The Anatomy of Abuse

By Martin J J Lee

Having to endure any kind of physical, emotional, or mental abuse at any age is tortuous and can be devastating. In this novel, read, share and try to understand the experience of the abused, as well as the abuser. If your heart holds empathy, sympathy, pathos for the victimized, or if you think you may be a culprit, this novel will definitely open your eyes!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781682894194

Book preview

THE

ANATOMY

OF

ABUSE

MARTIN J. LEE

Copyright © 2016 Martin J. Lee

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2016

ISBN 978-1-68289-418-7 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-68289-419-4 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Foreword

The Anatomy of Abuse

The fear of going home to physical and emotional pain. Getting in minor trouble at school, yet so afraid of the brutish consequences that await you that you tell no one. Unable to confide in an adult, because it’s adults who have and are abusing you. Not being able to perform at work because someone else has psychological/sociological issues they’ve yet to deal with. Now here you come exposing their insecurities with your disgusting self-confidence. Geez! Who the hell are you? They’re intelligent enough to conceal their motives. They’re weak, but still bright enough to manipulate a situation or circumstance just enough to cost you your peace of mind, or even worst, your job. Being beaten so much that the day that is no more comes, and you see to it that it can’t happen again. The fear of imminent physical pain is a feeling that never leaves you—ever. Being the continual butt of someone’s jokes in public based on how you dress, or your complexion, or where you live, how short, fat, or skinny you are and getting the laugh.

Being betrayed by family and folks you brought in to your inner circle. Being ostracized because you just don’t have enough of whatever or too much of whatever for him or her to bare. I’ve experienced it all. The great Italian actress Sophia Loren once, during an interview, said, "Hunger, being truly hungry and poor are feelings that never leave you no matter how well you do in life, or how rich you become—you never forget those feelings. Such is the same with abuse. They are episodes that attach themselves to your psyche only to expire when you do. These thoughts and experiences are part of what motivated me to pen this novel. Yes, all of the characters are fictitious; still some of the events are as real as fire. I could not write or submit anything to the public without thanking, in ink, the friends I have been blessed with who supported me along the way and are still in my corner.

There’s an old saying that states, Anyone who goes through life and maintains two or three good friendships is fortunate. Well, I am blessed. The following is something that had to be written for posterity’s sake. That’s why I submit to you all who read this that the following is not all difficult to write about. Reliving the events that brought me to this point of needing these women is quite painful.

However, their involvement in my life is not. In my lifetime, as an orphan, three women took me in their home and helped raise me and send me into the world equipped with faith in womanhood and the true, pure, agape love that I had already experienced with my natural mother. Yes, with absolutely no blood relationship they fed me and gave me a roof over my head. They did all for me they could, to the absolute best of their ability.

Hey, unless you lived it, there are no words that can describe the feeling a child gets when they don’t know where they’re going to live and how they were going to eat. When they know if someone helps them how much some people feel you are indebted to them. When you live in someone else’s home how uncomfortable it is opening up their refrigerator when you’re hungry. Playing music, video games, watching TV when they’re looking at you with the there he goes again look. How truly difficult it is being a normal child. Lying, like all children do. Coming home late once in a while. Trying to heavy pet, or have a juvenile, early puberty, sexual experience while under their roof. It is my experience that tells me that other folks will never put up with a child’s bullshit like a natural parent will. Yet I was fortunate enough to be taken into the home of these three women who did all they could to make my adolescent years as comfortable as they could.

This experience is brought to life in the great Billie Holiday song God Bless the Child (That Has His Own). In particular the lyrics You can help yourself just don’t take too much! Because of Ms. Ivy Morris, Ms. Ruth LaBohne, and Ms. Mariam Romero, I didn’t meet any nonnurturing women until I left their care at seventeen and had to go it alone. You see, it is my natural mom that encouraged me to get a post high school education. It is my mom that loved me in a way I haven’t experienced since. The only woman’s affection that came close to my mother’s love was the three aforementioned ladies that accepted me into their homes. Oh how truly fortunate and blessed I am to have experienced them.

