First the Inside of the Cup - Part 9

First the Inside of the Cup – Part 9

April 13, 2012 – [4.13.2012] – 3:33 pm

If you have not read part 8 of this testimony about my street life, it might be best to read it first, so that you can continue to see the depths of my wickedness.  Only when you see the darkness I walked in, will you clearly see the undeserved mercy and grace of a Sovereign and good Creator. 

I also continue to caution readers to not proceed in reading this testimony, if they are sensitive to the harsher, harder side of life.  Nothing has been sugar-coated.  You will read of my dark side, as well as that of those I hung with.  

He that walks with wise men shall be wise: but a companion of fools shall be destroyed.  [Prov 13:20]

Be not deceived: evil communications corrupt good manners. 

[1Cor 15:33]

Having been forewarned, the choice remains yours.  Please read Part 8 of First the Inside of the Cup before reading what is below.  It will keep the flow of the testimony.  

Hidden Within

This part of my testimony is one of the harder parts to speak about, just as speaking about my mother was the other difficult part. (My mother and this part of my testimony are the parts the Lord says…Let it go now, child.)  I will have to tell it just like it was.  When I mention the demons in me, please do not think that I blame them for everything.  I still had the freedom to choose. They know what buttons to push and how to manipulate us into making choices.  There are times though, that the demons become so strong that they override a person’s will.  We see this in the case of the lunatic in the bible, as well as other references.  They do have the ability to complete take over us.

The Birthday Gift

There was a man who came into the restaurant many times during my first months of waitressing, a regular.  He would always come in with one or more friends.  We never talked outside of my taking his order, but I heard his friends speak his name, which was *Paul.  On my 19^th birthday, I went out with four girls.  They had tried to invite me out before, but they had wanted to go to a male strip joint.  I declined and told them that I was not interested in watching men dance and strip.  I did not have to tell them what I had been through.  They could just accept the fact that I was not interested.  They never bothered me about it again.

I had met them from working in the restaurant, where they were regulars at night time.  The girls decided to take me out on my 19th birthday, as they thought it was time that I got some serious drinking ‘under my belt’.  My parents had given me Kahlua (a coffee liqueur) before or a small glass of brandy at Christmas, Easter or my birthday, so I had tasted liquor. 

The girls decided to treat me to a special night.  We went out to a loud and wild place.  I noticed that it was all women, no men.  I only drank one beer in my life before that, with my mother one night when I was 14.  That was the night that I found out the most I was ever to learn about my real father.  It was a sad night, but still, I was grateful to get some history, albeit brief history.  I have already shared what she told me, when I began the testimony.

Suddenly, a new song began playing loudly over the speakers and a male dancer came out.  He began taking off his outfit piece by piece and I realized where the girls had brought me.  I wanted to leave, stating I didn’t want to watch this, but the girls called me a ‘stick in the mud’ and said to stay.  One of the girls went up to the dancer, whispered something in his ear and put some money in his waistband.  He came dancing over to the table and around me.  ‘Happy birthday!’   The girls were hysterical because they had ‘got me’.  They were drooling over the man, whooping and hollering.  I couldn’t believe how they were acting, worse than men!

Turn Away

The dancer got right by my face and I was seriously embarrassed.  I tried to turn away, which seemed to entice the male dancer more.  The girls moved the jug of beer, shouting, ‘Table dance, table dance!’ and the man complied.  ‘Lap dance; lap dance.’  My heart raced! I got up to go to the washroom and I could hear the girls shouting, ‘Loser, get back here; c’mon!  Loosen up old lady, hey, c’mon, it’s your birthday!’  I stayed in the washroom until the dancer was finished.

The girls heckled me when I got back about being ‘old school’, prissy and ‘no fun’.  They told me that I was acting like an old woman.  I tried to joke it off by saying that they could have warned me.  The comeback was that it was a birthday surprise.  We left when the jug was finished.  ‘Time to party! Let’s bar hop!’ one of the girls shouted.  We were all on our way to feeling no pain.  This was my first time drinking more than one drink.  I was drunk.  The girls said that their goal was to ‘drink me under the table.’

The girl who owned the car drove back to our town. We had been in a town that was about 25 miles away.  It was a larger town and had more ‘action’ than the little town I lived in.  I formally met Paul through the girls.  He had seen me waitressing and had wanted to ask me out when he saw me at the restaurant, but he had a girlfriend at the time.  There was a car race coming up, the Indy 500 at Mosport.  It was going to be a weekend long extravaganza.  Would I be interested in going with him?  I had had one boyfriend for two days out west.  When I was on the street, I had been a whore (gives freely), a one-night stand two times and a prostitute (demands money) once.  Even though I was not really interested in him and he was five years older, I figured ‘why not?’  

The Indy 500 weekend was quite the experience.  I had never seen anything like it.  People camped out in tents or vehicles; women walked around topless or with little on and everyone seemed to be drinking or high on something.  For someone who had only gone out once drinking, I surely drank beer that weekend.  I also had my first experience smoking the green.  It was like a huge outdoor party, where you could walk around and get any kind of drink or drug you wanted.  I do not recall seeing any police.  Everyone paid a lump sum, whether they planned to stay the weekend or not.  Most people chose to stay, since they would have had to pay the same amount either way.

I continued working at the restaurant, sometimes doing double shifts because staff would come and go.  Since I was 19 now, I could serve drinks too.  The bosses were Greek and they were good to me.  Sometimes they would throw in a little bonus on my paycheck.  One day I didn’t feel very well, so I booked a doctor’s appointment.  The town was small, so the doctor’s office was just up the street from the restaurant.  The doctor asked basic questions and ran some tests.  Old Dave gave me a message after work that I was to drop in at the doctor’s office at my earliest convenience.

 The Inconvenience

When I went in, the doctor’s receptionist (who was young also) gave me a big smile and blurted out, ‘You’re pregnant!’  There was no one else in the office.  The doctor was in his room with the door closed.  I went outside to sit on the curb.  I was in shock.  How could I be pregnant?  All that time with the gang and I never got pregnant.  Why now?  I was not happy.  I did not want a baby.  I had only known Paul eight weeks and I was six weeks pregnant.  That reveals the type of woman I was.  Up to that time in my life, I had only smoked cigarettes occasionally, but once I found out I was pregnant, it wasn’t long before I was smoking a pack a day.

Afterwards I met up with Paul and told him the news.  He was happy; I was miserable.  One day he came over to my place and I told him that I wanted an abortion.  He grabbed a butcher knife from the drawer, stuck it in the wall beside my head and shouted, ‘If you want an f*n abortion, do it yourself!’  With that, he stormed out.  My head raced with thoughts.  My mother had wanted to abort me.  How could I even consider it?  Yet, if I had this child, I would lose my ‘freedom’.  This child was an inconvenience; I was not ready for a baby, especially with someone I didn’t even love, I concluded.  Shortly after that, Paul came back to apologize for his reaction.  I told him I decided not to have an abortion; instead, I would have the child.  He gave me a hug.  Then he took me to meet his parents.

His parents had 6 children.  Upon hearing the news, his parents, who were Catholics, said, “And here we were worried about Paul all along.”  Then, they asked Paul when we were getting married.  I wondered why his parents had been worried about him.  After all, they had five other kids.  Their youngest was an 18 year old son, same age as I was.  I didn’t want to marry this dude; I didn’t even know him that well.  I didn’t say anything.  Paul said he hadn’t asked me yet.  This was crazy; it could not be happening.  They asked if my parents knew.  I had to explain that we did not get along the greatest and that I had not spoken to them in a few months.  When my mother hung up on me the time I asked if they would help me after my belongings were stolen, I had not called them until I had a room and a job in the new town.  Two years had passed.  I only called a couple of times after that.

Paul’s father called and spoke to my stepfather.  I do not know all that was said, but my parents surprisingly agreed to come and meet them.  They lived about an hour away.  I had not seen my parents since I had left Quebec.  Meanwhile, they had moved back to Ontario, when once again, my stepfather was promoted.

After my parents met with his parents, they came over to where I was living.  They were polite enough, but were aloof towards me.  They insisted that Paul and I get married, to give the baby a father and family.  I was so torn inside, desiring to share with them how I felt so confused and that I did not want the child, but I could not.  My parents and I had never spoken of any deep and serious things. They said if I did not do the right thing here, they would not speak to me again, nor could I contact them.  I asked if I married him would they come to the wedding and would they want to be grandparents to the baby.  They answered affirmatively to both questions.  I did not want to marry Paul because I did not know him or love him, but I desperately wanted a relationship with my parents.  I loved them, despite everything that had happened.

I hated being in this position.  I was being forced into something that I did not want to do.  That is, if I wanted my parents in my life, which I did.  Paul’s parents said their priest would marry us if we attended masses.  His dad said he would loan us a few hundred dollars to pay for things, if we paid them back. We agreed.  

