Out of the Darkness into the Light

By Alessia Stewart

Alessia's emotionally unhealthy relationship with her father, along with her mother's brokenness, caused Alessia to search for love and acceptance in the wrong places. But certain people pick up on the weakness of one who yearns to be loved and uses it to their advantage. That's exactly what Alessia found when she met Brian. Through many attempts to leave, Alessia finds more anguish inflicted by other men and decides the evil she knows is better than the evil she doesn't. But finding herself more broken than before, Alessia, knowing he might kill her, decides to leave anyway.

After battling the effects of abuse, rape, and depression, Alessia's brokenness leaves her struggling to achieve a normal life. While navigating through that, when Alessia finds love, she finds herself struggling with a whole new set of problems. She soon finds she has trust issues, among many numerous other shortcomings.

In an attempt to fix herself, Alessia realizes God is the only one who can help her. So she begins to strengthen her relationship with Him, soon realizing she had been bound by chains passed down from her mother and father.

Alessia takes you on an interesting journey through her life. All the intense scenes are raw and honest, not withholding anything. She really does lay it all out there. This story speaks of how the chains that bound Alessia's adult influences in her life were passed down from generation to generation, which caused seemingly irreversible consequences for her and her siblings. It's a story of survival and determination to let go of her past and people's perceptions to become the woman she was meant to be. But more importantly, to break the chain for her son and future generations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098063573

Book preview

The End Is Always the Beginning

I’m sitting here on my cheap futon bed in my roach-infested studio apartment, with water dripping down my face. The water is from my husband Brian’s cup. I don’t even remember why he did it, but he is now looking at me with hate in his eyes. It’s a look I’m all too familiar with, and after ten years of seeing that look, it is a look that’s started to lose its weight. Not that I’m not terrified of him, I still am, but it’s because death would be better than continuing a life like this. He has been losing his control over me for a while, and he knows it. After I get over the shock, I ask myself, Why am I still here? We are separating, but because a part of me does still care, I had told him I would give him time to get his affairs in order (i.e., find another person to mooch off of) before I move out, since I’m the one supporting him.

The water in my face is the last straw though, and I’ve had enough. I am so tired of being beaten and disrespected that I don’t care what he does to me anymore. So I say, You know what, I’m done. I don’t have to stay here anymore.

I stand up and start heading toward the closet to gather my belongings, the same closet that holds the nine-millimeter firearm he threatened to kill me and my family with if I left him. But without any time to react, I feel like I am hit by a run-away couch down a hill as I’m propelled toward the kitchen. While squeezing my wrists so hard I’m afraid they will break, he spins me around and throws me against the kitchen sink, like a rag doll. I can smell the putrid stench of rotting food from the dirty dishes that have been sitting there for weeks because our landlord still hasn’t fixed our kitchen sink. I watch the roaches scatter to avoid the impending doom. He presses me up against the kitchen sink with so much force I can feel my spine and all other bones pressing on my skin. Just like all the times in the past, no matter how hard I try, I can’t break his grip. I try to kick him in the balls, but he moves his leg in the way. Of course, he always does that. It was worth a try, though. I hope.

I look at his face; it has again transformed itself into a waxy demonic thing. Then I look into his eyes, hoping to see a familiarity, only to find an empty darkness. Chills run up my spine. What is this thing that takes over him? Where does Brian go? Can he see the fear in my eyes? I search, but there’s no love in his eyes, only desire to cause pain. Unfortunately, I’ve seen this look before, at least once a week, sometimes even daily. I never know where he goes mentally at that point, but it’s never a good outcome for me physically.

In the past, I used to back down, cowering and submitting to his every demand. But I’ve been standing my ground the last few years. I would still get beat, yet never raised a hand to him. He hadn’t killed me yet. But this time? This time he has nothing to lose, since I’m leaving anyway. I remember hearing the deadliest time for an abused woman is when she tries to leave her abuser. That’s when the sinking fear starts to invade my mind. Is this it? Am I going to die in this way at the age of twenty-six? Right here, in this dump? Will anyone know what happened? Or will he hide my body somewhere never to be found?

Just then, he slams my head into the corner of the cabinet. In an instant, all I know is darkness. Sounds like the start of an interesting thriller, right? I wish it were. But unfortunately, it’s my life. So the question begs to be asked: how did I get here?