As I moved forward and eventually raised my two youngest children alone, because of my Mom’s influence, which stayed and stays with me, I was able to do that and accomplish so many other positive things. So I just don’t understand how any person, especially the woman who carried them for nine months, can leave their child. For their courage, understanding, hope giving, confidence building, and their very large hearts (muy grande corazones), it is with all due reverence and adulation that I thank the following women for their continual support. In my corner they were as I raised my two youngest children and especially during the lean financial years I endured. In my corner they remain today. Yes, these ladies had and still have my back. Good Lord, I sincerely thank you for them all. Ms. Marlene Bailey, Ms. Donna Knox, Ms. Hope Stein, Ms. Carol Inman, Ms. Marion Moody, Ms. Vashti Starks, Ms. Elana M. Evans, MS (and soon to be EDD), Ms. Patricia Bey, Ms. Viola Wilson, Ms. Melissa (Missy) Bundy, Ms. Sharmane Roberson, Ms. Marcia Adams, Ms. Sandra Engelfried. There’s a special place in my heart for Ms. Marsha Whitely as well. Oh how I admire that woman’s ability to get things done professionally! I have saved this place in my introduction narrative for Ms. Betty Wilson. A true dear friend who has supported me immensely through some difficult times and still does the same today. What a blessing you are, Betty. Many thanks and much love always.

Last, but certainly not least, is Ms. Danielle Mangiaracina. my Lord, Ms. Mangiaracina, is there a better motivator than you? Anywhere? My sweet Lord has placed these women in my life like queens in a chess match, clearing my chessboard of life’s freighted impediments. In essence they collectively laid the smooth pavement of possibilities for me to traverse comfortably while I grew personally and spiritually in the process. Only God can do something that great; therefore I appreciate the presence of each and every one of these special women. Many thanks to the following female family members: Ms. Sylvia Hopewell, Ms. Marie Morris, Ms. Jamillah Sham’shideen, Ms. Yolanda Morris, Ms. Diane LaBohne, Ms. Lana and Regina Romero, Ms. Quanla Morris, and my beloved daughters Ayisha T. Hunt, Maryum H. Lee, and Jade A. Lee. As I undertook the arduous task of penning my first novel, it is the whole of you all that supported and pushed me to keep moving forward.

It is my personal life experiences that brought me to the point of writing The Anatomy of Abuse. It is a collection of stories that I hope educates, entertains, enlightens, and brings every reader into the minds of both the abuser and the abused. From the depths of my soul I thank each and every one of you! Please enjoy my work.

Story 1

ABUSE OF AUTHORITY AND PRIVILEGE

Chapter I

I have thoroughly reviewed the case and I have listened to four days of testimony from over ten witnesses. Although compelling, I find it difficult to believe that all of the witnesses were being forthright, honest, or sincere. From my twelve years on this bench I know from experience that the old saying, What’s right is not always popular, and, what’s popular is not always right. Is true. Mr. Reyes, Your attorney presented a very strong case, apparently everyone bought your story but me. I just don’t believe you’re innocent. Therefore with the power vested in me by the state of New York I find you guilty of both first degree robbery and first-degree assault. There was a collective gasp in not only the Yasiel Guillermo Enrique Reyes section of family loved ones and supporter’s, but in the entire courtroom as well. The bailiff and the court stenographer were just as stunned as everyone else. Yasiel Reyes was to all observers obviously clearly innocent of all charges. Per the evidence set forth. Five of the twelve witnesses who Swore Mr. Reyes was at his cousins wedding were angered beyond words.