Nun Healed

We went to a healing mass, where a nun gave her testimony about being healed of varicose veins.  The way she told her story was amazing.  She actually said that Jesus had healed her.  Jesus!  Then she lifted up her long dress to her knees, turning around so that people could see how perfectly clear her legs were.  There was no flaw on them.  She had witnesses that testified to the number of times she had been in the hospital because of her varicose veins.  

The story captivated my interest.  When my leg had been cut to the bone in the orphanage, damage had been done.  By the time I was eight years old, I already had some varicose veins.  By the time I was twelve years old, kids were making jokes about doing ‘dot to dot’ on my leg, or how people could use my leg for a road map.  By high school, I hated changing for gym in the locker rooms. Girls would tell me that I had the legs of an old woman, or they would comment on how ‘gross’ my legs were.  I wore a bathing suit as an adult twice, and then never again.  

After the nun gave her testimony, the priests said that anyone who wanted prayer for healing was to come forward.  Obviously, I went forward.  I was 19 and I wanted healing for my varicose veins.  The priest prayed for me, then he looked me in the eyes and said, ‘Something is blocking your healing.’  ‘What’s blocking it? I asked.  ‘I don’t know’ he said.  ‘Does that mean I can’t be healed?’  ‘I’m sorry’, is all he said.  

I knew what was blocking it.  Jesus wasn’t with me anymore and He obviously did not want anything to do with me.  The demons were lying to me.  Even though I thought these things, I felt so happy… For the next few weeks, I told everybody about the nun who was healed and about Jesus. ‘You will come down off that mountain soon’, someone had said to me.  I insisted that I would be high on Jesus forever, but it was not long before I came crashing down off of that mountain!

The Empty Side 

It was hard getting a dress and flowers for the wedding.  I really did not want to get married to this man, but my parents had pretty much told me that if I did not do the ‘right thing for the baby’, I could not contact them again.  My mother did not come to help me.  I called my parents to tell them the wedding date and give them the address of the church.  They said they would come.  That part made me happy.  

Paul began inviting some of his friends.  I only knew the four girls and so I invited them.  I was four months pregnant when I got married.  I took a cab to the church from my house.  As the cab approached the church, fear gripped me, so I told the cabbie to circle the block a couple of times.  I thought of my parents inside the church, waiting for me.  I thought of the four girls I invited and the people Paul had invited.  Finally, I thought of the baby and the reason I was getting married in the first place.  I hated this baby.  It ruined my life.  I got out of the cab and entered the church. 

Paul’s father was there and smiled at me.  He told me the priest was getting anxious.  He said he would walk me up the aisle.  Before I could say anything, he opened a door and made a motion.  The organist began to play the Wedding March.  Paul’s father put my hand on his arm, saying to just walk slowly and not to worry about a special walk.  Again, before I could say anything, he opened the door for us to enter.  It was only then that I realized that my parents had not come.  No one was on ‘my side’ of the church at all.  The ‘bride’s side’ of the church was empty. The only ones there had been invited by Paul.

I could not get my head around the fact that my parents did not even come.  I was heartbroken.  Paul was up at the altar smiling at me.  I had to go through with it now.  Finally, it was over and everyone went back to Paul’s parents’ house to have a barbeque.  His parents told us that they paid for one night at a local motel for our honeymoon.  

Someone gave Paul two hits of LSD as a wedding gift.  We received an additional $100 dollars from miscellaneous people and off we went after the meal to enjoy our ‘honeymoon’.

We got high and watched television at the hotel.  I was miserable and Paul just tripped out on television.  Five months later, I was induced because I had told the doctor that I didn’t want the baby.  I felt nothing when she was born, not physically or any other way.  I asked the woman across the room from me what her name was.  She said that her name was Nicole.  That is what I named the baby girl, as we had not even picked out a name for her before she was born.  I have to admit that she was a sweet baby and I decided that I would do my best in raising her, but I still did not want her.  She had been born on Easter Sunday, the last Sunday in March.

When she was a little over a year old, Paul and I decided to revisit Mosport.  There was another wild weekend happening there for the Indy 500 and I had not gone out anywhere since Nicole was born.  Paul’s mother had suffered with cancer before I met her.  She had a mask specially made that she wore over half of her face because when doctors had removed cancer from her, they also had to remove the left portion of her face, her eye and cheekbone.  The mask covered the deformity left.  She was not feeling particularly well that weekend, so I called my parents, who agreed to babysit my daughter.

The Gift that Was Not a Gift 

Only once, did Paul and I visit my parents after Nicole was born.  I had told Paul that if he wanted to get on the good side of my parents, he had to take their favorite (expensive) brand of whiskey, which he did.  My parents were indeed pleased.  My father always had whiskey in his liquor cabinet, so he made Paul and I each a drink.  After that drink, Paul made a wrong move.  He opened up the whiskey that he had brought as a gift and helped himself to a few drinks.  

That was a big mistake with my parents, who decided then and there that they did not like Paul.  In fact, they left us in sitting in the living room and went into the kitchen to play a board game with my two sisters.  Another reason that they did not like him was because he refused to work.  He preferred welfare, even though it was relatively easy to get employment at that time.  I went into the kitchen and asked what was wrong; that is how I found out what happened.  My stepfather said he was ready to take us back home.

Emotional Blackmail 

We dropped the baby off with enough clothes and food for the weekend and headed for the races at Mosport.  It felt good to be going somewhere without a baby.  I had not done that since she was born.  After the Indy 500 weekend (which somehow was not like the first time I went), we got a ride back to the town where we lived.  My stepfather had told me to call when we got back and he would bring my oldest little sister with him (who was now 11) and she could watch Nicole on the drive to my place.  I called.  To my shock and horror, my stepfather said that they decided they would not give the baby back to me, unless I left Paul.  I argued, but it was to no avail.  I could not believe this was happening.

Although the child was a sweet baby, and I had done my best to be a good mother, I still had not fully accepted her.  However, whether it was pride or what, I felt that my parents could not just rip her away from me.  Paul said something about court, but my parents were now rich, whereas we were on welfare.  I had a police record from the possession of marijuana.  My stepfather was ex-military and now a top executive.  What were we?  Who would the judge listen to?  Why would my parents force me into the marriage, not show up and then rip my child from me, unless I left the very guy they wanted me to marry?  This was so messed up!

They surely must hate me!  I was furious and feeling resentment, anger and bitterness, but mostly helplessness, with no one to turn to.  I was angry also because Paul would not stand up to my parents.  He was the man!  Why could he not just stand up to them?  It was his baby too.  Instead, Paul said that he would go stay at his parent’s place, until I got the baby back.  He told me to just tell my parents that we had broken up.  It seemed like a good plan.  Trick my parents just like they had tricked me, get the baby (which I did not want) back.  Yes, that should work.  The demons were likely rubbing their hands together and laughing.

When my stepfather came to pick me up, we said few words on the hour trip home.  It was good to see Nicole and she was happy to see me.  My sisters welcomed me with the usual excitement of young children, which always made me feel so special.  We ate a good supper.  My mother was a superb cook.  After my sisters and Nicole were asleep, my parents said that Nicole deserved a better life than what Paul would give.  They would help me find an apartment, take me to Social Services and make sure I was set up to begin a new life.  I did not want to live in the city again, but one thing my mother had said kept coming to mind.  When it came to standing up to my parents, I had no backbone.  I kept seeing my mother striking out and hitting me, and I saw my stepfather as a sexual pervert, even though the time he betrayed me was an isolated incident.

Welcome to the Dungeon 

It was only a matter of days before I had the money for a new apartment.  My stepfather took time off work to help me find an apartment and move me.  He was a top executive now, on salary.  He could take the time off and still be paid.  We went to see an apartment that had been advertised as a one bedroom.  It was in the basement of a house.  The house was in the poor part of town, where each house was almost side by side, with only a driveway dividing the houses. 

It was a dark basement because the windows were only half windows, up near the ceiling on the wall, as many basement windows are.   

I would have my own entrance to the place through a side door of the house.  Upon entering the side door, there were immediately steps going down, with four stairs to the left going up to the main part of the house.  There was a door that was kept shut for privacy.  The owners could lock the door on their side, but I could not lock it from my side. 

Once down the stairs, there was a large room to the left; a doorway to the right and a doorway straight ahead. 

The large room to the left had a double bed, a four drawer dresser, a couch and an old floor model television with a remote.  The doorway to the right led to the furnace room, which was dark and dingy.  I had to walk through the furnace room to reach the bathroom.  There was a toilet and a tin standup shower stall.  The other doorway led to what they called the kitchen.  

The double sinks were steel laundry tubs, stained with paint.  The owner had put a three foot board, affixed to two small planks to serve as a counter.  There were two cupboards to the left made of thin metal for dishes.  They had a couple of cups, plates and bowls in there.  On the opposite wall from the laundry tubs was a metal stand with three shelves, where food was to be stored.  There was a small bar fridge with no freezer, a small hotplate, a card table and two fold-up chairs.  There was a long metal pole that had been screwed into the wall for someone to hang their clothes.  The owners had put a shower curtain a couple of feet in front of the pole to make it private.

