Gypsy Warrior

By Jessica DeLeau

Gypsy Warrior was written from the heart. Everything written here actually happened to me. It was written as a way to work through my issues, and I realized it could help others. I want people to know they are not alone, and they can rise above anything. This book is written from my heart to yours.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Dec 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798765237441

Jessica DeLeau

Jessica DeLeau is a thirty-one year old who went through some pain and wanted to speak to it. She has experienced some sexual abuse, alcohlism and severe bullying. This is the voice of the book, it comes from the heart.

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Copyright © 2023 Jessica DeLeau.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

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ISBN: 979-8-7652-3743-4 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-7652-3744-1 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 12/09/2022

Table of Contents

Introduction

Part 1: A Childhood Lost

Part 2: Teen Angst

Part 3: Adult Lessons learned

Epilogue: After thoughts of a Warrior

About the Author

WARNING: THIS BOOK CONTAINS

LANGUAGE, SEXUAL ABUSE

SUICIDE AND ALCOHOL ABUSE.

Acknowledgements:

To my loving grandma Jackie, who has always

steered me in the right direction in life.

For my siblings Nathan, Chris and Nicole.

Without them my life would not be complete.

To my best friend Chelsea who

supports me in every way.

To my loving boyfriend Nick who supports

me in every way, without you I would have

never finished this. Thank you for always

supporting me and keeping me on track.

To Mrs. Shippy, Mrs. Diane Wilson, Mr. Stark

and Mr. Long your devotion to shaping your

students definitely molded me, and I thank

you for all the time you invested in me.

For everyone who has ever and

always believed in me.

Lastly, to those who doubted me

or tried to knock me down in any

way, I’m still here bitches.

Re. sil. ient.

1. Showing courage and strength through

all of life’s ups and downs

2: rising up after every fall 3: persistent

Introduction

9/25/2022

I ’M SITTING HERE TONIGHT WITH this book finally completed. It’s surreal, because it’s been a long process. This version has taken me more than six years to write. I started this process so that I could heal. I process things through writing them out and seeing it on paper. I had a lot of issues I hadn’t dealt with, and so I began writing this. I never meant to make it public, but halfway through I realized that maybe it could help others as well. That’s when I decided to find a publisher. I hope you get as much out of it as a reader as I did being the writer. These are things that actually happened to me, please enjoy my work.

Part 1

A Childhood Lost

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I NNOCENCE. PURITY. NAÏVE. THESE THREE words are usually used to describe a child. In their eyes the whole world is full of sunny days and beautiful flowers. They haven’t yet been seduced by the sinister whispers of hate, greed, and selfishness. This is exactly why we must protect them at all costs.

I will never understand the evil that lives inside of some human beings. I will never understand what possess some people to think that its ok to violate an innocent child. I will never understand why people take advantage of others kindness either. When my parents first became Christians, they were going to save the world. They took in a guy from the streets that nobody else wanted, not even the church. They could have never known what was about to go down.

My dad’s best friend from church had killed himself, and they had no one to babysit us, so they asked our new house guest. I had two older brothers; one was seven and the other was six. My sister was one at the time and I was two years old. I have no personal memory of what happened but have heard the story a thousand times. It’s the strangest and most frustrating feeling to have someone tell you what happened to you. It’s like you’re living someone else’s life, and it’s extremely embarrassing.

This man my parents had taken in was babysitting us. For some reason he took a special interest in me. My sister was sleeping peacefully in her crib. The blinds were shut, and that was not normal. He had molested me. I was two years old and already tainted by the evil of this world.

My brothers were home with us. He locked them in the bathroom in the dark and told them he would come back and kill them if they ever told. When my parents got home, we were with my grandma, and she pulled my parents aside and said that I was acting strange. I was shaking, and the boys were quiet. I was taken to the doctor to make sure he hadn’t raped me. They also got me counseling, and the boys. They tried to press charges, but there wasn’t enough evidence. By the time I was five or six I had started talking about it to my aunt. Talking about how I petted his snake that was attached to his body. The crazy thing is that I vaguely remember something about a snake and a forest that turned out to be a fort he made.

My mom said when I was a kid, I would pray for him every night. I called him the bad man, and I would pray that he would turn his life around, but that prayer would not be answered. Later on we found out that he went to jail for raping a little girl. His inmates found out that he was a pedophile and killed him in prison. I knew that what happened to him was Karma, but as an adult I wasn’t satisfied. I felt cheated and robbed. I wanted him to see my face and know what he did. I wanted him to fess up to what he had done, and I wanted him to suffer. What I didn’t understand was that I would have never found the closure I wanted, because he was sick and not capable of feeling remorse.

I truly believe this is where my anger toward men started. Maybe not intentionally, but the seed was planted. At two I was taught that my only worth came from my body. At two I was taught that because a man was stronger, he would always have power over me. I didn’t know how much it would affect me. I let hate fester in my heart, and a darkness grew.

The truth is both light and dark, love and hate live inside all of us. We are all capable of evil things. Its our little choices we make everyday that define who we are going to be. If you feed into hate that’s what you will become. It consumes you, and suddenly you become a shadow; an empty shell of what you once were. Were not in control of what happens to us, but we are in control of how we respond to it. We hold the power to take back who we are, and most times we don’t even see it. We are too busy holding on to all the darkness because its easier then letting go and walking in the light.

My parents tried so hard to walk in the light and be Godly parents. The problem was that they themselves did not have good examples growing up. They were battling demons. My dad grew up with a dad who walked out when my aunt was little, and an abusive stepfather. My mom’s home life was not much better, she grew up in and out of foster care, and with many different men coming in and out of her life as dads. My parents avoided their issues for so long that by the time they got married the damage was done. I remember waking up to late night fights between the two of them.

To be honest my parents never truly loved each other. I never felt affection or saw it between them. My mom was nineteen when she got pregnant with my oldest brother, so they decided to get married. This was their first mistake, getting married because of pregnancy instead of having a strong relationship. To have a strong marriage you must have a firm foundation, otherwise it’s a house on sand.

I remember the first time my dad left. I was four years old. I woke up to my parents fighting again, except this time it was more intense. They were yelling and I just laid there crying in bed. He yelled he was leaving, and I heard the door open. Up to this point I had been composed. I jumped out of my bed, running toward the door screaming. It was like a dramatic scene from a movie.

I was one hundred percent a daddy’s girl, and he was leaving me. I flew out to the balcony at two in the morning; I barely felt the concrete when I hit the ground. I kept crying and screaming for my dad. I was in a fetal position, reaching out but nobody was there. I watched through tear filled eyes as my dad pulled away in my uncle’s car. Looking back, I feel this is one of the first events that taught me that people leave, and you can’t depend on anyone. My mom had to basically pick me up and drag me back to bed. I hated her, because