Hurt on Purpose

By Jermaine E. Butts

Jermaine E. Butts is a church-going man, singer, and songwriter who believes that actions are more powerful than words. Leading by example, he volunteers at community centers, serves at his local church, feeds the hungry, and participates in Save the Children and Nature Conservancy charities. He is passionate about working with young people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Purposely Created Publishing Group
• Release date: Jun 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781644845905

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

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Hello, welcome to my world.

As I began to write this book and reflect on my life and think on all the things that I have experienced and gone through up until this point, I can honestly say that God has been with me every step of the way. A couple of scriptures also come to mind reminiscing about the life that I have lived.

For I know the thoughts that I think towards you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you to an expected end.—Jeremiah 29:11, KJV

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose.—Romans 8:28, KJV

I chose these two scriptures because when I experienced the things that I have faced, the Lord knows I could not see the good and how it would be beneficial to where I am today.

img3.jpg img4.jpg img4.jpg We all have a beginning, we all have an ending, we all have a start, and we all have a finish line. And what we experience in the middle, also known as life, is what we all experience on different levels.

Life, what a funny thing, is it not?

No instruction, no warnings, no foresight, just start. Get up and go figure it out along the way. My life thus far has been an interesting ride with so many ups and downs, twists and turns, plots, drama, loss, gain, defeats, and victories. I often look back and ponder just how I survived and in what way I survived, and how I am still sane. I want to tell my story and journey so far and share the many lessons I have learned.

Everyone has a story to tell. Well, here is mine.

CHAPTER ONE

WELCOME TO FOSTER CARE

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Let us go back to when and where it all started.

I was five years old. I had come home from school, and when I got there, the social worker and my mother were sitting on the couch in the living room waiting for me. When I saw her sitting there, I thought it was just a routine visit and check-up on my mother and me, but not this time.

My social worker said to me, Jermaine, go in your room and pack up your things; you must leave. You can no longer stay with your mother.

As I did not understand why I had to leave, I did not question her. I just did what she said. I went inside my room, packed some of my clothes, a few toys, and my favorite book. My mother was crying; she did not want me to leave. I was crying because I did not want to leave, but I had to go. I gave my mother a goodbye hug and a kiss, and me and my social worker left.

img3.jpg img4.jpg img4.jpg I left my home with social services, only to find that they did not even have a place for me until later that night. I stayed at the office for many hours. Finally, they found a place for me. We left with my social worker saying that this place was just a temporary solution; they were looking for a long-term home. Little did I know that this was just the beginning of my new normal and that this would be a line that I would become familiar with hearing over time.

On our way to the home, I finally asked my social worker about what was going on. Why did I have to leave my home? And questions like that.

She answered and said, Because of neglect and my mom’s health conditions. I did not know what that meant at the time. My mother seemed fine and healthy to me, and I never felt neglected until I left home. For all my life up to this point, it had just been my mother and me with an occasional drop-by from my father. I guess you could say that I was a mama’s boy. I was spoiled.

My mother instilled the importance of prayer and my love for God and church from the very beginning. She was a great cook and did not take any mess from anyone in her life. My father was a cool guy. He was a great singer, one of the many things I picked up from him, and a performer. While I had older siblings, they were not in the home. They were living with a relative who had custody of them. My mother and I had a strong bond, and so did my sisters, even with such a big age difference. They always had me. They were always at the house, or I was with them where they lived. I had brothers from my father, but I never saw them.

img3.jpg img4.jpg img4.jpg As we got to the temporary home, my social worker introduced me to my foster parents. She stayed for a little bit until I got comfortable and settled, then she left. It was awkward because this was the first time outside my home besides with family, and my first time being with people who did not look like me. They were white. I had never been in a white house or around anyone white other than my teachers. I did not get much sleep the first night there with a new home, new people, and a new bed. They were nice people, but I was quiet and distant during my whole stay.

For the entire week that I was at that temporary home, I did not go to school. I did not have any contact with my family and no word from my social worker until the day before I left, when she told me to make sure my things were packed because she would be picking me up to take me to the next home.

She picked me up and brought me to my first quote/ unquote, permanent home. She did the introduction and stayed until I got settled, and then she left. They were a church-going family, which helped, because as young as I was, I loved going to church. The house was nice. I had my own room. My foster mother was a genuinely nice lady. However, during my stay with this family, I experienced my first sexual activity with my foster brother, who was older than me. He is now a pastor, but we will come back to all of that later.

img3.jpg img4.jpg img4.jpg It happened almost every day. Of course, while it was going on, he was doing things to me and telling me to do things to him. He told me not to say anything to anyone, and I never did. While I did not say anything verbally to anyone for the time I was there, my actions began to speak. I became violent, aggressive, and acted out in school. I also started acting out at home, but I never said why when I was asked. It happened almost every day until I left that home. I am not sure if it was my behavior or if something had happened with the family, but I ended up leaving that home and moving.

This time, I moved into a residential setting until something permanent could be found once again. While all this was going on, I still had not seen my mother, or anyone in my family for that matter. I did not like what was going on. I had already moved a couple of times within a very short span of time. I had been touched (molested). I kept hearing, We are looking for something permanent. I also kept hearing that I could not see my mother or my family, and even when we spoke on the phone, the phone calls were always supervised, and they were timed, and were only once or twice a week. Then I ended up moving again, finally, into a permanent home. But I also ended up switching schools and going to a behavioral school.

When I got to this home, the same experience with the introduction and the settling down occurred. Once I was good and settled, my social worker left.

img3.jpg img4.jpg img4.jpg This was a nice, big home that had six bedrooms. My foster mother was a pleasant, older lady. The family was friendly as well, and everyone was very welcoming. A few of her adult children still lived in the home. There were other foster kids in the home too, which was also nice. Knowing that I was not the only one helped a lot. I shared a room with someone much older, he was a teenager. He was nice and not territorial, and we got along well. The transition into this new home was nice and smooth. I fit right in. My foster mother made sure I kept in contact with my mom. Many times, she would let me see her unsupervised and allowed my siblings to see me as much as they wanted too, without any interference from social services.

However, I am not sure if there was a sign on my forehead that said sexually explore and take advantage of me, but I dealt with abuse in this home as well. This was when I was seven and eight years old. I became sexually aware, masturbated, indulged in pornography, and my attraction to men grew. While this did not happen every day as in my previous home, it happened quite often whenever this family member would come over.

img3.jpg img4.jpg img4.jpg The reason it happened for as long as it did without me saying anything was this was a no snitching home; what went on in the home stayed in the home. I already had moved around a few times and really liked this home and the family overall. I had a good thing going, so in my mind, allowing it to happen was a small price to pay. Even though I dealt with that, I