My stepfather had concluded that it was likely all that I could afford.  It was close to buses and streetcars, with many stores in the neighborhood.  He suggested that I take it.  It was horrible place and I did not want to take it, but I did not argue.  They were so well off, yet he wanted me in this dungeon.  How he must have hated me!  He called my mother to tell her the ‘good news’ and that we would be there in about 45 minutes. 

I could not believe my life; things just seemed to go from bad to worse.  My mother had packed a couple of small boxes of dried goods, a can opener, some silverware, a pot, kettle, electric fry pan, some towels, dishcloths, one set of sheets and a bedspread.  They had bought Nicole several new outfits, diapers, a stroller, crib, shoes and toys.  My mother bid me farewell, no hug except for Nicole.  I should be grateful that they gave me anything, but they had been kinder to Nicole.  Then my stepfather drove me to my new apartment.  He set it up the crib for me.

  

I felt hatred, bitterness, anger and resentment, but outwardly, I put on a fake smile, filled my mouth with polite words and convinced my stepfather that I was happy.  How dare they steal my baby to make me leave the very man that they forced me to marry?  How could they even allow me to live in a place like this?  Why did they hate me?

The large room had carpet, but the kitchen, bathroom and furnace room (which I was not allowed to use) were all cement floors.   

I hated the place.  It was dark, dingy and depressing.  I placed Nicole on the carpet with a few toys.  She was happy.  Such a good baby really!  My parents had also bought me an umbroller (umbrella stroller, which folded up small).  I made Nicole’s bed, put her in it since it was getting late and waited until she was asleep to put my things away.  It did not take long.  My heart was filling with great anger, as unforgiveness became stronger.

Unexplainable Twilight Zone 

The landlord was Sicilian and his wife was Asian.  They had a child 13 months old and she was pregnant with their second child.  I do not know how long it took me to call my husband.  He probably thought that I was still at my parent’s house.  One night, something woke me up.  It was very dark and extremely quiet.  I didn’t want to turn on the light to wake up the baby, but I thought I would just put my hand on her to see if she was alright.  I could not find the crib!

The place was very small.  The crib was at the foot of the double bed and there was just enough room to stand between the bed and the crib. I got on the bed, moving to the end of the bed, so that there was no possible way that I could miss touching the crib, even in the dark.  The side of the crib was less than a foot from the end of the double bed. I reached out and no crib.  My heart raced.

I walked up to the wall.  How was I able to walk up to the wall?  The crib was at the foot of my bed!  Still in the dark, I followed the wall all along to the next wall.  Nothing!  I did it one more time, and felt the end of the double bed.  This is crazy!  Where is the crib?  My god, where is the baby?!

I felt around and found the light, which was on the opposite wall of the crib by my bed.  I turned and there was the crib.  Nicole was fine.  She was asleep.  I went over the scene in my mind, feeling the wall.  I even got on the bed again, near the end of it and reached out, to see if there is any possible way that I could have missed the crib.  The crib was longer than the width of the double bed.  There is no way I could have missed touching the crib.  I remember that experience right to this day because it absolutely defied all logic.  It was as if the crib and the baby did not exist, yet when I turned on the light, they both were there.  It was like The Twilight Zone.  It did not make sense.

The next day, I finally decided to call Paul because I was lonely, plus I wanted to tell him about my weird experience.  I was married to a man that I did not love and had his baby that I did not want.  I was not a happy woman, but I called anyway.  He took a bus to the city and got there a couple of hours after I called.  He had brought a 24 of beer.  That night, when Nicole was asleep, he made a strange request.  He wanted to dress up in my clothes and do some role-playing.  He asked me to bind my chest and put on his shirt.  Then he glued some cotton balls together, used magic marker to make it black and made a ‘beard’ for me. I was to be the man and he was to play the woman.  We even altered our voices. It was all so very strange to me, but being young (21), drunk and having missed out on playing games, due to abuse and all the constant moving when I was growing up at my parents, I went along with it.

The Day My World Came to an End

The next day, we went to the park with the baby for a few hours.  Then we went to a small restaurant for lunch.  The place was strangely quiet.  The waitress (who must have been an angel) asked if she could feed Nicole her soup.  I had spent months alone and with the baby day after day.  Even though she was such a good baby, the break was welcomed.  Afterwards, we went back to the apartment.

It was a hot day in the city in June.  The baby was worn out because of the time at the park and was ready for a nap.  When I laid her down and put the blanket over her, I thought that I should sew it first, because the satin border had separated from the wool part of the blanket in places, but I decided that I would do it some other time. I tucked it into the bottom of the crib.  Within minutes, she was asleep.  She looked so sweet with her rosy cheeks that I took a picture of her.

Paul and I went outside to drink beer and talk about moving.  After awhile, I decided that I wanted to change because I had long sleeves on and it was hot out.  When I came in, I could smell that the baby had dirtied herself and needed a diaper change.  She was still asleep, so I decided that I would go to the washroom first, change my clothes, then I would go and change her diaper.  If she woke up, at least I would be changed.

When I finally went to her crib, the blanket was over her head.  I moved it off her face and she looked odd, very gray.  I screamed at the top of my lungs for Paul.  He came running in from outside.  I babbled, ‘Something is wrong with Nicole!’  He picked her up and untangled her from the blanket and began mouth to mouth resuscitation.  I ran upstairs, but the Asian lady was out.  The door to their place was unlocked and I ran to the phone to call 911.  I ran back downstairs. 

Paul had stopped giving mouth to mouth.  ‘Don’t give up Paul!  For f** sakes, don’t give up!  The ambulance is coming!’  It seemed like forever before the ambulance came, but it was actually there very quickly.

I do not remember how we got to the hospital, since we did not have a car.  I only remember the doctor telling me that her EEG was almost flat.  She was comatose, but alive.  I was told that if she lived, she would be a vegetable for the rest of her life.  She was on a life support system. I don’t know how many hours we stayed there, but we stayed for a time.   

The demons in me were stirring up.  I wanted to go home and have a beer, so I could handle this.  Paul agreed. We told the nurses that we had to do something, but we would be back within two hours.  The nurse said that she would call us if there was any change.

How long we were at the house, I am not sure, but I don’t think it was too long.  That is when Paul blurted out that this was probably *T’s fault (his ex-girlfriend).  He said that she had cursed him when he started going out with me.  She was a witch, but not just any witch.  She was about to become a high priestess.  This involved great evil, rituals, sacrifices and much more.  He had seen her kill a black cat and many other things.  ‘This is her doing!  I hate that f’n b**!’  I didn’t know anything about witches, the occult or anything else, except what I had seen on tv, or read in books.  In other words, I really knew nothing about it at all.  ‘That’s b**s, Paul.  Witches aren’t real!’  ‘You’re f’n naïve!’ he retorted.  With that, I went upstairs and called the hospital to tell them that we were on our way back.  

The nurse said, ‘I was just about to call you, Mrs … I’m sorry to tell you that your daughter did not make it. She died about five minutes ago.’  Shock hit me.  I could hear the nurse ask if I was still there.  In that moment I became a fool, as I shouted, ‘There is no God!’  I smashed the receiver down as hard as I could.

Please Wake Up 

The next thing I know, we were at the hospital and someone was asking me if this was my daughter.  I said, ‘Yes.’  Whoever it was said, ‘I’m sorry, could you please say, this is my daughter Nicole [last name].  It’s a formality.’  I complied.  With that I turned to leave the room, but it hit me that I would never see her again.  In that moment, I realized I did love her.  I ran back to the table they had her on. ‘Nicole! Nicole!  Wake up, mommy’s here.’  I went to pick her up, but someone took my arm and pulled me out of the room.  

We sat in a room with five men and women.  I assume they were doctors and nurses because someone stated that if we had any questions, they would answer us.  I could not think of anything; I was feeling nauseous. I had to get up to go to the washroom, but all that came up was dry heaves.

The next thing I remember was the man called Steven.  He was from social services.  Maybe I had called him.  Two detectives had been there shortly before he came.  All I remember is they were dressed as business men and they were so kind and gentle with me.  They had examined her crib and asked if they could take the blanket.  I nodded.  I was going to give them the sleeper that she was dressed in too, but they said it was not necessary.  One of the detectives said, ‘We’re sorry to put you through this, but we have to investigate any accidental death.’  All I really remember is how gentle they were with me.  I was so grateful to them.

When Steven came, he took me into the kitchen area.  He said he had been working hard to get us out of the dark basement.  Then he asked me in a very gentle manner, ‘Did you kill Nicole?’  I looked at him and he seemed to have the face of an angel.  I nodded and said, ‘Yes.’  He said that he understood.  He gave me a hug, said he would be right back and left the apartment.  The next thing I know is that I was in the Forensic unit for the criminally insane.

