Battered but Not Broken: It's the Possibilities That Kept Her Going Not the Grantees

By Dianne Smith

This book is about a little girl whose life has been strewn between the rocks and gravel that accumulated over a life time. It was the possibilities that kept her going. She grew up a loner even though she had a big family. She grew up in a Christian home and believed in God that no matter how inexplicable or unbelievable things can be, miracles are real and can occur without regards to the nature of things. Everyone she trusted would let her down and hurt her. She was between a rock and a hard place; she felt lonely, unwanted, and confused, as if she was in a dark room with no exit.

Eventually, she met and fell in love with a handsome young man, the love of her lifeor so she thought. She was relieved, with more confidence; life was good, and it seems like there was a bright light at the end of the tunnel. For a moment, everything was going well, until dilemma stroke. The secrets she had to keep almost took her life because she could not share it.

She had to put up with a lot of discomfort and even misery in her life that had been inflected by people she trusted, but somehow she felt she was to be blamed. She always knew in her heart and mind that God promised never to leave or forsake her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781503513358

Dianne Smith

Dianne Smith is a certified registered central service technician / certified nursing assistant at a prominent New York hospital. She is originally born in the Island of Jamaica, migrated to the USA, and embarked in a career in the nursing field. She is a devoted mother and wife who enjoys writing and spending time with her children.

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Copyright © 2014 by Dianne Smith.

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.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 11/12/2014

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgement

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my 4 children whom I love dearly. Thank you all for contributing to my accomplishment. Love you all.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Firstly, I want to extend my profound and highest gratitude to God, my father. As a result of Him sparing my life and granting me the strength, I was able to initially write this book.

Thanks also to my eldest daughter my backbone, who has always been there to encourage and motivate me, you have been a great help in putting this book together and making it a success.

Thanks to two of my closest friends for always encouraging me to write even though they have no clue of what I writing about.

And finally thanks to my other children, for their patient and understand, they know I was writing but not knowing the contents of my story.

CHAPTER 1

W ho am I? And how, I wonder, will this story end? I was sitting in my cousin’s living room feeling sorry for myself, confused and frustrated about the way my life had turned out. A thought came to me, I will write my life story. It sounded strange. Who would want to read it? My life! It is not easy to explain. It has not been the rip-roaring, spectacular life that I had imagined it would be, but neither have I escaped my affliction. I suppose it is fairly stable, with more ups than downs, and a timely trend downwards over time. I have learned that not everyone can say this about their life. But I don’t believe I am not anything special; of that I am sure. I am an ordinary woman with ordinary thoughts, and I have an ordinary life—the path is as zigzag as ever, and now it is strewn with the rocks and gravel that have accumulated over a lifetime. It is the possibilities that keep me going, not the guarantees, a sort of wager on my part. And although you may call me a fool or any other such thing, I believe that anything is possible. I have always been a firm believer in God and the power of prayer, although to be honest, my faith had created a list of questions that I definitely wanted answered, until I came to know God for myself. And this leaves me with the belief that miracles, no matter how inexplicable or unbelievable, are real and can occur without regard to the natural order of things.

I am the first child born to Sherill Jones, otherwise named Gem. I was born in Jamaica in the parish of Clarendon, in a little district called Mocho Crescent. I was about six months old when my mother left my father and took me to her hometown, Birnsfield. My father did not come with us because he wanted nothing to do with me, or so I thought. I was a very sick child. I had a sickness called the fits. Oftentimes, I would have a sudden violent attack where my body would tremble and shake severely. It scared everyone around me, so maybe that’s why my father couldn’t be bothered with me.

One year later, my mother met and fell in love with a Tom and we lived together at his mother’s house. It wasn’t long after that we moved in with him when my mother became pregnant and gave birth to a little girl.

I was about three and a half years old, when one day my father came to visit. I was very happy to see him because I was jealous to see my little sister with my mother and her father, and I was all alone. But to my surprise, he didn’t come to see me. He didn’t even ask me how I was doing. I was there longing for someone to show me that they cared and loved me. He was only interested in my mother, who was very happy with her new man and baby.

My father kept coming by every two weeks. He would bring things, but that was just a cover-up. His intention was for my mother to leave the man she was with and to go back to him. To be honest, at that moment, I wished she would, but later on I was very happy that didn’t happen. I came to realize that he was only after my mother. He didn’t want anything to do with me.

He kept coming by, until he realized that my mother was not going to leave the new family that she had started and was very happy with to go back to him. And when he didn’t get his way, he just stopped coming by and didn’t even say goodbye or called to check up on me.

I was very young, but I felt betrayed and confused. My father left and never came back or kept in contact. I knew he didn’t get what he came for, but he could have at least said goodbye or something.

