Used: Secret Confessions of a Kept Woman

By Quaintella Asberry

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 30, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462818273

Quaintella Asberry

Quaintella Asberry is a survivor. She has beaten the odds with a triumphant victory over a past surrounded by emotional, physical and sexual abuse by her refusal to remain a victim. Deep-seated insecurities which plagued most of her life began with rejection from an uncaring father. This painful memory led her on an attention - seeking path of destructive behaviors including sexual addiction. Her life lessons influenced her decision to become a Child Protective Services Social Worker to help abused children and empower families. A native Philadelphian, the author’s life is characterized by her dedication to family and friends and her devotion to God. She is also a licensed minister and her mission is to help those hurting to heal. Inspired by others, her desire is to pass those torches of light to hearts and souls in darkness everywhere, as illustrated in this captivating volume. After reading it , Christina M. Kirscher, Executive Director of Philadelphia Children’s Alliance states: “I found it to be very interesting…Your story is one that needs to be told. Thank you for sharing your story with me.” Quaintella is a graduate of Tracey Warner Fashion School, Community College of Philadelphia, Temple University, and Jameson School of Ministry. She is currently pursuing an advanced degree at Jameson School of Theology. The author also attended the Masters of Social Work degree program at the University of Pennsylvania.

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Copyright © 2009 by Quaintella Asberry.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

Dedication

Introduction

Prologue

Part One

Part Two

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Dedication

In memory of my mother, Ruth E. V. Watson, and the men who fathered me.

DAVE HARRIS—The man who planted the seed.

WILLIAM ASBERRY—The man that made me legitimate.

JAMES DOUGLAS—The man who gave me a family.

JOSEPH WHITE—The man who became my daddy.

Introduction

Minister Q has my enthusiastic applause and heartfelt blessing, as her riveting transparent testimony promises to transform the lives of those who read her story.

—Pastor W. Lonnie Herndon,

Compassion Ministries.

Prologue

Hi. I just want to take a moment to personally greet you. No, I am not rich or famous, but I wrote this book because I think that I have something to share that may be beneficial to others who are emotionally wounded. This book is not meant to glorify my sordid past or to hurt anyone. And it is certainly not intended to condemn men. Trust me, I have done things that were not so great either.

To say the least, I have been involved in some risky situations; a few of which could have cost my life. I remember someone once remarking that no one person could have possibly gone through all the insanity that I have, but believe me, I could not have stretched my imagination that far.

I recently came across my copy of the book Tumbling from one of my favorite authors, Diane McKinney-Whetstone, who unknowingly wrote a prophetic message when she autographed it on March 17, 1998. Ms. Whetstone penned, There is much healing in writing our stories down, which I learned is true. Because the writing process made me face some hard truths about myself, and as a result, the purpose of this book is to promote healing and forgiveness.

One thing I have learned as a social worker is that many people share the same type of experiences; it just affects them differently. And often, people just need to know that they are not the only one that has suffered a traumatic event; or that someone understands what they are going through. Perhaps this disclosure of the life changing events I encountered can help shed some light on someone else’s situation. You see, after spending so much time in darkness, I found my way out, and so can you.

With that said, welcome to my world.

One Night Stand

Hey! Look at me!

What do you see?

A whore, a trick, a freak of the week!

Let me explain what is really going on inside of me.

Giving myself freely to men all my life;

And they be thumping, bumping, climbing within my sacred walls.

Just doing their business, never stopping to make me their wife,

Sometimes not even long enough for small talk;

One after another, leaving their spirit behind in liquid pools on my sheets;

No more contact until the next time we meet.

All the while, the pain is mounting around my heart.

This ache that I’m feeling is like the edge of a sword, very sharp.

My flesh is alive, but never satisfied.

I can’t feel the men because I’m numb inside.

So I mask the hurt and shame with an "

OOOH,

Daddy," not being able to distinguish a face from the name.

And just when I was so broken that I could take no more.

A way of escape came to my door.

Part One

OLD THINGS

My problems with men began at conception and intensified upon my birth. From the very beginning of my existence, it appeared as if men were out to destroy me. You see, I was told that my natural father, Dave, wanted to marry my mother when he learned that she was pregnant so that we could become a family. When she refused, he chose to make a life without us. I guess that was when the other two men, William Asberry and James Jim Dandy Douglas, stepped up to become my father. I was too young to remember Asberry or what became of him. However, Jim became a big part of my life. He has always loved me, and I him, but I always knew Jim as my godfather. Only in recent years did I learn that the family that has embraced me all these years was Jim’s and not Dave’s. Despite the fact that these men provided me with love, nurturing, and financial support, I blamed my mother for Dave not being in my life. However, the weird thing was that he was always somewhere around.

My mother ran a speakeasy (sold illegal liquor) in our home, and Dave was often there despite the fact that he had married another woman. This unorthodox arrangement between my parents created many problems for me that no one probably even considered. I do not think that anyone meant to harm me, but it produced issues that became a lifelong struggle for me. Only recently have I been able to come to terms with the emotional devastation that it caused in my life.

When Dave was at our home, he never referred to me as his daughter, nor did he show me any type of fatherly affection. He never even attempted to explain his side of the story. I cannot recall us having an extended conversation of any kind. On the other hand, my stepfather, Joseph Joe White turned out to be a wonderful daddy. He treated me as his own little girl, and I loved him dearly. Daddy would do just about anything for us, and I can recall one such occasion.