I called my parents to tell them.  There was no answer.  Everything became a blur again, until I remember that a psychiatrist was questioning me.  He asked me some questions.  He sat at a desk with his back to me, writing down my responses.  Then he said, ‘Did you kill your baby?’  I said, ‘Yes’.  He asked me how I had done it.  I said, ‘I did not sew the blanket.’  He put his pen down, turned in his chair, looked me straight in the eyes and said, ‘You are blaming yourself for her death because you did not sew the blanket?’  I told him that it was my fault that she died because I was an irresponsible mother.  I did not sew the blanket that had strangled her.   

It was my fault that she was dead, I told him.  Yet, deep inside, I carried a deeper grief.  I was the only one who knew that I had wanted to abort her.  I was the only one who knew that I had never wanted her because she was an inconvenience.  I was the only one who knew that I had not realized that I loved her until that moment that they made me identify her as she lay dead on the table.

He gave me some kind of medicine, told me that it was an accidental death and to not blame myself.  I would sit in the lounge for hours, listening to music.  An old song came on by the Bee Gees.  All I remember were the words: Why does the sun go on shining?  Why do the birds sing above?  Don’t say no, it’s the end of the world… it ended when I lost your love.’ My world was over.  Now I was being punished.  I was a wicked woman.  I deserved everything I got.

A priest came by to talk to me.  He asked me if I had anything to confess.  I told him I had killed my daughter.  He asked me how?  I told him I did not sew the blanket that killed her.  Whether it was my imagination or not, it seemed that he looked disgusted as he got up and said, ‘Say 100 Hail Mary’s and 100 Lord’s Prayer.’  Then he left.  I got down and my knees and using my fingers to help me count, I did as he said.  Maybe God would forgive me.

Rejected by Parents 

A few days after Nicole’s passing, I was let out on a pass to go to her funeral.  I do not know how I got there.  When I walked into where her little white coffin was, I saw my parents.  They looked away when I walked in.  At the casket, I screamed no and tried to bring her out, but an undertaker took me to a side room.  A priest gave me a solid silver cross and a white bible that was about 18” long by about 12” wide and approximately four inches thick.  I do not remember going back to the hospital.  My parents never spoke to me or hugged me.

About a week passed since the funeral.  The head psychiatrist called me into his office.  He was an elderly, white-haired man.  He asked several questions.  Suddenly, he began to accuse me of things, such not caring for my daughter and other accusations that I do not recall.  In my mind, I was wondering how he knew these things.  Had I told someone that I had wanted an abortion, but I didn’t carry it out only because I was a failed abortion, so I did not have the courage to do it?  Had I told someone that I didn’t love my husband and that I had not wanted a baby or even be married?  I did love her, but the sad thing is that I did not realize it until after she was gone.

His words became a blur.  Suddenly, I blurted out, ‘You don’t understand!’ and for the first time since I was 14; for the first time in seven years, I cried.  The doctor immediately grabbed a Kleenex, handed it to me.  Then he put his arms around me and said, ‘I’m sorry, but if I did not get you to cry, you would break down in 20 years from now and never relate it to this tragedy.  I had to make you cry because you have not cried since you came in here.’  I did weep, but I did not allow myself to weep for long.  I apologized to him and he told me to cry and keep crying until all the pain is out.  I said that I would, but I did not.  The next day or the day after, I was released.  Nicole's death had been determined to be an accidental death by both the police and hospital.  The case was closed.

I cannot tell you what I ever did with my child’s belongings.  The child that I finally realized was like an angel died when she was 14 months old.  She had lived for 28 hours from the time I had found her in the crib. I moved to a new apartment and had a job working in an office, but I don’t remember moving or beginning the job.  I don’t remember how long I was working in the office before my husband caught me completely off-guard.

Who Was that Man? 

One day when I came home from work, he was sitting on the couch dressed in one of my outfits.  He never did work all the time we were together.   It was pay day and rent time.  I was not in the mood for role-playing.  He sat there all smiles, greeting me in a feminine voice.  He said he wanted to talk to me.  I said okay, grabbed a beer and sat down beside him.  He began with small talk, then, he told me that he had important news to tell me.  He had been thinking about something for a long time, but now he would like to begin the process.  What process I had asked.  He said that he wanted to change his sex to female, to be a transsexual. 

Just as I thought the gang members were joking when I was told that I was kidnapped, I thought my husband was joking about having a sex change.  The gang members were not kidding; neither was my husband.  He asked if I would consider a sex change too because he would like us to remain partners.  My head began spinning.  Surely this was not happening.  This had to be a bad joke.  Could someone please make this nightmare stop?  When I realized that he was not joking, I packed my things, called a cab and left him there, sitting on the couch in my pretty dress.   

I had the taxi stop at the liquor store before I got myself a hotel room, which was not far from the office where I worked.

Surely God was punishing me for the evil of my heart.  I had a beautiful baby girl that never caused me a moment’s trouble, yet I struggled in my heart to accept her.  I did love her, but she had been an inconvenience.  What a horrible person I was.  This was my punishment.  I was married to a man who wanted to be a woman, a man that I had married, but had never loved; a man that I had felt forced to marry by parents who had tricked me, lied to me.  When I got the hotel room, I sat in a chair with a whiskey in my hand.  

Cut the Pain Off

I wanted to die.  My life was ruined.  For five years, it had been hell on earth.  From the kidnapping, to the streets, to an unwanted pregnancy and the death of a beautiful baby girl, to a man who wanted to be a woman.  This life was a dramatic hell hole that was a bottomless pit. 

I went into the bathroom, grabbed a razor blade, cut each wrist several times, then took half a bottle of aspirin and washed it down with a glass of whiskey.   

Awhile later I puked, until only dry heaves came up. The bleeding from the cutting must have stopped.  For the next two days, my ears kept ringing, my stomach was constantly nauseous, I felt indescribably horrible, couldn’t eat and I couldn’t die.  Death would be welcomed… but I was afraid of going to the hell that was not on this earth.  Why, o why was I even born and where was Jesus now?

There is a way that seems right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.  [Prov 16:25]

for His glory

B C Petroff     dovesofthevalleys4@gmail.com

First the Inside of the Cup - Part 8

First the Inside of the Cup – Part 8

April 10, 2012 – [4.10.2012] – 2:02 pm

It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. [Lamentations 3:22]

Doing the testimony has been difficult for me.  My comfort zone has been to speak about the Lord and continuously draw the focus of people to Him.  This is always my goal.  Giving a testimony undoubtedly draws people’s attention to the witness, but ultimately, it is to show forth the glory of Yhwh.  I do not like to talk about me, but I realize that the speaking forth of the testimony truly is for His glory.

So incredible is His agape love, His patience, His longsuffering with sinful man (not gender specific), His willingness to forgive (even the most wretched, the lowliest of the low), to deliver, to save, to heal and to restore those who come to Him humbly, acknowledging/confessing their sins and believing in His Son Y’shua/Jesus who gave His life willingly upon a tree, was buried and resurrected, to reconcile sinful man back to a holy God.  This is where we start our spiritual journey; when we are born from above.

April 12, 2012 – [4.12.2012] – 7:17 am

As you can see, I began writing the above yesterday.  I could not continue yesterday.  Late last night (about 11 pm), I posted ‘By My Spirit’, but I was so exhausted that I could not go into greater depth.  Even today, I shall not say much more about it, as I would like to continue on in the Lord’s will and finish this testimony.

First things first!  The Lord began preparing my mind and heart about three and a half weeks ago for the message I just released:  O Jerusalem – O America, as I shared with you.  The Holy Spirit helped the scriptures to register in my spirit man upon the first reading; however, I set it aside.  Setting it aside does not mean that I did not think about it because I did ponder the meaning of them in present tense a few times.  When we read scripture and a certain passage or verse(s) stand out to us at times.  When the verses continue to come to remembrance and we cannot help but take notice, know that the Lord is at work.  The bible is just a book, but the Word is spirit and it is truth.  We may not completely understand why a particular scripture(s) keeps presenting itself in our mind, but we are aware of it.

When the Lord had me open the bible at the exact same scriptures about a week later, I knew it was not coincidence.  Not only do I not believe in coincidence, but I know my Father.  Even more importantly, the Father knows me.  Of course, flesh can get in the way of my decision making and even the enemy can use scripture to trick me (believers), just as he used the word (scripture) against the Word Y’shua/Jesus, in the time of His temptation in the desert wilderness.

We are instructed to ‘try the spirit to see if it is of God’.  

Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into the world.   

[1Jn 4:1]

Not desiring to take any chances with my flesh or with any devil, as well as to obey instruction, I did try the spirit.  I said to the Lord that if He wanted me to do this, He would have to show me these scriptures a third time.  I suppose you can think of Gideon here; he did not want to take any chances either, hence the story of the fleece.

Nothing happened for over a week, and yes, I read scripture daily.  I briefly entertained the thought that I had ‘deceived myself’ with the scriptures, but I cast down the thought, as I had not acted upon it, therefore no deception had occurred.  We must truly become aware of the tactics and strategies of the enemy.  He is very real and very subtle, very clever (scripture tells us this), but so many deny the fact or they belittle his power.  Remember always, that greater is He (Y’shua) who is in us than he that is in the world, but also remember that if satan dared to tempt Y’shua/Jesus in the desert, he (or any one of his devils) will most surely dare to tempt us.