The remaining seven were neighbors and coworkers testifying about Mr. Reyes character. No one in that courtroom anticipated Mr. Reyes being found guilty. At the announcement of the verdict, Mr. Reyes’s knees buckled and his pregnant wife of five years screamed in anguish, EEEeeoooyow. She then began to sob uncontrollably, and blurting out in clear, unbroken Spanglish, between bodies shaking sobs. "Please, God, no! No dejes que ellos toman mi hombre. Dias mio, ayudame. Lord, please, puhleese, God no. No dejes que esto sea el final. Please, God, help us, ahora, my Lord! The acoustics in the room made the collective moaning of the folks in the gallery sound like a backup group signing a funeral dirge with Michelle’s Reyes’s wailing as the lead. Just as Michelle Reyes’s (Yasiel’s wife) mixed bilingual plead to God and her honor subsided, Judge Beatrice May Shank slammed her gavel with both hands like a concrete worker slamming a sledge hammer, chipping the edge of the rather large mahogany desk and almost breaking the tiny wooden tool, Order, Order, Order in this damn courtroom, she yelled, and I mean now! Or I’ll clear this courtroom of every one of you.

Mr. Reyes being found guilty of first-degree aggravated armed robbery and first-degree aggravated assault you are sentenced to not less than five years, and not more than ten years incarceration (the conspiracy charge could not be proven). Maximum security at a State of New York penal facility to be named later. Mr. Reyes your bail is now revoked. This matter may be taken up on appeal which is your legal right, Mr. Reyes. Bailiff remove the prisoner.

Chapter II

Greg Steemsma had tried every drug under the sun. His personal life, as usual, therefore was in tatters. He couldn’t keep a job, he couldn’t do school because his attention span, save for his thoughts about drugs, was next to nil. Everyone close to him could stand no more of his presence, let alone his company. His parents, both medical professionals (his mother a pediatrician, and his father a registered nurse), so I have to say Greg was an only child raised in privilege. Now he was given an ultimatum. He would have to leave their (his parents) home immediately with a two choice destination. Either go to treatment (a rehabilitation center) or find a place of his own. He of course chose the former. His addiction was so overwhelmingly powerful that a thirty-day program turned into nine months. Released and quite frightened with the prospect of a drug-less future, Greg decided to take every suggestion and started making twelve-step meetings. He was uncomfortable in the meetings and he didn’t believe that anyone who got high like he did could possibly be without drugs or alcohol as long as these folks were claiming to be free of drugs. Still, he continued to attend regularly, and, he did what was set forth to him by the program. He got a home group (a main group that he could take part in the voting, and other home group service activities, a place where he could meet every week and familiarize himself with others) he befriended three or four people who were claiming to be clean for years and asked them to be in his personal support group.

Last but not least he asked someone to sponsor him. He even attempted something that he really felt uncomfortable doing. He set out to make ninety meetings in ninety days. He truly wanted to believe this program would work because his prospects for work and personal progress were now slim to none. After two months of daily twelve-step meeting making Greg met Mr. Cain Bench, a recovering addict who was almost twelve years older than he who had been clean (free of all drugs and alcohol) for six years when Greg met him. The respect Cain received made Greg feel like he had asked one of the stalwarts of the program to sponsor him. This is what he wanted because it made him feel secure to be in the confidence of this sage, recovery savvy, older guy. The backbone of a sponsor-sponsee relationship is trust.

I mean the ultimate trust, very similar to what a small child feels about his mother during their formative years. According to what Greg had learned was that all of his secrets would keep him sick, so anything he had done, especially what he was doing in the present, he had, in order for the program to work, to confide in at least one other person. Having an experienced, older man in his life like Cain made him feel optimistic that whatever Greg said in confidence would remain safe. In Greg’s entire life he had never been around so many people who had an identity crisis. He was meeting folks who were changing their names and religious beliefs every other week. I mean, he would need to keep notes and a score card to remember their names, sexual preference, and religious affiliations, etc., so as not to offend anyone and to always be politically correct. And so many folks whose main objective was to impress someone, anyone (especially the newer members), or any members, with their knowledge of the program and/or their length of time away from mood-altering, mind-changing chemicals (clean time).

Sammy-jack, a member of Greg’s newly assembled support group told Greg to remain cautious. Sammy stated further that the fellowship was loaded with charlatans, near do wells, folks who hypocritically misrepresented themselves in order to curry favor from others or to manipulate the newer members. He went on to tell Greg to just be careful, I can’t stress that enough young brother. Well, said Greg, these folks I don’t even know or never met are very giving of their time and most had helped me immensely, especially when I said something that was contrary to what the program had to offer. "Sure, said Sammy, but please heed my words.