Insidious Roots

It all started with my parents. Everyone usually begins their life with a mother and a father who raises them with a foundation of ideals that inevitably sets their life in a particular direction. The most crucial years of one’s life are the adolescent years. In those years, we watch our parents. We watch their mannerisms, their habits; we hear their fights and the subject matter in which they are fighting about. We listen and soak up everything that they teach us, as if that is the only truth in life, because, after all, they are our heroes. But what if a child doesn’t have a healthy foundation? What if their parents’ foundation, to no fault of their own, was flawed because their parents’ foundation before them was flawed, and so on and so on? It becomes a vicious cycle, a chain, if you will. It would appear that the child of that lineage would be doomed to repeat the same mistakes that their parents and grandparents did. Of course, when that child gets old enough, they should recognize the negative pattern and take responsibility for their own actions. Right? But they usually don’t even realize that their thought process is messed up until they have made bad, life-altering decisions with long-term consequences.

It actually doesn’t even have to be a parent that you pick up false truths from. It could be someone else—someone who told you you were ugly or fat or that you were dumb and would never amount to anything. Those thoughts get stuck in your head. The result? You become anorexic, start doing drugs or drinking to fit in or date anyone who thinks you’re pretty, even though that person treats you badly. In either case, if those thoughts aren’t corrected, they will have life-altering effects. But what if I told you this proverbial chain can be broken? What if I told you that you’re not doomed to make your mother’s or father’s mistakes or to be stuck in a mental prison where that annoying voice speaks lies about you all day? What if I told you that you don’t have to doom your own child? There is a way—with the strength of the One who erased our sins and gave us all another chance. But before I talk more about that, let me show you how two parents, who loved their children dearly but were still in chains, set the ball rolling in the wrong direction of my life.

We’re Standing on Shaky Ground

My parents had two girls and one boy. Marie was ten years old, Edward was nine, and Dawn was three, when they heard the surprising news. They were pregnant again—with me. Surprise! Before she even knew though, Mommy didn’t know what was wrong with her. Her usual clues of pregnancy, like nausea and vomiting, weren’t there. All she felt was extreme fatigue. Was it me? Was I really that exhausting? Already? Or maybe it was the three other kids! I think that sounds more likely. So her life continued as normal, with starving herself and taking laxatives to lose her nonexistent weight. Side note, in case you can’t tell, my mom always thought she was fat. I was told she had body image issues and became anorexic because of her mother teasing her about her looks when she was younger. Thanks, Grandma! You almost killed me, and now I get to worry about my weight for most of my life!

It wasn’t exactly the best condition for a growing fetus. But it was because the doctor took X-rays to figure out what was wrong with her, that the doctor advised her to abort me. Back in 1977, they thought that if a woman had an X-ray performed, the baby would be born with physical and/or mental birth defects. Since my mom didn’t want me to suffer through life as a disabled child, she contemplated terminating the pregnancy. Yikes! Gulp. But because of her belief in God, not wanting to break the Ten Commandments, and the fact she felt she wouldn’t be able to handle the guilt, she decided not to. Whew, what a relief! That was too close.

I was born in July of 1978 with five fingers, five toes, and a button nose! Since then, she has always called me her miracle baby because she came close to killing me, and despite the doctor’s opinion, I turned out normal! For the most part.

Ironically, my first memory as a child was pain, fear, loneliness, and darkness. Come to think of it, was this to be the start of a constant in my life? I was about two or three years old, and I was lying on the kitchen counter in our house in Arkansas, with my foot over the basin. I was in so much pain, crying as I saw all the blood pouring down the drain. Probably shouldn’t have looked. My dad was pulling out a piece of glass that spanned from the ball of my foot to the heel. I’m going to die! Somehow, the sliding glass door had shattered, and I had managed to step on the one piece of glass that must have been standing up. After seeing all the blood, I realized I really didn’t need to see this, so I stared out the kitchen window into the darkness.

The dark didn’t put fear in me like most other little kids. It made me feel a different emotion. It looks so lonely out there. The darkness made me sad. I never really knew why. It gave me a feeling of being lost, never being able to find the light again. The sadness would always feel so deep, like it would touch my soul. So I returned my focus to Daddy. Daddy seemed to be fascinated and calm as he pushed the two flaps of skin together. It was a little calming and only slightly unnerving. Just kidding; I love to watch real surgeries now as well. My dad remained calm the whole time. If he’s calm, I guess I’m going to live. He then closed the gap in my skin with duct tape. Duct tape! Is that sanitary? Duct tape became one of the items in our first-aid kit after that since they couldn’t afford to take us to the doctor at the time. My foot healed with no scar or infection. That’s a shocker! It was a rough start for me, to say the least. Despite that though, I was a very happy and compassionate kid.