We have heard the adage: Know your enemy.  This is derived from Sun Wu Tzu’s book called, ‘Art of War’.  Many military strategists and leaders have successfully followed Tzu’s strategies.  We can glean knowledge from many sources.  Sun Tzu’s wisdom can also be applied when dealing with our adversaries, satan and his armies of devils.

Sun Wu Tzu wrote: 

So it is said that if you know your enemies and know yourself, you can win a hundred battles without a single loss.
If you only know yourself, but not your opponent, you may win or may lose.
If you know neither yourself nor your enemy, you will always endanger yourself.

The word of God says:

Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walks about, seeking whom he may devour. [1Pet 5:8]

The Lord had moved on me to celebrate Passover (I had given up all holidays in 2006 when the Lord showed me the origins).  Yes, I have heard many believers say, ‘…but God sees the heart’ etc regarding their celebrating Christmas and Easter.  It is not up for debate.  I judge no person on these things, as they remain between the Lord and each believer.  I can only speak from my standpoint.)  

The year 2006 was also the first (and last until this year) time that I celebrated Passover.  I did not have any rabbi or pastor or anyone to show me the proper way.  I simply took direction from the scriptures.  That year, that first Passover, humbled me so greatly, as each step of the Passover drew me closer and closer to the real Lamb, the True One without spot or blemish.  It is His blood upon the doorposts and lintel of the heart that causes the destroyer to pass over.  When we walk as Y’shua/Jesus walked, the enemy cannot have us; we are sealed by the blood of the True Lamb!

The Lord made celebrating Passover very simple for me and I realize that fact now. I have read how the Jewish people celebrate Passover and my head spun with all the details.  I simply began at evening (6 pm) observing the Sabbath and Passover meal.  The first Passover celebration, there were some details that I could not fulfill, but the Lord did honor what I did.  More detail will be given later in testimony.

So this year, on the morning of the day when all who celebrate Passover would begin, I grabbed my bible and prayed as usual for the Lord to lead me to the verses that He wanted me to read that day.  It was this day, the day that Passover would commence, the day that was symbolic of the destroyer passing over the houses of those who had applied the blood of a lamb upon their doorposts and lintel; the celebration of the exodus of the Israelites from Egypt that the Lord led me the third time to the scriptures that I shared with you in O Jerusalem-O America.

When I saw this scripture for the third time within a three and a half week period:

     Cut off your hair, O Jerusalem, and cast it away, and take up a lamentation on high places; for the LORD has rejected and forsaken the generation of His wrath.  [Jer 7:29]

… my heart ached.  It is true that my hair was down to the middle of my back.  It is true that I love long hair, for two reasons.  The first because of the following scripture (which I posted in the original article):

But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering. [1Cor 11:15] 

To me long hair is also symbolic of submission; submission to the Lord and submission to His proper order of things.  Secondly, there was still that child in me, the one in the orphanage, whose hair was cut off against my will; whose hair made me think upon my mother who had played with my hair a few times on her visits to me in the orphanage.

The Lord knew all this.  Nothing gets past Him; He is omniscient (all knowing, knows everything).  He knew it would be a hard thing for me to do; it would not be something I would take lightly.  He also caused me to understand the symbolism in it (I am not all-wise; He is).  Part of me did not want to know what it meant; part of me did not want the Lord coming to this point in His position; part of me would not mind if He asked someone else to do this.  I would support them in it, Lord… but alas!  He chooses us all to do different things, yet it all comes together like the tapestry that is interwoven.  It truly is for our sakes, but for His glory.

I finished reading the scriptures that He was leading me to read; then, I closed the bible and sat there numbly for a few moments.  ‘It really is going down, isn’t it Lord?  It really is upon America; it really is upon all the nations of the world… Your judgment… isn’t it?’  That still small voice simply said ‘Yes’, and I could hear both grief and righteous anger at the same time (hard to describe that).

I went outside and looked at the trees, the flowers, the grass, and listened to the birds and the bugs that make noises.  I listened to someone mow the lawn and was aware of passing cars along the country (small) two-lane highway.  Life goes on and my heart was breaking.  The people Lord, the people…

Before I cut my hair, when I had the scissors in my hand, I asked, ‘How much Lord?  Bald or short like a man’s…?’  I really did not know how much to cut off.  The whole message, the symbolism, what it stood for, as well as cutting my long hair was hard for me, but my Father knew I could handle it.  He formed me in my mother’s womb.

‘To the shoulders; with a remnant remaining…  I still have My people here and more shall come into the kingdom.  Though it shall be a remnant, still they are Mine.  My glory is not lifted from those who are Mine, those who walk in My ways.’  I began to cut.  I am no hairdresser, so it was a straight cut, which I think is also symbolic.  Then I took the foot or so of my hair outside to the fire pit, where it remained untouched until yesterday.

When the Lord moved on me yesterday, letting me know that it was time to proceed, I stalled.  This is not something I take lightly, arrogantly or foolishly.  This grieves me so much, but how much more the Creator of all things?!  Tears flow so easily… when you hear my testimony, you will see that all this weeping you hear me speak of nowadays from me is in itself, a miracle of the Most High. 

I stalled by setting fire to a few of the many red ant hills in my yard.  Yet, even in the burning of the anthills, as I watched the ants running to try and escape, I thought upon the people of America (and in Yhwh/God’s time), even Canada and Mexico and other nations.  I sobbed more.  People will be running for their lives, trying to escape.

After about 45 minutes or so, I did what I had to do.  I lit the hair in the fire pit on fire.  The hair itself quickly burned.  Ichabod - the glory of the Lord has departed.

For the Lord thy God is a consuming fire, even a jealous God.

For our God is a consuming fire.  [Deu 4:24; Heb 12:29]

I break out in tears easily, but the reason is multi-faceted.  In part, it is due to what I have just shared here regarding the glory of the Lord departing.  It is also due that which is coming.  Will the people recognize God’s judgment and turn to Him?  The whole purpose of judgment is to bring people to repentance.  Yet, Yhwh’s wrath is yet another matter.  His judgment and His wrath are two different things.

Tears are also due to the cleansing that heals inwardly, as I continue in my testimony.  I have been told to ‘not to focus on the things around you’, but to focus on the Lord.  I have also heard not to focus on myself, but to focus on the Lord.  Brethren, I do understand these things and I do agree.

However, when the Lord asks us to do something, we must carry it through.  This testimony must go forth.  He wants to heal and help many; it truly is not just about me.  I am learning and have learned (glory to the King), that we cannot be swayed by the opinions of men.  I have been learning this by the power of the Holy Spirit, as well as through the vessels that He has spoken through.   

The Lord had actually taught me this a few years back, but there are times that the opinions of people moved me.  This cannot be says our Lord, especially when we are persecuted for His name’s sake.  We must do this now before we are in the thick of it.  If only we could see how blessed we were, compared to other believers in other nations, who have suffered persecution to the point of torture… to the point of death.  Our turn fast approaches.  Now is the time to learn (quickly) not to be easily swayed or moved.  

Articles that I was led to by the Holy Spirit (we learn to recognize His hand, no matter which vessel He uses), were articles written by a man named Joseph Herrin who speaks about the opinions of men and the hard lessons that he himself had to learn in this area (as we all do)!

I also hear the Holy Spirit speaking through many of the brethren that email me (we learn to discern His voice – again, through the His vessels).  I am grateful for my family, the true brethren. I take none of the true brethren for granted because I too learned my lessons the hard way.

Perhaps now, you see why I was exhausted last night…emotionally drained.  My prayers are increased, as is my worship to the Lord.  This is His doing!  I give thanks.   Included now in my prayers is asking the Lord to remember mercy in His judgments and in His wrath.

O Lord, I have heard thy speech and was afraid: O Lord, revive thy work in the midst of the years, in the midst of the years make known; in wrath, remember mercy! [Hab 3:2]

I believe with all my heart that Yhwh/God will indeed remember mercy; but I also believe that there will be those who will not recognize His mercy nor will they turn to Him.  This alone is a grievous thought.

On a closing note regarding this topic, my landlady stopped by today for a few moments.  She called before coming, as she always does, so I prayed to the Father that if I was to speak to her about what is coming, then she would have to mention my cut hair.  I like my landlady and her husband very much, but they are atheists.  

Once before, I had tried to speak to the landlady about Y’shua/Jesus when she drove me to the store, about a year ago (I do not own a vehicle at this time).

She was impatient with my witnessing, abruptly ending it with ‘I don’t believe in Jesus or any ‘God’.’  To that I simply said, ‘Okay, no problem.’  I realized then that the Lord had not prepared her heart; that I was going ahead of Him at that time.

The Sign

So today before she came, I prayed and the ‘sign’ I asked of the Lord if I should speak to my landlady was that she was to comment on my cut hair.  As stated, she did not stay long, as she was on her way to work.  She was walking out the door, when she turned and said, ‘You cut your hair.  It looks nice.’  I personally don’t think it looks nice, as I’m not a hairdresser.  I parted it in the middle on top and at the back, put one section over each shoulder and cut it straight across.  Yikes!

