I was born and named, but I wasn’t supposed to make it. I was loved and claimed, but still, I wasn’t supposed to make it. I was born In West Philadelphia to a seventeen -year -old girl who had epilepsy, and a father who had a drug, and alcohol addiction. My mother only lived eight months after I was born. I never knew her, nor could I remember seeing her face. Yet, I found myself crying for her many nights. This void in my life was supposed to destroy me, and I wasn’t supposed to make it.

 It was March 5, 1975 when my mother died in her sleep. You can say that my father died that day also, because he was the one who found my mother in her forever rest. He was so hurt and depressed. Drugs and alcohol replaced me, and in that brief moment I was mother and fatherless. I know that it must have been very hard coming in and finding your wife dead a week after you celebrated your 1 year Wedding Anniversary (February 23). Unable to deal with the pain, he continued in his addiction and sold his soul to lust and drugs. He remained in bondage for my entire childhood. I grew up without an example of a real man in my life. And as I searched for love I always found pain.

 I was raised by my mother’s mother and she did the best that she could. She raised me along with my two older male cousins. My aunt died six months after my mother in the same year! She was only 23 at the time of her death. My grandmother lost two children in a matter of months. When she took all of us to raise, she was 62 years old. She was deeply hurt, yet, very strong. She had to be. She was raising an eight month old baby, a three, and a five-year old!

When I turned 13, I started to seek love elsewhere because my grandmother no longer accepted me for who I was, or who I was becoming. She said things to me at times that caused scars that no one on earth could heal. For example; I was called a slut when I was still a virgin. I searched for anyone and anything to fill what she emptied. Yet, I always found myself in pools of pain. I then began to try to drink my sorrows away.

When she couldn’t do anything else with, or for me, she sent me to live with my father. I was 14 years old when that happened. My father had been clean for a while and everyone thought this would be better for me. I had maintained an F average all that prior school year and my grandmother was at a lost. Living with my father was very depressing, so, they allowed me to return home to Philly at the end of the school year. The truth was, no matter where I was I was going to be unhappy. No best friend would keep me, no guy would love me, and not many would accept me. I just wasn’t supposed to make it.

I can still hear the strong, yet, powerless voices, “Why bother going to school, you’ll still be dumb? You aren’t worth nothing, and you’ll never be nothing!” It’s funny how you start to believe others and their opinions become your facts about yourself. If for a second you start to believe you are special, and important, you quickly tell yourself you’re lying. I mean, everyone can’t be wrong, can they? Then, your goals seem unobtainable and your dreams seem unreachable. You have this strong desire to strive, but because you’re so drained from all the ridicule, criticism, and being unaccepted, you lack the energy you need to climb the steps to success. That was me, I had so many dreams. I believed in myself and my peers did also, it was when I stopped receiving acceptance from my grandmother that I shut down. When I knew she couldn’t stand who I was becoming, something within me gave up and died.

I know she did her best to love me, but there were times when she would get so frustrated with me that she would lash out with harsh and hurtful words. “Slut, whore, tramp, dumb, fool.” These words were supposed to remind me of who I was. I wanted to believe different, so I searched deeper and harder for someone, anyone to make me feel better about myself. Being loved and accepted was all that mattered to me. I grew to nearly hate my grandmother because she didn’t display her love in a way that I could see. I searched for a love to replace hers. The pain from that only led me to attempt suicide.

In my early teen years, my older cousin became addicted to drugs. My father was one of his role models. He stole everything from phones, to bus passes, to meat from the freezer. If I spoke up, I was beat up. I can count two black eyes, and many horrible nights. I hated my grandmother for allowing him to live with us and hurt me so bad. I thought she must have loved him more because she didn’t protect me from him. My cousin sold his soul to drugs and died at the same age as his mother (23). I then started to feel safe.

 On my search for love, I found a guy who was not what, or who he said he was. All I wanted was love, and all he had were lies. I believed that it was possible for someone to see good in me. I believed that it was possible for someone to love, and accept me for who I was. I believed it was him. His lies made me feel wanted, special, important, needed, and somehow complete. Although our entire three and a half-year relationship was built on lies, it made me feel cared for. He was the first and only guy that stayed around after sexual intercourse. And although he did something every week to cause me to want to leave him, he would promise me he’d die without me. He would fall to his knees begging, crying, (literally) and promising me change. The words were powerful but it was the tears that made me stay.

After about six months into the relationship things got real crazy. Abuse became a normal way of communicating. I can’t even remember the first hit because there were so many fights. Being as though I was raised with two boys I was no punk, so I always fought back. He pushed, I kicked, he slapped, I scratched, he grabbed, and I punched. It was terrible. I didn’t realize that I was reliving the life that my mother and father had. Here was the cycle continuing.

 Even after all of the disrespect, fighting and cheating, I stayed. His verbal abuse caused me to believe that no one else would love, or accept me, no one but him. He also used verbal abuse to tear my self-esteem down. And with all the different STDs he had given me, I wondered, “Why would someone else want me?” We’d break up almost every two months or so and end up right back together. Hit after hit, fight after fight, girl after girl. I cried, and cried but lacked the strength and courage to leave. I use to pray that I would just die and never wake again. I wanted to escape but didn’t know how. I had what it took to leave, but I choose to stay and believed his lies.

I moved into my own apartment with him at 18 and that didn’t work out. I had to leave because I was laying awake at night planning how I would murder him in his sleep. I left, yet I didn’t separate myself from him totally. And at the age of 19, I became pregnant. At that time we were not going together, but we still slept together. I had decided not to keep my baby because I didn’t want anything to keep us connected. I made three different appointments to have an abortion, but due to financial issues, it never took place. By the time the money became available, I was already convinced by his tears to keep our baby. I thought it was rather strange that he wanted me to keep our child. Because when I was 5 months pregnant, he put his hands on me.

