
As I comb thru my locks of pride and insecurity, I think to myself, “Rapunzel ain’t got anything on me!” I am not gloating; I would prefer to call it “self-awareness”….
“I haven’t given up hope… I am just running on a short supply” …. Marc Coley
As promised, I am back with the conclusion of the matter. I am honored that you decided to come back and if this is your first time, I extend the same warm welcome. If you read part 1, you have an idea as to how I will flow on part 2. Here is my story, better yet, here is her story.
Well, [sigh] [Pulls out the brush and begins to comb]
I was enrolled as a student at Quitman County Elementary up until the 7th grade. Don’t ask, that was just the setup of that particular school system. Nevertheless, it was not until my seventh grade year, that my luck changed and I was no longer the “butt of jokes” for the student body. That day could have ruined it all for [[me]] << PRIDE.
There was a knock at the door. I don’t recall what we were learning about that particular day. Ms. Taylor, my teacher, walked to the door and opened it. I didn’t bother to look up until I heard my name. They walked into my classroom. I saw my grandmother first and then I saw my mother. Immediately, my heart dropped in my chest. It was as if someone had taken a hammer and without warning plunged it into forcefully into my back. Mentally, I begin to prepare myself to be humiliated by my peers. My mind flooded with thoughts of lying to hide the truth. Do you blame me?.. I had a hard enough time as it was… They came into the classroom and talked to my teacher. I was still nervous. I watched in fear. I was afraid that my newly found (cool) reputation would be ruined. I feel the lumps welling up in my throat out of fear. I am hoping internally that this visit is as painless as possible. To my surprise it went well. My mom was quiet the entire time. They checked me out of school and I remember as if it was yesterday, she asked me, “Did I act ok?” I responded with a happy “Yes!” She didn’t embarrass [ME] << the development of pride at an early age.
“She smoked a lot. I begged her to quit because I didn’t want her to die.”… Marc Coley
I envisioned us riding in the car talking for countless hours about nothing in particular. Just normal, mother and son conversations. I often pictured me introducing her to my closest friends; even the special ones. Don’t laugh but I could hear my friends calling her ‘mom’ because she was so cool with them. Don’t [read] this blog and assume that I am a depressed individual, but this is just a mirror and I am standing in front of it.
It was a family function that day. Maybe a cookout or birthday party, I can’t remember. My grandmother and aunt’s house are in the same yard. Music is blasting and everyone is having a good time. I am at my aunt’s house sitting on her porch. My mom sits down beside me. She is drunk. I feel a frog in my throat, because I wanted to cry as I look at her. If I remember correctly I did shed a tear or two. Barely able to get the words out, I told her “I’m going to take care of you when I get older”. I promised to be there. Looking back on those memories, I can honestly say that I have…. failed. I don’t call like I need to. I don’t pray like should. Quite frankly, I can’t give you a ‘good enough excuse’ as to why not.
West Central [Google it]>> If you are from Columbus or the surrounding areas, you may have heard of West Central. If not, [Google it]. Nevertheless, it is a mental institution. I remember the first time my mom went there. In fact, in the course of her life she has been there several times. Anyway, I was glad she was going because, from my understanding, or I should say from a child’s mind, they would “fix” her. She stayed for a few weeks before coming home. I went to visit. I noticed a change in her demeanor, but I hated the fact that my mother had to be there.
Witch Doctor >> My mom or “Shelly” as my family calls her has functioned in cycles for the last few years. One moment she seems to be improving and the next it is as though she is getting worst. While my grandmother was living she had gotten so frustrated with my mother’s situation that one day she went to a strange lady’s house. At that time I didn’t know who the lady was. It wasn’t until years later that I put 1 and 1 together and realized that the lady was a root worker. Anyway, we walked into her home and this lady sat my mom down and began to talk to her. By this time I was escorted out of the room, but I did hear what was being said. The woman told my grandmother that someone had “put something” on my mother. Black magic, if you will. So the lady gave my grandmother a bar of soap for my mother to bathe in and some candles to burn to rid her of the evil spirits. Well, you probably know by now, but that solution did not work.
Spiritual Warfare >>> I met a pastor a few years back that was pretty heavy in demonic possession; an expert so to speak. I was convinced that it was a demon inside of my mother that was causing her to be mentally unstable. I was referred to her by a friend of mine. We walked into her office that day and I told her what I thought was the problem. If hope could be measured on a scale, mine had easily set a record. She anointed my mother’s head with oil and she began to pray. I knew that this was it; the moment of deliverance. My heart was full of joy. That day, I expected to walk out with a brand new mother. … but .. but.. that day, I walked out broken and frustrated. I tried to understand “this” but I was unsuccessful. I didn’t understand.
I blamed her for failing me. I blamed God for not making my life “normal”. Surprisingly, the more I live, the more I understand the beauty of the abnormality. It sets me apart for greatness. We humans, being infinite in power cannot change the past. Once things have been done or said it cannot be “undone” or “unsaid”. If so, I would immediately go back and right the many wrongs that I have committed but, honestly, the more I think about it, I am glad we cannot… I salute the past because it shaped me and I hug the future because it embraces me. I love my mother; I guess I haven’t shown her. If she died today, I would be devastated because she didn’t fail me … I failed her. Pride wrapped its hands around me and held me captive. Today, MY operation to be fixed begins…
I grasp this concept and I hold on to it with dear life.
Daniel 3:13-18
17 if our God Whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, He will deliver us out of your hand, O king. 18 But if not, let it be known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the golden image which you have set up!
God, my prayer has changed. 23 years and I now understand. Please “Fix Me” …
I am Marc Coley & I am [Unleashed]
Follow Me On Twitter @marcunleashed