That was my cue; she had mentioned the cut hair.  I started with, ‘It means something.  Are you interested in hearing what it means?’  I could tell she meant it when she said, “Yes, I am…”  So, I proceeded to tell her, in a synopsis, what it all meant.  She was actually listening.  I could see it on her face and in her body language.  Respecting the fact that she was on her way to work, I tried to make it short and to the point.

I did throw in the scripture [2Pet 3:9] about how the Lord is not slow in His promise (of returning), as some men count slackness, but is longsuffering toward us, not willing that any should perish (not you, not me I added), but that all (you, me, your husband, all) should come to repentance. Then, I mentioned earthquakes (yes, I included the New Madrid) and dormant volcanoes that will blow. She shrugged stating, ‘That’s happening now.’  To which I agreed and then added about war coming to this land of America.  Again, she stated that everyone knew that.

Undaunted (the Lord gives us boldness), I further stated, ‘[her name here], it will get so chaotic with all these things plus martial law, people turning on each other and stuff, that people will either shake their fists at God or cry out for His mercy…

Broken… people will be broken, realizing that they have fallen short of the glory of a holy God (and we all fall short of His glory [her name], but we just don’t fall the same way.  My sins aren’t your sins and vice versa.  I pray [her name] that you and [her husband’s name] will be broken, just as I was broken [her name], and that you will turn to God because of what Jesus Christ did for us all.’

‘You will likely go away and forget these words, no problem, I carry on with life also… but when all these things go down [her name], you will remember these words because the Holy Spirit will bring them to your remembrance. 

(At this point her face is very serious.  She is listening because this time, the Lord prepared her heart!  This was His doing!) I ended with, ‘I know the Holy Spirit will bring it to your remembrance [her name] because our Creator, the Great Spirit Chief, loves you and [her husband’s name].  We all know that we will die one day and many have wondered about an after-life.  There is a life that can be spent with our Creator and our Savior, Jesus, but we must acknowledge our sins and what Jesus did for us upon that tree and cry out to the one who made us.  I pray that in the time of unimaginable chaos, you remember these words… that He is reaching out to you even now, and that you both will turn to God. All these things that are coming will come suddenly.  No one knows when exactly, it will be fast, sudden.  I pray He shows you favor, as you and your husband have shown me favor.’

I thanked her for listening, adding that I realized she had to get to work and that I didn’t want to take up more of her time.  She thanked me, adding ‘be safe’ and left.  I give glory to the Lord because He did prepare her heart.  He did give me the sign I needed to know if I should speak or not.  Now the rest is in His hands.  What a good, gracious, merciful and loving God we serve!

For man also knows not his time: as the fishes that are taken in an evil net, and as the birds that are caught in the snare; so are the sons of men snared in an evil time, when it falls suddenly upon them.   

[Ecc 9:12]

Moving On

Now, I move on to my testimony.  My desire is to finish the testimony, not only because you will see just how merciful our Creator is, in saving the likes of me, but also so my inner healing will be completed.  I would also like to finish it so that those who think I should hush up and not focus on myself will see how good God is too.  I have stated that I have never once given a full testimony; only fragments and pieces of my life here and there.  We have to follow His leading, no matter how difficult it is and no matter who may try to hinder us from doing so.  I am learning so much, thanks to the Lord.

Once again, I forewarn readers that if you are of a sensitive nature, or cannot handle gory details, please refrain from reading.  You see, the problem I am facing here is this.  If I try to whitewash this testimony, or if I gloss or even skip over certain parts, the reader will never come to see fully what an incredible Savior Y'shua/Jesus is.  If I do not show you the darkness in my life, how will you fully appreciate what He did for me?  I realize that many of you did not fall so far from His glory, but still, we all fall short.  The Word says so.  If my testimony can help even one see the depth of the Lord's mercy and grace, is that not what we all desire?  Do we all not desire to help even one who is held by the grips of the wicked, evil one?  Yes, it is our desire.

With that being said, please proceed with caution, having been forewarned the best way I know how.

Street Life

When I arrived in the city of Toronto and all my belongings were stolen, I did call my parents, collect (which I hated to do) and spoke with my mother.  She listened and then she said, ‘Well, if you weren’t so stupid about everything, your things wouldn’t have been stolen.  You made your bed, now lie in it!’  With that, she angrily hung up the phone.  I stared at the receiver for a moment in disbelief, then I smashed it down, yelling, ‘You f’n b**!  I hate you!’

Finding a bench, I went and sat down and fumed.  The demons in me did not let me know that they were in me; they were covert.  I knew nothing of demons or the transference of evil spirits from one person to another, or of generational curses.  My thoughts were filled with anger and hatred and I received them.  Unforgiveness had produced a bitter root, and I felt justified for every inch of it, but I didn’t know anything about that either.

I had gone to Social Services before I called my mother, figuring that I could get a ‘loan’ from my parents and promise to pay them back (which I would have done), then maybe, they would help me.  After all, they did have a lot of money.  However, a person needs ID (identification) to apply for help from the government.  To obtain ID, I needed a piece of ID to get ID…grrr, a vicious circle.  My anger escalated. ‘I hate this life!’ I thought, ‘…and I hate my parents!’  Yes, the demons were active, but I felt it was all me.  It was me in part (my flesh), but demons work with the sinful nature, the flesh.

In many ways, I had given up at this point.  Seventeen years old, no place to go, no one who cared, parents who hated me, had a boyfriend for two days but I wasn’t good enough, he found someone else quickly, and now I was a ‘whore’… life was over for me, as far as I was concerned.  I did not know or understand that I could have gone back to the shelter.  Due to the turnover of people that the shelter got each day, they only promised shelter (lodging) for one night.  What I did not know is that people just return, day after day, so that they can actually stay at the shelter that way for 6-12 weeks, depending on their situation.  Families usually had the 12 week advantage.

For two years, I lived on the streets.  If I slept (there were many sleepless nights), I would find shelter in a 24 hour Laundromat, a stairwell in an apartment building, sit in a 24 hour greasy spoon café, doorways and occasionally, in a house on a hard floor, with no pillow or blanket.

Sometimes I would panhandle, but many times, I refused to.  I would sit outside office buildings or bus stations, hoping someone would offer me something.  In fact, many times, someone who got used to seeing my face and figured things out, would give me a few dollars for food, or even bring me some food and drink.  I would go to public washrooms that were not too busy, wait for ladies to leave and wash my hair (rinse it in water) and sponge bath (quickly and carefully).  

People come and go on the streets, even the homeless.  Sometimes I made friends and we would hang together for a few weeks.  This was also how I got food because most of them didn’t mind panhandling.  I hated it, but that was pride.  Pride, can you imagine, someone like me having any form of pride?  I did panhandle, but I tried to avoid it.  Pride is so subtle, but demons can be even more subtle.  They do not always display their presence, as most people think.  They prefer to hide.  After all, satan’s greatest deception is convincing people that he does not exist.  Demons prefer to hide, to do their evil work in darkness, undetected.

Most of my street life is a blur.  I existed, but now I know that I existed by the very grace of Yhwh/God Himself.  A few incidences that I do recall affected me strongly.  It should be said here that while I was on the street, I was introduced to ‘speed’ or ‘meth’, which is short for methamphetamine.  It is a one of the psychoactive drugs and it was readily available on the street.  In my wanderings, I met drug dealers; who would oftentimes give me a free ‘hit’ to help me survive on the streets.

I did not prostitute (except once), but there were times that I stole something from a store to get another ‘hit’.  It was only a couple of times, but once is one time too many.  Only once did I do a drug dealer a physical ‘favor’ to get a hit, but that once was one time too many. (That was being a whore, not a prostitute; there is a difference.)  

How I managed to get the free hits is beyond me.  I enjoyed the euphoria I got, the ‘confidence’ it gave (false confidence) and the ‘rush’ of the drug soaring through my veins throughout my body. It helped me to forget… to forget that I was unlovable.  Even my own parents hated me.  I had to be a bad person, if my own parents, especially my real mother, hated me.  

Demonic Possession/Oppression

The demons are very convincing.  They work through people (usually those who are close to us), and they work through circumstances.  Demons also work through strangers, as well as objects. The adversaries gladly help us to make wrong choices, wrong decisions, by injecting powerful thoughts into our mind, which we believe are our thoughts.  We are very capable of having our own wicked thoughts ourselves, without any demon.  Our hearts are wicked, but we do not see this in ourselves.  We do not realize that every one of us has the potential to do great evil. Most people choose not to do evil.  Yet, how much more wickedness are we capable of, if we succumb to the imaginations that demons inject, and to the temptations they present to us?

And they said, There is no hope: but we will walk after our own devices, and we will every one do the imagination of his evil heart.  [Jer 18:12]

Casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ [2Cor 10:5]

The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?

I the LORD search the heart, I try the reins, even to give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings. 