When an addict is beaten, dresses poorly, and hungry and/or smelly and comes here with a frighten insecure look about them a lot of these folks will help you, feed you, and look out for you. But, get a little bit more than them, and it doesn’t have to be something tangible like a new car, or fresh new clothes or jewelry. Be asked to sponsor more people than they, Curry the interest of a young lady that one of them (male or female) was interested in, or have someone publicly speak about you with adoration, a level of adulation that no one in the fellowship ever bestowed upon them, and those same people who went out of their way to help you will suddenly despise you.

They’ll actually tell lies about you to foment an unsavory reputation about you to curtail others from developing an appreciation for you and what you have to offer, or from warming up to you. I mean you’re going to experience jealousy like you’ve never experienced it before. So mark my words, young buddy, and find the good because it’s here. In other words what your telling me Sammy is not to jump in until I know how deep it is. replied Greg. Almost, said Sammy. That’s part of it. The only thing I want you to jump blindly into is accepting that this program when followed to a tee as it is written in our literature is full proof. That you and all who come here don’t ever have to get high again. That, the program itself (what’s written), more than what’s said my good buddy, you can believe with blind faith 100 percent; Greg was astounded that Sammy and other folks have taken an interest in helping him fight his personal demons.

Chapter III

Beatrice May Shank was the middle child (born fourth) of seven children born to Effie and Albert Shank. She was born and raised in Jersey City, New Jersey. An extremely ambitious child with a tremendous work ethic and astronomical aspirations. She was barely above average intelligence, and although academically capable and extremely well read with an inordinate ability to speak the Kings English, with a penchant of using words correctly (based on an uncanny ability, a gift of gauging where to use certain words in the context of dialogue) that were really foreign to her vocabulary, still she had a very difficult time with mathematics. In every grade throughout High school she had to attend summer school for Algebra 1, Algebra 2, Geometry, and Trigonometry in order to pass into the next grade, having failed all four subjects throughout the entirety of every regular school year. But as she proved, to herself to her jealous siblings, and to all the other pundits and/or naysayers that told her she wasn’t smart enough, the absolute power of faith, confidence, and persistence. She did poorly on her SAT (scholastic aptitude test) and didn’t get accepted to any major colleges as she had hoped.

She enrolled into Community college, made the honor roll with tutoring, and reached one of her goals of getting accepted in to Rutgers University’s, Main campus in New Brunswick, New Jersey. She Graduated Summa Cum Laude with a Bachelor of Arts in English. She was then accepted into New York University Law School. She dated sporadically, but she had no interest in maintaining a relationship as she saw a love affair as an impediment to her forward progress. In her three-plus years in law school, she had three boyfriends but only interested in sexually satisfaction, much to the chagrin of all three lovers after less than two months into each relationship, she broke it off to focus solely on her dream of being an attorney.

She wanted to be so good that when she walked into a courtroom her mere presence would assure her clients that they’d soon be walking out with her. Not caring about the old adage that a rolling stone gathers no moss. She remained aloof throughout her law school days. Again, success based on extremely hard work, had assured her she’d be graduating at least tenth in a class of over three hundred law school students. Beatrice did, however have two very good female friends that she engaged sexually during her days at NYU Law School. As with her fleeting relationships with men, she made sure that these two weren’t allowed to get too close to her either. Her entire family attended her graduation, and she was beyond ecstatic. She actually gloated at the few (three) siblings who told her she wouldn’t make it. Her future held quite a lot of promise and with a mother’s and a father’s kiss for luck she was on her way.

Chapter IV

Yasiel Reyes came to New York at the age of seven as an illegal alien after a torturous, perilous trip from Mexico City, Mexico, across the Texas Border. Then with the use of two Coyotes (an illegal Mexican guide/sponsor) he, his two teenage sisters (ages thirteen and fifteen), and his mother (age thirty-seven) (who were all, save for Yasiel, raped several times by the two coyotes they hired to help them flee Mexico) made their way to New York City and a promise of a better, more productive life.