Once, when I was about three years old, we were visiting my Aunt Gracie and Uncle Joseph in Steelton, Pennsylvania. Their house was at the top of a hill, and when we arrived, it was raining, and we had to park at the bottom of the hill and make our way to the house.

Somehow, my blanket was overlooked and left in the car. That night, I set the whole house in a fit because I could not sleep without that dirty little blanket (my mother would have to sneak in and wash it). Daddy went all the way back to the car in his pajamas, in the pouring rain, to retrieve it for me.

On another occasion, when I was pregnant with my son, I was craving watermelon in the middle of a February snowstorm. Daddy scoured the city until he found one and got a ticket while doing it. That’s the kind of father he was, and we maintained a father-daughter relationship even after he and my mother separated many years later.

But here was this other person with whom I had a blood connection but no emotional ties. Dave was there, but not directly involved in my life, and that was so confusing. Honestly, I cannot even say that I loved my natural father or cared anything about him except in relation to his not caring about me.

When I was about seven, I was hit by a car after sneaking outside when my mother would not let me go to the store with my play sister, Veda, because it was raining. The houses on the 1000 block of South Seventeenth Street had both front and back stairs, so leaving without my parent’s knowledge was easy enough. Imagine their surprise when someone interrupted their card game to inform my mother that I had been hit by a car and was dead.

In an attempt to keep my friend, Shirley from getting hit, I was knocked inside of a phone booth, and she went through the plate glass window of the Clayton’s grocery store. Thankfully, we both survived, but that small act of disobedience almost cost my life.

At some point, Dave came to the hospital. I know that some time had passed because he brought me grape water ice, which meant that I was able to eat food. Perhaps his bringing water ice should have been enough of a good gesture, but all I could think was that he did not even know that I did not like grape-flavored. As I graciously ate the water ice, I kept waiting for Dave to act like he was happy to see me. Perhaps if he had made some type of fatherly gesture toward me instead of just standing there for what seemed like an eternity, or said that he loved me, or even that he was glad that I was alive, it might have made a difference in my life.

The visit was so tense that I was actually relieved when Dave left. Afterwards I wished he had not even come because he acted as if someone made him do it. Dave just seemed to be so out of place. That was the first time I felt that it would have been better if I had not been born.

I have carried that burden most of my life, which is probably why suicide always appeared to be an option for me, an easy way out. Many times throughout my life, I felt like that little girl trapped in that hospital bed waiting for her father to comfort her or show some type of affection. I wanted Dave to love and accept me, but he never did. The man never acknowledged me the entire time he was alive, including from his deathbed.

Once, when employed at UPS, I became friendly with a young man, and during the course of a conversation one evening, he told me where he lived. I asked him if he knew Dave. He said yes and began to speak intimately about the same man who was a stranger to me. The man he described was kind, funny, a good neighbor, and cool. My co-worker also informed me that Dave was very ill and not expected to live. I informed my co-worker that Dave was my father, and I asked him if he would do me a favor, if their relationship allowed, and ask Dave if I could see him.

Despite the love I had received from my Dad, Joe White, I was still longing for some type of recognition from my father. Selfishly, I did not want Dave to die without acknowledging me and explaining why he never loved me, but more importantly, I wanted to be able to stop hating him and myself.

When my co-worker came back and told me that Dave said that I was not his daughter, I was devastated. Shortly thereafter, he died, which meant that now, there would be no chance of reconciliation between us. I felt that it was so selfish and mean of Dave to die without explaining why I was never enough for him. I was angry and hell-bent on revenge. So I devised a plan for the funeral service. According to my coworker, Dave had become a deacon in the church. It was my intention to show up at the church and expose him for the kind of man I believed him to be, but as it happened, I was a day early for the funeral service, and it worked it out that I did not cause myself any further harm.

I later learned from OC, a man I thought was only Veda’s husband that he and I were also cousins on Dave’s side of the family. I also discovered that I had an older half sister, nieces, and nephews. Dave had made OC promise not to tell me anything until after his death. It was then that I began to understand that my mother’s refusal of Dave’s marriage proposal was her attempt to protect me from a father probably unqualified for the job of parenting.

Shortly after Dave’s death, I met my half sister and learned that our father had married her mother when she became pregnant. She informed me that although he was in the house, Dave was never really a father to her. He was cold and distant, and as a result, my half-sister eloped at the age of sixteen to get away from him.

Perhaps, I expected too much from this man (and every man since), more than he was willing or able to give. I was looking for Dave to fill a void in my life, one that I believed that he created. It was obvious after speaking with my half sister that Dave did not have the capacity to do that. But it was too late for the harm this non-relationship created, and as a result my children had to suffer from that generational curse of not having their natural father involved in their lives either. Talk about the sins of the parents.

My mother and my life seemed parallel; according to her, she became pregnant with me after drinking moonshine (corn liquor). I became pregnant with my daughter after drinking sparkling wine. In an attempt to shield my daughter as my mother had done with me, I made a choice that hurt not only my daughter, but others as well. I permitted Woody who thought he was my daughter’s father to believe that for some years. Instead of telling Woody the truth and allowing him to make the decision on whether or not he wanted to be a part of her life, I made the decision for him; a decision that has had a negative effect on my daughter since learning the truth at the age of ten. I admit that the attempts made to keep the truth from surfacing were extreme, selfish, and self-serving; the act of a coward.

My daughter fought hard to live, even from the beginning. In the first four months of my pregnancy, the test kept coming back negative despite the feeling of her life force inside me. After insisting on a blood test, her presence was finally confirmed. My attempt to abort her was unsuccessful when