[Jer 17: 9, 10]

My ways and the fruit of my doings were evident.  If God was searching my heart, I was surely revealing a bitter root and much wickedness.

Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right. [Prov 20:11]

My work was not pure or right.  I could justify everything by what had happened in my life, but it would not change the fact that my heart was wicked and my ways were impure and not right.  I had had legions of demons transferred to me through the rapes by the gang members.  I also took on the demons of anyone else I became involved with intimately.  Few people understand about the transference of demons, but the Lord warns us clearly.

Lay hands suddenly on no man, neither be partaker of other men’s sins: keep thyself pure. [1Tim 5:22]

(I interject here that the above scripture pertains to believers.  The unsaved do not know any better.  Be very careful who you allow to touch you and who you touch.  Transference of demons is a reality that few admit to, and fewer still even realize.  The word of Yhwh/God admonishes us.  Heed the word!)

The Final Hit

Through other people, I met Tammy.  She was a year older than me, eighteen years old.  Her boyfriend was in prison for dealing speed.  She took over his ‘business’ while he was inside.  She lived with her grandfather, who was a nice man of 72, but he did not know his granddaughter was into drugs.  Tammy took me to her house one time so I could have a shower.  I soaked in a bath first, then, showered.  She also gave me a few tops and some jeans to keep, as well as a bag to carry things around (backpack).

We would hit up in her room (I always had other people hit me up), then we would go out to sell the ‘stuff’.  She couldn’t let me stay there (her grandpa had said no because she explained I was a ‘street kid’…can’t trust a street kid), but he didn’t mind me visiting.  My parents had taught me some good things, such as being polite, respecting my elders, behaving in someone else’s house, take off your shoes when entering someone’s house, etc.  Despite being on speed, these things were ingrained in me.  Even now, I have to give the glory to my Creator.  He is the one who made me.  Any good in me was and is His doing, as far as I’m concerned.

Anyway, one time Tammy met me on the street and she was extremely stressed out.  She and I had had too many ‘freebies’ and she was short of cash for her ‘distributor’.  She was in fear, but I really did not know why.  We went into the public washroom at a restaurant and did a ‘hit’.  She needed some ‘courage’ because she had to go meet ‘her people’ and asked if I would go with her.  I agreed, since I had nothing better to do, plus she had just given me a free high.  How selfish addicts are! (By this time, I had been on the streets nearly a year and a half.)  We arrived at a very posh apartment (penthouse) via taxicab.

We were in a part of the city that I was unfamiliar with; a part that was out of the projects (ghetto) and downtown area; a part in a very nice neighborhood.  We went to the penthouse and a man in a business suit opened the door.  There were two men in the apartment; both in suits.  They told me that they had business to discuss with Tammy.  I was to make myself at home until they were done; I nodded and they took Tammy into another room.  The apartment was astounding.  My parents were extremely well off and I had seen some eloquent things, but this apartment was something else.  There was a huge mirror behind the leather couch.

I looked at a couple of the paintings, which were marvelous.  The frames were wood, with hints of real gold.  Then I sat down on the couch (like the good girl my parents taught me to be), looking at the unique sound system, delicate vases and exquisite plants, and waited.  I did not touch anything, or snoop around, just sat.  It was not long before Tammy came out.  The men greeted me farewell, as we shook hands.  My step-father had taught me to show respect to people, particularly to men.  I thanked them and Tammy and I left.

Tammy was very quiet in the elevator.  She was a very pretty blonde girl, with a small-framed body.  My mother was about 5’5”, also a small-framed person.  She used to call me fat because she was on the skinny side.  My bones are medium, not small. Tammy and I were both on the small side now though, because speed made me lose weight.  At the time, I myself was skinny.  Once outside, we hailed a taxi.  When we got in, I finally asked Tammy what was wrong.

She told me that her distributors were not pleased that she was short on the money she owed them; however, they gave her a new supply, a smaller supply of meth.  There is always a profit to be made when selling drugs.  That’s why people sell them.  They told her that with this smaller supply, she could not ‘keep her profit’, but would have to ‘pay them what she owed them’.  She didn’t want to mess up the business for her boyfriend.  He had already been in prison for five years and was due to come out in a year.

Yet, by nightfall, Tammy was being capricious.  Drugs cause people to be unpredictable, untrustworthy.  She decided that we should go to a house party that some people were having.  She figured she could get rid of her supply there and be in good with her ‘people’ again.  Little did I know that her people were linked to mafia, whether it was Chinese, Italian, Greek or who, I will never know.  The huge mirror on the wall behind the couch had been a two-way mirror.  She thanked me for ‘being cool’ when we were there.  I had to ask what a two-way mirror was.  (I know, I know, don’t say it… I was way naive).  She told me that on my side, I saw a mirror, but on their side, it was like tinted glass and they could watch everything that I was doing.  Whoa!  I had no idea!

Admittedly, there had been the most beautiful marble box on the coffee table, which was small.  I could have easily slipped it into my pocket, so I could get a ‘fix’ by trading it.  The thought occurred to me, but I did not give into the thought.  The demons tempted me, but again, the Lord must have helped me.  Tammy proceeded to invite other people to the party.  Before I knew it, there were about ten or eleven of us who were going to go.  Tammy said she would pay for the cab, but someone else had to chip in.  I had no money, but a couple of people said that they had a few bucks to throw in.

When the taxicabs came, we all clamored to get in.  In the excitement, Tammy ended up in one cab and I ended up in the cab with strangers.  I had tried to say, ‘I’m with Tammy’, but no one cared and I got pushed aside.  There was a problem though.  No one in the cab I was in knew the exact address.  One guy said he thought he knew where the place was, but when we got to the area, he couldn’t figure out which place it was, so we had to go back downtown to hang out.  We were all ‘bummed out’ because we could not find the place where the party was.

I don’t know where I slept that night, or even if I did sleep because I was high, but the next morning, some people were talking.  I had seen them around before so I went up to see what they were talking about.  It turned out that they were talking about the house party that Tammy and I were supposed to go to.  Tammy made it to the party because she knew the address.  Now she was in the hospital, along with two others.  She had gotten what was known as a ‘hot shot’.  A couple of people had gone to the hospital to see her.

They told me not to go to the hospital.  They said that Tammy had done a ‘hit’ that was mixed with strychnine and her body was turning black.  They didn’t think she would make it.  They also said the place was ‘crawling with cops’, questioning everyone who went to see her at the hospital.  About two or three hours later, the report came that Tammy had died.  Eighteen years old and Tammy was now dead!  She had her final hit and now she was gone!  The talk was that she crossed the wrong people and paid for it with her life.  I do not know if the other two people lived or died.

I thought of the apartment and the men in business suits.  I thought of her words when she told me that she could not ‘keep the profit’ and that she had to ‘pay them what she owed them’.  If I had of been with her, I would have been one of the others that ended up in the hospital.  The three of them had hit up out of the new supply, but when they all had bad reactions after ‘main-lining’ (injected into the vein); no one else touched the drugs.  An ambulance was called and the party ended.  Her grandfather was going to be so broken up.  He had already lost his wife.  Now he lost his granddaughter, who was more like a daughter to him because he raised her for many years.  She was his life, his girl.  I had once told Tammy that she was lucky to have family that loved her.

I never did know who the men were, or where the apartment was.  It was a part of the city that I was unfamiliar with.  I never mentioned to anyone ever that I had gone anywhere with her, besides her grandfather’s, neither did I ever mention what had transpired that day.  That was the day I learned that one has to be very careful on the streets, especially if involved in the drug scene.  The wrong choice could mean your life!

Rabbit

There are three more memories that stand out from that time on the streets.  One time, three males and I were going to a Frenchman’s apartment to get a hit of speed.  When he opened up the door to greet us, I said, ‘How’s it going, motherf**r?’  The next thing I know, I was picking myself up off the floor.  How long I was out, I do not know.  He was called, ‘Rabbit’ and now I know why; he was famous for his ‘rabbit punches’ (a blow to the neck).

When I came to, a couple of the males picked me up. ‘What happened?’ I asked.  In his heavy French accent, Rabbit said, ‘Don’t you ever call me a mudderf**r again!’  I apologized and said that I heard the guys call him that before, so I thought it meant that they liked him, like a term of endearment.  Rabbit was a man who was about 6’3”, very skinny and in his mid-thirties.  I do not know if it was my age, my ignorance or what, but he broke out laughing, which made the others laugh.  They had been silent up to this point.  He said, ‘A woman don’t say dese kinda tings to a man.  It’s insult.’  He invited us into his apartment, where his wife was holding a baby about a year old and three other children sat around her.  Rabbit sold the guys some stuff and gave us permission to ‘hit up’ there.  As soon as the hit coursed through me, I said that I wanted to go to sleep.  This was not a normal reaction to speed, as a person typically wants to go, go, go.  My nose began to bleed.