Hector Rodriguez, Nekane Reyes (Yasiel’s mother’s brother) had made the El Norte journey to New York City, some three years prior, was the first family member to make the trip to New York, and it was he, with the bulk of his savings accrued since arriving to New York, who had actually financed the treacherous trip north for his sister and her three children. Upon arrival to the big apple the Reyes family settled in with Mr. Rodriguez in his two-bedroom slum tenement in the Washington Heights section of Manhattan, an ominous neighborhood riddled with drugs and prostitution. Although the journey north was very much the traumatic experience the Reyes family’s appreciation was now twofold. (1) Ms. Nekane Reyes was no longer in the slums of Mexico, working for 300 USD per month, and (2) the absolute most grueling, horrible, wrought with humiliation, frightening journey they could ever imagine was now over.

Chapter V

I got it, he thought to himself. They actually hired me. Harry Simon continued say to himself out loud after getting the call he’d been anticipating all of his adult life. A city job, working with his absolute favorite group of people, children. Harry Simon had some nine years ago, completed his GED program. Went to community college were it took him four years to complete the two year curriculum. Then he graduated with a degree in social services after three more years in undergraduate school.

His nine-year journey had finally paid off culminating in a position with the New York City Human Resource Administration, Children division. Harry adored children, because, unlike most of the adults in Harry’s life, most of the children he met were guile-less. Orphaned at age five and placed in foster care as a result, Harry was released from lockup at age twenty-one, for first-degree manslaughter of his foster care father whom he attacked in his sleep at age thirteen and beat to death with fifteen vicious, unabated blows to the head with a ballpeen hammer. Harry, his foster brother and two foster sisters were repeatedly raped by both foster parents who also sexually shared the children with their low-brow, sadistic, pedophile friends.

Harry’s former foster mother and her cohort criminal pedophile acquaintances all received a fifteen to thirty year term for their role in the vicious rapes and aberrant, deviant, sexual abuse of the children. However, Harry didn’t wait for court proceedings for his former foster father, he, himself tried, convicted, and sentenced his former foster father to death, that night, in his foster parents’ bedroom. His juvenile record sealed, and by law released from prison at twenty-one years of age (a child who has been jailed since before the age of sixteen legally can’t be held past age twenty-one), both mandatory as set forth by the state of New York law, he immediately set out to improve his life.

His time in juvenile lockup or prison was not beset by the booty bandits attempting to rape him, say not so. Due to his murder conviction reputation, and the near death experience he exposed his cell mate to (upon his arrival at Attica prison at age seventeen) who set out on a fool’s errand that he’d soon regret when he decided to steal Harry’s Pond’s Cold Cream. He then received the beating from Harry that brought the poor, ignorant, bastard to within an inch of his life.

Harry actually did not serve time, as he put it, he made time serve him. He didn’t use any (contraband) drugs or prison made hooch (wine). He spent the bulk of his time reading every, and anything he could get his hands on. When he wasn’t in the juvenile hall, then (transferred to adult lockup at age seventeen) the prison libraries, he was in the weight room accentuating his truly beautiful six feet two, 218 pounds, 9 percent body fat, sculpted, buffed, physique. His large muscles were accompanied by a gaggle of miniature muscles which were set nicely on a thirty-one-inch waist that appeared to be chiseled out by a master sculptor. He read all he could about nutrition, then closely monitored his diet and as he put it, I stay in shape. Although very well read, Harry was nonetheless intimidated by classroom academia, which is why he hadn’t pursued his GED during his time in lockup. Upon his release he swore to himself to do all he could to attain a better life. Now, about to become a civil servant his immediate prospects made his future look bright.

Chapter VI

Greg, now drug and alcohol free for just under two years had missed less than a weeks’ worth of meetings during his time in the twelve-step fellowship. So engrossed in the program was he that newer members had now begun to ask him to sponsor them. Greg was now faced with a dilemma that he had never experienced before. He was rapidly losing weight for no apparent reason and he couldn’t maintain an erection. When he recently cut himself shaving it took him almost an hour to stop the small cut from bleeding, and, his blood had taken on a pinkish hue. He constantly