt. It was embedded in every decision I had ever made.

I was born in Wooster, Ohio, on February 10, 1976. The year 1976 was considered the centennial year. Ohio had experienced the longest warm spell, from February 9th through the 23rd, lasting 15 consecutive days. February is typically one of the coldest months of the year, so this was unusual.

I am the daughter of Imus and Annie. My mother was 17-years old when she gave birth to me. She was a short woman, 5’ 4" tall, mocha colored, high cheek bones, thin waist, big breasts, and hair that hung to her shoulders. She was raised by the men in her life, which means, they didn’t spend a lot of money on cosmetic things like clothes or upkeep. Annie grew up on the poorer side of town. She was from a small town where they spent their Friday nights at high school football games. There wasn’t much to do for young teenagers.

My father was 19-years old when I was born. I’ve heard several variations of the story, but they amount to the same dysfunction. Annie was a troubled girl in her youth. Her lack of structure led her into mischief and mayhem. With no close relatives, she went to live with her two uncles, her father’s brothers. Both of her parents were killed in a home invasion when she was seven-years-old. She watched from the closet as they were brutally beaten then violently stabbed to death by two young men. Uncle Slick was a street pimp, and Uncle Sly was the manager at a strip club. Uncle Slick brought the girls in from the street, and Uncle Sly made sure they were able to entertain the men in the club.

My grandfather, GP, was the biggest pimp of them all. He once threw a woman off a building because she married one of her johns. He needed to prove to all the other women, including my grandmother, he meant business. The woman died after landing on the pavement from five stories up. My grandmother stood there shaking with fear. She knew that my grandfather was capable of anything.

A year and a half later, Sally, one of GP’s girls, came home from a long night of working and found GP and my grandmother, Elizabeth, dead. The two of them were found in the bedroom. GP had been stabbed 28 times, and Elizabeth had her throat slashed. Elizabeth died quickly, but GP was stabbed and beaten repeatedly. Elizabeth was not the target of the rage.

Rumors say that one of the working girls paid two young boys to get their revenge. The girls held a grudge against GP for throwing the young woman off the building. The two young men disappeared, and the police never arrested anyone for my grandparent’s murder.

Annie was seven-years-old when she was removed from her home. She sat in the closet and didn’t move while the intruders viciously murdered her parents. When the police arrived, they searched the home. When the detectives opened the door, they found Annie balled up. She had a paralyzing look of fear on her face. The officers tried to shield her from the grotesque images, but she had already heard too much. The images of the grotesque beating had severe repercussions on Annie’s life.

In the 1960s, there were no counseling sessions for children of a lower economic status. People moved on and buried their feelings.

My father, Imus, was a first-year college student when they met. Annie was in high school. He was studying to become a business manager. He was an attractive man, tall, thin, chocolate complexion with a short afro. He had a calm and cool swag that attracted the ladies. Women loved that he was smart, educated, and came from a good family. My paternal grandparents owned a neighborhood dry cleaner and laundromat. It was family owned and operated. Imus worked at the dry cleaners in the evenings after school and on the weekends.

He worked hard to help his family run the businesses. He had dreams of graduating from college and moving to the big city. He didn’t care what city, he just wanted to get out of the little country town they lived in. The city was small enough that everyone knew everyone. Anything that happened made city news before you could get home to tell your parents. My grandparents enjoyed living the quiet, country life but Imus didn’t. He wanted to travel the world. He knew that there was something far greater for him out there. He could only dream of his future possibilities.

Imus was 19-years old, and Annie was 17-years old when they began having children. Imus and Annie’s relationship began as a whirlwind love affair. The romance began to dwindle once they began to have children. The responsibility of adulthood was all too surreal. They constantly fought about the neglect my sister, and I experienced. Imus wanted to know why Annie wouldn’t grow up and take responsibility for her children. Eventually, the fighting while they were together, led to fighting while they were apart. These stories have mesmerized me from the beginning.

Especially when you hear the detailed accounts of your life from family members who recall these times. Annie told me the story of my grandparents when I was a child. I always wanted to know why I hadn’t met them. Imus’s sister, Yolanda, was the historian for his side of the family. She and Annie were close friends when she and Imus dated. The sad part about these stories is there’s no beginning. I have never heard the beginning, only the end.

Annie dropped me off, at five-months-old, at a stranger’s house with a promise to return for me. Annie was on the run because she and her friends had robbed the local convenience store. Annie knew a number of people who she called family. She wasn’t very close with her biological family, so she adopted the people she hung around with. She always had an aunt or uncle who she could call on. Annie knew she was a wanted fugitive so she had to leave me with someone who would protect me.

When Imus found out that Annie left me with strangers, he demanded that she return me to him. Annie assured him that I was safe, but Imus didn’t trust her. Annie said that she would be in touch with Imus the following day, but instead, the police showed up at his front door. Two officers knocked on the door the following morning with me wrapped in a pink baby blanket. They asked Imus to show them some I.D. They said that they had arrested Annie at a friend’s house and she asked that I be returned to him. She was arrested for conspiracy to commit robbery. They hadn’t stolen anything but some donuts and petty cash. The judge let Annie go because she was a young woman with a baby of her own. It was a small town; I suspect that the judge knew her uncles. Never heard what happened to her two friends.

Imus and Annie had two children within a two-year time span. When I was five-months-old Annie was already pregnant with my younger sister. Annie gave birth to her second daughter nine months later. My younger sister, Jasmine, is only 14 months younger than I. She was born the following April of 1977. Now, Imus and Annie had two children to care for. Imus understood the advantages of growing up in a two-parent, loving home and he wanted to provide the same stability for his children. He had accepted responsibility for his children and he wanted to be a loving parent.

He worked hard to try and keep his family together. He loved Annie but had no idea what she had gone through as a child. He was in love with the person he thought she was. He didn’t know who she truly was or what she had been through. She hid her past in order to start a future with him. Imus would quickly find out all the things that she was trying to hide. It didn’t matter what she was trying to hide on the outside; her truth was buried deep within. People think that if you don’t speak your truth that it doesn’t show. It’s quite the opposite. Imus and Annie could not reconcile their differences, so Annie decided to move on.

Annie was walking down the street wearing a pair of white pants that hugged her body. They accentuated every curve. She was a short woman, with a large chest. She had high cheek bones and a beautiful smile. A man pulled up alongside her playing an Al Green song on the radio. She stopped and smiled as he asked for her number. He asked if he could give her a ride to her destination. She was only around the corner from her house, so she pointed and smiled. She answered him saying she lived right over there. He asked if he could take her out on a date sometime. She was flattered at the invitation, so she said yes. They made plans to meet later that week for dinner. They exchanged numbers, and she walked away with a huge grin on her face.

Friday came, and it was date night. Clay arrived at her house about 7:00 p.m. He blew the horn and Annie opened the door. She was dressed in a short black mini skirt and multi-colored halter top. She had on tall black heels and small gold earrings. She had fresh curls in her hair, and it flowed as the wind blew. She walked to the car in slow motion so Clay could take in her appearance.

Clay stood outside the car holding the car door open. He was mesmerized by her beauty. Clay drove a long old-school car with leather seats. She got in the car, and he closed the door behind her. They drove to a restaurant that was about a mile from her home. They arrived at a restaurant decorated in authentic Chinese décor. Upon entering the restaurant, they were greeted by waiters and waitresses dressed in authentic Chinese attire. Annie was impressed by what she had seen so far. Clay and Annie talked for hours over dinner; they connected right away.

Clay was in his mid-thirties.