Uncomfortable in My Chaos

By Cherry DeVore

Summer-Lynn Caldwell, the daughter of First Lady Winter Caldwell-Ridley is on a path of vengeance; to destroy her mother and her mothers first love, Emmanuel Stello Washington.

This story chronicles the trials and tribulations of a young woman who is dealing with issues of faith, family and personal failures. Take a privileged look into the private thoughts of a tortured soul.

Spinning off from her first novel; Lost Letters of a Lonely Girl, Cherry Devore has continued the saga of pain and sadness, in the heart of a young woman, under a generational curse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491864456

Cherry DeVore

Pastor Cherry, as she is affectionately known by her church family, is the Director and CEO of New Foundations Christian Counseling Center. She is a mother, preacher, teacher, author, counselor and mentor. She is a proud product of the streets of Oakland, CA. As a teenager, Cherry was selected to become the first foreign exchange student in her high school’s history. This amazing opportunity allowed Cherry to travel to Jakarta, Indonesia, where she completed her high school education and obtained her most memorable life lessons. After returning to the states, Cherry decided to serve her country by enlisting in the United States Army. It is here that she completed a tour of duty in Desert Storm and was awarded numerous medals for outstanding leadership and sacrifice. Never forgetting where she came from, Cherry returned to Oakland, accepted her call to the ministry and completed her undergraduate studies at Cal State Hayward. In 2000, Cherry re-located to Atlanta, in order to pursue a Masters of Divinity degree at the Interdenominational Theological Center (The Morehouse School of Religion). As a featured homilitician, Cherry was awarded countless preaching awards, and given opportunities across the globe to spread the Word of God. As an avid learner, Cherry went back to school and completed her second Masters Degree in 2012 in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. Cherry DeVore is now working on her full licensure as a Professional Counselor. As an LAPC, she continues to serve her community, by offering counseling and mentorship, to families who are in need. The main goal of Pastor Cherry is to continue to spread the Word of God, and be a genuine source of encouragement and comfort. For updates and booking information please contact [e-mail], find her on Face Book at Cherry Devore or follow her on Twitter @CherryDevore.

Book preview

January 4, 2011

Dear Alicia,

I drop kicked him, punched him then spat on him. He bled, sputtered and gurgled beneath his tightly gaged lips as he writhed underneath his overly tightened restraints. I wanted to enjoy the misery I was inflicting upon him, yet the years of pain and loneliness, that accented my life, were hindering me from having a glorious good time with my permanent prisoner.

I slammed the large black object, that was dangling from the dimly lit basement wall, into the back of his matted and damp head. He went limp. I poured scalding water on his lap, from the boiling pot on the old wooden stove near my left hand, he lurched forward and his eyes went wild, but at least he was conscious. I needed him to feel every moment, every ounce of insidious pain that I was bringing his way. There was no time for fainting now. He was not allowed to die on me or pass out, not while I was in the midst of dealing with my overwhelming anger issues.

I grabbed his now unrecognizable face and made him look at me. I didn’t wear a disguise because I wanted my image to be seared into every fiber of his memory. I squeezed him, where he was already sore and bruised and then with my other hand I tried to choke the life out of him. I hated him. After six days of un-relentless torture, maybe he has finally figured that out. As his once beautifully handsome, dark skin began to change colors underneath my grasp, and as his feet tap danced feverishly on the cold concrete, I knew I had to end our torture session for the day. He could not die yet, not yet. I was not going to allow him to die for a very long time. It took me years to find him and now I was not ready to let him go. I was going to keep him until I was fully convinced that I had destroyed my own personal inner demons.

I let go of his neck, smeared his sweat and blood all over my now stained, designer jeans. He stared at me, through frightened and swollen eyelids, as he tried to allow the air to re-fill his lungs. There were tears on his face, the same sized tears that mirrored the ones streaming down my cheeks. I was so angry. I had been angry for so many years. I was so filled with hatred and bitterness, and it was all because of him. I collapsed on the floor next to him, and found myself in a recent puddle of his bodily fluids. I didn’t even care. At that moment, nothing mattered to me. I cried. I sobbed as I thought about my pitiful sham of a life. So many people thought they knew me, but I didn’t even know me, so what could they possibly know.

I left my prisoner in pain. I left him in solitary agony as I retreated back to a world that I silently resented. I wondered if he knew it was me . . . I wondered if this despicable example of a human being understood why his life had changed so drastically.

January 5, 2011

Dear Alicia,

I know you don’t exist, however, I have decided to create you and communicate with you since I have no one else to talk to. I will make you become the sister I never had . . . even though we will not share any biological parents in my imaginary world.

In my head you are tall, dark skinned, heavy set and maternal. Your hair is very natural and you normally wear it in a puffy bun, which is neat and well manicured. You have a great sense of fashion, but sometimes you can be a label whore. You are not married, although you truly long to be. You have three children, two girls and a boy, all of whom are grown and out of the house. You have one grandchild, whom you dote on and spend all of your free time with. You work for the government, but I am not sure what you do. You are very blunt, sarcastic at times, and not very open to the idea of communication, yet I still reach out to you, because you are the only sister I have in this world. You love watching old black and white movies and you are addicted to outdated soap operas. You are a great cook, and a wonderful host. Your house always smells of warm baked pies or smothered pot roast. In my head, I come to see you often, just so I can eat your comfort food and spend time with your over-indulged grandbaby.

I have started writing to you in this journal, because my therapist suggested I do so. Well, he didn’t suggest I create an imaginary sister, but he did suggest I start journaling about my feelings. Here is the problem . . . I am not sure what my feelings are or even that I have a whole lot of valid feelings. I just know that I am in a really sad, lonely and desperate place, and you are the only person who can identify with me.

January 6, 2011

Dear Alicia,

I am not sure if I believe in love. I want to believe in love. But unfortunately love has never believed in me. I am 5'4, 139lbs, with rich caramel looking skin. I have slightly slanted eyes and high cheekbones, with a very full mouth and a smile that makes a room stand still. I have always been told that I was not just beautiful but I was exotic. Men and women have all attempted to posses me, but only one person has ever conquered my soul.

As an avid athlete, I have the body fit for a magazine cover and the walk of a runway model. Yet, I have never liked the way I look, because I have always been aware that it has distracted people from getting to know the true inner me. I have always tried to hide my 36DD’s and my cinched waist line, because I didn’t want to be objectified… but it didn’t seem to matter, because somehow, someway… I always seem to allow it to happen. I must have a sign on my forehead that says abuse me, use me, then throw me away… because I attract them and they come running. I give and they take. I offer and they steal. I reach for them and they turn their backs. And then I cry. I sit in my uncomfortable chaos and I cry. Like a baby desperate for her mother… I simply hold myself and I cry.

January 8, 2011

Dear Alicia,

I want to pray. I want to learn how to pray. But not for the same reasons that most people pray. I have questions that I want to ask God. If I could talk to Him, I would ask Him: "Are You the kind of God who can forgive people for having a life filled with Anger? Can You forgive a person like me for living