As time went by, there were more and more additions to my family. No one paid much or any attention to me. I grew up a loner. I was always by myself, wanting and needing someone there who I could talk to, someone to show me love, or just to know that someone cared and loved me. I knew my mother loved me, but she was too busy caring for my sisters, with a new sister coming every two years. She just didn’t have any time for me.

I was two years older than my sister, but we grew up like twins. My mom would always dress us in the same clothing and comb our hair in the same styles. I was not able to show my own identity because my sister was always there; she was stuck to my side like my Siamese twin. We went to school together and had the same classes from kindergarten until fourth grade in elementary school. After that, the teacher separated us, leaving her in fourth grade, and I skipped two grades.

I enjoyed kindergarten very much. There was this teacher whom I loved and admired. She was loving and kind towards me. Most afternoons after school was dismissed, I would cry because I wanted to stay with her. My teacher was the first and only person who talked with me and knew and understood what I was going through. She loved me and showed me that she cared. I was her brightest student in the class, and she would praise me. It made me feel very good about myself. My teacher was an affectionate and phenomenal person.

She was also very stringent; if you misbehaved, she would give you the belt. The people within the school district gave her a nickname. They called her Crook-up because her fingers on one hand were crooked and she couldn’t straighten them out. I don’t know why they were like that; whenever I asked about her fingers, she would get very indignant and send me home.

I was a very placid child growing up. I didn’t talk much, only when I was spoken to. The kids usually teased me and called me names. There was a boy who would always pick on me. He would tease until I cried. One day he ridiculed me until I became infuriated with him. I didn’t like it and could not tolerate the name he was calling me. Beneath my tears, I castigated him until he cried. I gave him a dose of his own medicine and from that day on, he never messed with me again. I told him his head was as big as a waft dog and that he was ugly. He called me doo-doo and all the other kids started to laugh and scorn me because he told them that I had pooped in my pants. After he stopped crying, he pushed me and my sister came to my rescue and we gave that boy a beating he would never forget. The teacher had to remove us off of him. She punished all three of us, but I think that she punished me more because she was disappointed in me. She used a belt on me that stung. Still to this day, I cannot forget that beating. It left a mark on my back. I never told anyone about the beating, not even my mother. I wanted to hate her for hurting me, but somehow I still loved her. She was still the only person I could talk to who showed me love and understood me. Kindergarten was home for me; that was the only place where I could be happy and be myself.

The time came for me to go to elementary school. I didn’t want to leave my safe haven, and I wasn’t confident that I could do it on my own without my teacher around. She gave the class a test to see if we were ready for elementary school. I scored the highest out of the class, and she was very impressed with me. She was happy to know that all of her effort was not in vain. She was so happy with me that she went out and bought a present for me. She asked me to open it right away, and I did. It was a book with a note taped in the front. The note said, Do not be afraid. Whenever you need me, I am right here. Everything is going to work out fine. Read this book whenever you feel alone and afraid. I felt something go through me, and I started to sob because it was the nicest feeling to know that someone would always be there for me. She wiped my eyes, hugged me, and said, Don’t cry, as she uttered sweet and stimulating words to me.

I was almost eight years old when I started elementary school and I was placed in first grade. My parents kept me back in kindergarten to wait for my sister. I was the oldest child in my class and because of that the teacher would call on me to do everything. I was very timid and shy, so whenever the teacher called on me to speak in front of the class, I would stand there, bite on my finger nails, and hold my head down and would not say a word. The teacher sometimes got upset and sent me back to my seat. I always did my school work very well, but when it came time for me to stand up and speak in front of the class, even if I knew the answers to the questions, I would become frozen with fear. The words would not come out because I was so timid. The children would always laugh at me because I talked funny, I would stammer and talk very fast.

My sister and I went to school two and a half miles away from home. In the first couple of weeks, we wore our one pair of shoes that we would wear on special occasions. After that we went barefoot. We commuted on foot to and from school every day.

The first day of elementary school was disastrous. After devotions, we all went to our classes and the teacher called out our names to get to know us. She called out the names and all the children answered to their names. I didn’t hear my name called, so I thought that I was to go to some other class. I got up out of my seat and went up to the teacher and told her that I hadn’t heard my name called. She told me there was one name that no one answered to. I told her that was not my name. She took me over to the next grade-one classroom but the teacher there told us all of her students were accounted for. We went to the principal’s office and told him about the confusion with my name. He asked me what my name was, and I told him what my name was . He said that was not my name. He told me a different name from I was accustom to. I was a shy child, but I found the boldness to defend my name. I kept telling him what my name was, and he asked me more and more questions that I wouldn’t answer. I was like a dummy; I would only answer whenever he tried to tell me what my name was. He got annoyed and frustrated with my situation, and I was afraid to speak to this man because he was very big and muscular and I was seeing him for the first time. All I would say was that was not my name and I kept telling him my name. The teacher went back to the classroom and left me with the principal. She later returned with my sister. The principal looked up our information and saw that my name was really, what he said it was. I started to cry because I knew what my name was. Miss Francis, my kindergarten teacher, had told me and I believed her. The principal sent me back to our classroom with a note to give to my mother.