Being the fool that I was, I took him back and nothing changed. Through out my entire pregnancy, he had unprotected sex with numbers of females. I was not in the dark about his cheating, I cried nearly every day. Only God kept my son alive and healthy, because if it was left up to my stress, he might not have made it. I regretted keeping my baby at that time because more and more I realized that I would be doing everything all alone. I knew I had to run from that relationship. It was only a matter of time. My poor grandmother had to watch another abusive relationship all over again and she hated that I wouldn’t listen to her. This caused us to argue almost every day.

After having my son, I started to feel needed, loved, and accepted. My son brought me strength and joy. More and more I started to believe that I was a beautiful person, and that it was possible for someone to really love me. The love that I had for my son was not shared by his father, so that made it easier to leave him. One day he became so unattractive that I couldn’t even bear to see his face. So, after one more night out of him cheating on me, it was finally over forever. (Or so I thought.) I wound up pregnant again by him. But, I got an abortion five and a half months into the pregnancy. I left him for good shortly after that. That relationship was another trick that was supposed to destroy my life, my confidence, my dreams and my being. I was supposed to either, die by his hand, or commit suicide. I wasn’t supposed to make it.

The struggle, pain, and obstacles that lied in front of me were endless. It took another year before I could fully get this fool out of my system. When I received enough physical, verbal, and mental abuse, I moved on to a few more abusive relationships. I didn’t stay around as long though because I began to know, and not just think that I deserved better. While living in Rock Bottom, I tried things to lift me high, like, weed, alcohol, dust, Xanax, volumes, and prescription cough syrup. I thought being so high could keep me from feeling my pain. I can remember four car accidents but there may have been more. I wasn’t supposed to live through all of this in the devil’s eyes.

When my grandmother died in July of 1996, it was time to answer the Lords constant call. It was at her funeral that I chose to give my life to Him. I still had a far and long road to travel. Somehow, I remained in bondage, and the devil kept getting victory instead of GOD. Then when I hit the bottom of rock bottom I was freed. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I was in a homeless shelter and I received some very serious counseling. I realized that the real problem wasn’t men or sex. The problem was, I had made ACCEPTANCE my God, and my Lord was not going to settle for 2nd place. It wasn’t easy, and I had fall after fall. Yet, staying in His Word (The Bible), Church, Bible Study, Revival, Ministry, Sunday school, Biblical Education Classes, Prayer Meeting, Fellowships, and on my knees, I learned to put God 1st over everything and kill my flesh. That is, refuse to give in to what it wanted, and still wants.

I was actually kicked out of the homeless shelter because when my life started to change it was difficult to stay in tune with their program. I was really busy.  But God used that experience to get me ready for the next phase in my walk with Him, and I have not looked back since. I learned that I had to not just say I was a Christian, but truly be a Christian. Now, I have a wonderful best friend, who is also my husband, and an awesome son! We own our home in a beautiful suburban area, and I am walking in Gods light, shinning everywhere we go! And despite the odds, I MADE IT!

This excerpt from “Colors of a Butterfly: An Autobiography” written by Lisa A. Gore was reprinted with express permission from the author. You can purchase “Colors of a Butterfly: An Autobiography” written by Lisa A. Gore at http://colorsofabutterfly.wordpress.com/ .

Colors of a Butterfly” is the autobiography of a girl, a woman, and a survivor! It has poems, letters, and journal entries, all from the heart and soul of a woman who decided giving up was not an option! Once you pick it up to read, you won’t be able to find any where to put it back down!

 

Lisa A. Gore is a Christian, a wife, a mother, a writer, a poet, an interior decorator, an artist, and a public speaker. Oh did I mention she raps too! She started writing in elementary school, and wrote her first book in the seventh grade. It was then that she started rapping as well. She has written two other self published books that you can find here. Lisa has one creative mission in life, “To spread the Gospel message through the means of evangelism, and Drama & Arts. I will use all of my spiritual gifts and talents that God has blessed me with. It is my job, my duty, and my obligation to use everything creative that GOD has equipped me with for HIS Glory.”

 

 

© 2015, Shalena D.I.V.A.- Author| Speaker| Life And Business Coach. All rights reserved.

26 comments on “Colors of a Butterfly by Lisa A. Gore”

  1. God God you are amazing and shalen Yes I can relate today esp..check out my satutes early this morining..its a lil bit of my testonlmy. Praise God but im here God im greatful

  2. I’ll never stop telling my story of how God kept and protected me throughout a violent childhood. I was held at gunpoint once as some men kidnapped my stepdad. My had an estranged relationship with my father who had HIV and died. I learned how to forgive and love inspite of the pain. I made it out of the hood and made something of myself inspite of the fact that folks told me I couldn’t do things. To God be the glory!

  3. Praise God I’m praising him alone with you! Glory to God. God does things of sorrow to get the glory out of it in the end even tho often times we dont see it at the moment. Thank you Jesus! For your life and you can help others with your life and testiomy. Im happy tht u learned how to forgive and love inspirt things! I have too. Thank God! To God be the Praise!

  4. @Merrika God is just not playing with Nobody: He’s going to get All his Glory He wants us to know that Every Knee Shall Bow . These people are worried about the Physical & God is Spirit : Nobodies will be in the Kingdom only His Spirit . We have to go beyond these bodies . There is no way in the Kingdom with a body . All Praises to The King & His Kingdom !!!!!

  5. To God be the glory, an amazing journey of overcoming the most difficult of situations. God bless her !

  6. I am so very late, like almost a year late! I would like to thank each and everyone that took the time to read this article about my life! I pray that God continues to shine His love on you all each and everyday and that you will be overjoyed in that!
    Lisa Gore

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