The only other thing I remember from that time was sitting on the floor in front of the TV, eating jello or popcorn and watching the Abominable Snow Man or Charley Chaplin, who I would refer to as kick in the bottom. It’s so funny when he gets kicked in the bottom because he’s bending over! More popcorn? Thank you! Actually, we ate a lot of popcorn around that time. I guess Mommy and Daddy really like popcorn! I also remember sitting in the back seat of the car, with Dawn screaming because there were sticks all over it, and they were moving! Sticks aren’t supposed to move! Why are they moving? And why is Mommy and Daddy standing outside the car laughing at us? Save us! They were walking sticks. Very strange bugs. And another time, Dawn was eating cat food, which she tried to get me to eat, with no luck I might add! That girl is crazy if she thinks I’m gonna eat cat food. I’m not a cat! Why was she eating cat food that she found in the back seat of the car? Why was it there? It was the dry cat food. Either way, gross. Where were our parents? It’s funny how most of my memories are of just me and Dawn. Where was Mommy and Daddy?

You might be wondering, Where the heck do walking sticks live? Good ole’ Arkansas! My parents moved my sister Marie, brother Edward, sister Dawn, and I there because someone told them there was a lot of work. But there wasn’t, and soon, Mommy and Daddy found themselves unable to pay for the mortgage and food. Of course, I wasn’t aware of any of it. I was just a kid. My life consisted of playing with toys with my sister, Dawn, and watching cartoons. But my grandparents were very aware of our situation. So my grandma and grandpa, Mommy’s parents, sent money and food to keep a roof over our heads and food in our mouths. But there still wasn’t enough, so Mommy and Daddy would eat nothing but popcorn so they could feed their children. Oh, that’s why we ate so much popcorn! It all makes sense now! What made things worse was, around that time, Arkansas was still a predominately racist state, and since my parents didn’t believe in racism, they were hated by a lot of Caucasian people. That’s one of the qualities I love about my parents; they don’t see color. They’ve always treated everyone as they should be treated—as equals—and they raised us to do the same. Mommy always taught us that God loves everyone equally, and skin color doesn’t matter. But maybe there were some other people they should have kept their distance from.

From my perspective, this was where my family visibly started to fall apart. Although, to be honest, it started even before. This was just a fruit of the underlying brokenness. One day, Mommy called Grandma, telling her of a nice man, Carl, who had fixed their car for free. He was about ten years older than them. Turns out, he didn’t fix the car for free; it would cost Marie and Edward’s innocence, freedom, joy, and almost their lives. Marie started sneaking out every night to hang out with him. My parents tried to stop her, with no luck. It seemed as though she was running from something. My sister, Marie, married him at the age of fourteen. I know it sounds strange that parents would let their fourteen-year-old daughter marry an old man. I believe Carl had to have been at least forty years old at the time. Isn’t that statutory rape? I wonder if my parents allowed it because that was always the goal, to find a husband. Or if they allowed it because they didn’t have the financial means to take care of four children. Or maybe it was simply because Carl was good at fixing things for them for free. I questioned it later in life and was told it was because Carl and Marie threatened my parents that they would never see her again if they didn’t give their consent. It still didn’t make much sense to me, but I guess, it didn’t really matter in the end. They let their firstborn, their precious daughter, go. Was it Carl that tore our family apart? Did he start this curse? Or was it something else? Greed, trying to get ahead? Possibly some demons from the past?

Around that time, my grandma and grandpa couldn’t afford to pay our bills anymore, so they told Mommy and Daddy to come live with them for a while until they got on their feet. Mommy, Daddy, Edward, Dawn, and me moved into their house in Los Altos. Dawn, Mommy, Daddy, and I all slept in one bedroom because the other extra bedroom was taken by my cousin and aunt. Edward slept in the garage. I don’t remember that though. It was okay living there, except they would do something weird during dinner that I didn’t understand. They wouldn’t let us eat with them. One night at dinner, I was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching my grandpa, grandma, aunt, and cousin eating dinner. The food looked and smelled good,