After school was dismissed, I hurried home and gave the note to my mother. She could not read at all and I could not read very well, but I knew what the note was about, so I told her about the chaos at school with my name that day and that the principal wanted to see her, otherwise I could not go to school in the morning.

The next day my mother took my birth certificate and we went to see the principal. After looking at my birth certificate, he called me over and showed me that my name was what they say it was. To my astonishment, he was telling the truth, and that’s when I realized that no one knew me or cared about me because they didn’t even know my name, not even my mother, who I thought had given me my name. At home, everyone called me by my nickname.

Miss Francis, the only person who I thought knew and cared for me, didn’t know my name, or maybe she couldn’t pronounce it or spell it and that’s why she called me a name that was easier to spell and pronounce.

I was devastated for a while because I had to learn to spell and get acquainted with my new name. I was mortified and flustered for days. For a few days, the teacher called my name and I would not answer, because I was listening for the name I was accustomed to. I learned to spell my name in one afternoon because the children in my class were laughing at me whenever the teacher called my name and I wouldn’t answer to it, and then the teacher would reprimand me. It was very humiliating. I loved school, I had fun when the kids were not teasing or picking on me. My teacher was a fun-loving and caring person, not as stringent as Miss Francis. I still missed her though.

CHAPTER 2

M y sister and I moved from class to class until the fourth grade. A new secondary school was built about three blocks away from my school, which was an all-age school with grades one through nine. After the secondary school was built, my school was changed to an elementary school, with grades one to six, and because of that, I was separated from my sister in grade four. She stayed and I move on to grade six. I felt relieved being separated from my sister, but it was very complicated to jump from grade three to grade six. I struggled for a while to keep up with the rest of the children in the class. I had always been the number one student in my classes, and now I was lingering between being number ten or twelve. The teacher had to keep me back in grade six for another year. I was devastated for a while because all the children I came to know and my friends had all moved on to secondary school and I was left back for one more year. It was because of the twin thing with my sister. If I had started school when I was supposed to, I would have been more advanced.

I helped at home with the cleaning of the house and with taking care of my sisters. It was now four of us, all girls. I detested the fact that I had to take care of my sisters, because no one was taking care of me. My mother would go to the market to sell the produce that Tom planted in the field, so we could have food and clothes. Tom was always in the field working, while I stayed home cleaning the house and taking care of my siblings. I would go to school, come home, cook dinner, and give my sisters their baths, the ones that could not do it themselves, and then make sure everything was taken care of until my parents got home.

We had a lot of fruit trees in our yard. One Saturday after cleaning the house and doing all my work, and after we had eaten all of the little amount of food our parents had left for us, my sisters started complaining that they were hungry. I didn’t have anything more to give them, all the fruits on the trees were gone, except for one tree, because my parents picked that fruit to take to the market and sell it. There was one tree which was loaded with grapefruits, but no one would climb it or even use a stick to pick the fruit, because wasps made their nests and lived in it. It was loaded with ripe grapefruit, so I tried to be brave and I began to use a stick to pick the fruit, but the wasps were so fierce. They woke up and flew all over, and I had to run for cover; but when they settled back into their comb, I tried again. I was very determined to get some of the fruit. I tried a couple more times, but the wasps were unrestrained, and I had to run for cover and put my siblings inside the house and lock the doors and windows. We stayed out of site for a while until they all settled back in their nests. But I still would not give up, because my parents were not going to be home for another couple of hours. I tried again, but the fruit would not come down. A boy that was passing by told me to climb the tree and whenever I saw the wasps coming at me, to grin with my teeth showing and they would cramp up and die. I was so naïve, and my sisters’ fussing was driving me crazy. I waited until the wasps were all in their comb in the tree. I listened to the boy’s idiotic idea. I climbed the tree and a few of the insects flew towards me. I opened my mouth and grinned with my teeth showing, and to my amazement, the wasps responded. They all flew out of their comb onto me and stung and bit me all over the uncovered parts of my body. I jumped from the tree and on my way down, a few of the fruits fell and my sisters ate them. The people that were passing by all stopped to laugh and make a mockery of me. I was so embarrassed and humiliated, and to make matters worse, my whole body was swollen. My face was so swollen and my eyes were shut closed. I could not see out of my eyes for days.

When my parents came home, they were very angry with me. Tom liked to spank us for every little thing. I was very concerned and fearful that I was going to get a spanking on top of the ordeal with the wasps, but he