Someone said, ‘Rabbit, she’s over-amped.  Her nose is bleeding.’  Before I knew it, a second hit was put in my arm.  I was asked if I was tired now and I shook my head no, saying I felt ‘normal’.  I was told that I was over-dosing on the meth, so they hit me up with Seconal, a ‘downer’.  They said they knew they had given me too much ‘speed’ when I said I was tired and my nose began to bleed.  I was okay.

Harsh Reality

Two other memories stand out in my mind.  A man about 5’2”, very stocky, calling himself ‘Eros’ (counterpart was Cupid, god of love and lust) made friends with me.  One time a few of us were standing around on the street talking, when three beautiful females approached us.  We all stood around talking for about 15-20 minutes before the girls left.  I made a passing comment about their beauty, but their voices were weird.  Eros and a couple of males laughed, saying, ‘Don’t you know?’  I thought that maybe they were famous or something, which is why they were laughing at me.  ‘They’re transvestites!’ one man said.  I was quiet and he continued, ‘You know…guys who like to dress up in women’s clothing; cross-dressers!’  I could not believe it. Those beautiful women were men!  I had never heard or seen such things.

Later that night, Eros took me to his place to do a hit.  Afterwards, I was so high that I could barely move.  Then, he said that he had to go pick up some ‘stuff’.  He gave me a package that contained enough meth for one hit, with instructions not to do it or give it to anyone, no matter who asks, until he got back.  I agreed.  After he left, there was a knock on the door.  It was one of the transvestites looking for a hit.  I explained that Eros would be back soon, but I couldn’t give her/him anything.  The person begged me repeatedly, but I was afraid to go against what was Eros said.  He was known on the street as a brawler.

Eventually, Eros came back.  The transvestite told him that I wouldn’t sell him the hit.  I ended up getting kicked in the head with his boot that had a steel toecap on it.  ‘You f’n idiot!’  he yelled.  I protested and repeated his instructions, as I wiped the blood from my forehead.  He told me that he had not meant Sunny [transvestite’s street name].  He sold Sunny the hit, then he turned on me, put his hands around my throat and began to choke me.  He would not let go of his stranglehold, but kept his grip.

I Got the Point

I tried to speak, but no words came out. I was losing breath.  I kicked my feet to try and get him off me.  I could not breathe.  I must have passed out.  I woke up screaming underneath a tree.  Eros and Sunny had thought I was dead, so they moved me outside to make the death look random and to remove the evidence from Eros’ place.  The transvestite Sunny, said, ‘Oh gawd, she’s alive!’  Eros said, ‘Shhh!  Are you ok?  I’m sorry man, I lost it.  Are you okay?’  Grabbing my throat, I nodded.  I was alive.  Sunny left muttering something about how I scared the living ** out of her/him.   I was barely recovered when Eros told me that he had to go to deliver some stuff and he wanted me to carry it for him because if we got busted, the ‘cops’ would be easier on me than him.

I didn’t want to do it.  He freaked out again and took out his knife, saying, ‘You will f’n do it b**ch, or I will kill you!’ I nodded.  I was petrified. All the way to the destination, he held the knife to my back, by my left kidney and I was sure that he was going ‘stick it to me’.  I had determined that if I saw a police car, I would jump out in front of it.  Then the cop would stop, save me and arrest Eros, but no police car came by.  When we arrived at the place, Eros put away his knife, warning me not to say a word.  I waited outside for him for a long time.  On the way back to his place, he acted as if nothing happened.  I told him I had to go meet [someone] and he just ‘thanked’ me for helping him.  He was so messed up on meth.  The demons were active that night.  What a dangerous world when drugs are involved.  On the street, you learn to move around.  You learn to never stay in one place for too long.

A Matter of Division

One other memory was when some of the crew introduced me to *K.  He was a 49 year old parolee from prison, 32 years my senior.  I never did find out what he was in prison for, but he was there for 25 years.  He offered me a meal at his place.  I had not eaten in weeks.  He also said that afterwards he would give me a free hit of meth.  I went over to his place because I was hungry and because I could get high after I had eaten.  K said there was a girl around my age that he thought I might like to meet.  The girl was 10 years older than me at the time. 

Cindy (the woman) was 28 and I had turned 18 a few months earlier.  He was drinking vodka, whereas Cindy and I did not drink.  Before I knew it, K wanted me to kiss her. He said that when he was in prison, all he ever dreamt about was two women ‘doing it’.  I was stunned.  Cindy understood that I was not bi-sexual.  She whispered, ‘Just give me a quick kiss, so he will forget about it.’  I was completely embarrassed, but I gave her a quick peck on the mouth.

That was not enough for the demons in K.  He wanted us to ‘get it on’.  I absolutely could not do that and I told him so.  He drew back his arm and threw the 40 ounce vodka bottle at me.  I turned my head and the bottle hit my ear, dividing my earlobe in half.  Only a couple drops of blood fell upon the shoulder of my shirt.  ‘I will take care of this.  Don’t feel bad… I understand.’ Cindy whispered.  She talked him into going into the bedroom with her.  He passed out in there.

The next morning, K came out of the bedroom with Cindy, saying that he would take me to the hospital to get stitches, but I was to tell the hospital staff that I tripped and hit my head on the curb of the road. If I mentioned anything about what happened, I would pay for it.  I was afraid, so I agreed.  He dropped me off at the hospital.  When I was there, waiting for medical attention, I decided that I had to leave the city and the drugs.  The doctor told me that if I had waited much longer, he would not have been able to repair the ear. I was supposed to take a taxi back to K’s place and he would pay for it. Instead, I pan-handled enough money for bus fare and rode the public transportation to the end of the line, nearest to the city limits as possible.  I hitchhiked to the town that I had gone to high school in, but I saw no one I knew on the streets.  No one there knew me anymore.  

How Else but God?

Everything is a blur at this point, just as much of my time on the streets is gone from my memory.  I had been on the streets for just shy of two years, yet most of my memories (except for a couple of minor ones) are what I have testified to.  Perhaps shutting things out was a coping mechanism for me, or perhaps the demons were stronger than I thought.

Somehow I managed to secure a room to rent and get a job as a nursing assistant in a nursing home, but I am not sure how I did this.  I was no longer on drugs, had gone through some withdrawals alone and tried to get my life back on track.  Perhaps I do not remember how I got the job or room because of the withdrawals from meth.  

 Undoubtedly, the Lord must have helped me off the drugs and away from street life.  How else can it be explained?  Most people do not just quit speed ‘cold turkey’, without going back for a fix.  This had to be God’s providence.  After all, Jesus had told me that He would always be with me.

Betrayal Again

I loved working with the elderly.  At times, I got angry at some of the young girls who were assisting because they would not turn over bedridden patients and they would end up with horrific bedsores.  They seemed rough and impatient with some people because they ‘took too long’ eating.  Since I was the newest recruit, I was often given the job of cleaning the patients who had excrement on themselves.  

*Mindy was one of my coworkers, who tried befriending me.  We would talk during lunch break and I told her a little about my time doing speed.  I told her that I had quit ‘cold turkey’ and had not done any since I had left the city.  She seemed like a nice girl who accepted me.  I needed a friend.  She was a pretty blonde, even though she was quite a bit overweight.  I liked her.

Once when I saw her being rough with a patient at mealtime, I told her (after we were alone) that if she ever wanted to switch with me, I could feed the patient and she could make beds.  She liked that, or so I thought.  The next day, I was called into the supervisor’s office.  The supervisor told me that the nursing home had to let me go because they were informed that I was a ‘speed freak’, who had to have my daily fixes.  Immediately, I knew who had told them this because I had only shared that part of my life with one girl, Cindy.  Embarrassed, I explained how I had tried that for a ‘time’ in my life, but that I was clean, no longer on drugs.  The supervisor did not listen and I was fired.

On the way out of the locker room, I saw Cindy.  I ‘thanked’ her for getting me fired.  She said that she didn’t mean to get me fired, but just that she wanted me on a different shift than her.  She gave ‘drug use’ as the reason, but told me that she was actually angry at me for suggesting we ‘switch’ jobs if feeding patients was too much for her.  She said that she had thought that I would get her fired.  I felt betrayed and angry.  Cindy and I never saw each other again. Bitterness was growing deeper inside of me.

My room was in a 200 year old, two-storey house in the quiet part of town, on a shady backstreet.  The room was small, but it was such a nice room compared to the one I had rented in the city.  It had dark hardwood floors, an antique dresser and a little antique vanity desk that I could sit at to do my hair and makeup.  There was only one other person living in the house.  Old Dave (as he was called) was a 78 year old man, whose parents had owned the house.  He kept one bedroom to himself.  He was a good man, a quiet man.  We got along just fine.

I got myself a job in one of the two restaurants in town.  It was a restaurant by day and a tavern/restaurant at night.  For the first few months, I could only serve food because I was not 19 yet.  It was a good job to me because I made many tips.  Who knows?  Maybe everything would be alright after all.  Jesus was the farthest thing from my mind, yet little did I know that He was the one I was going to need the most!

for His glory

B C Petroff              dovesofthevalleys4@gmail.com