Growing Pains: "The Knowledge and Wisdom That's Still Growing Me Through It All."

By Rosilyn Walker

From being abandoned in the hospital at birth, living with a clinically diagnosed schizophrenic mother, and dealing with a somewhat absent alcoholic father. To fighting through epilepsy during my teenage years and some of my adulthood. From dealing with the heartbreaks and betrayals of relationships and friendships. To laying my dreams down, literally. 
From battling anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideation in my adulthood, to practicing New Age beliefs and Yoruba, "the beliefs of 'my people'", religion, to becoming homeless and house hopping. I share with you the to's and fro's of my pain and my growth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosilyn Walker
• Release date: Apr 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798986515366

Book preview

Growing Pains

Copyright © 2021 by Rosilyn Walker 

Published by Growing Pains LLC

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Scripture quotations marked (NIV) are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

Scripture taken from the New King James Version® (NKJV). Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

This book is an autobiography. No names have been changed, no characters invented, no events fabricated. This work is sold with the understanding that neither the author nor the publisher are held responsible for the results accrued from the advice in this book.

For information contact Rosilyn Walker at Growing Pains LLC :

(1130 South Canal Street Chicago, IL 60607 #1382)

[e-mail]

www.rosilynwalker.com

Book Cover Photography by Deontay White | [e-mail]

ISBN : Paperback: 9798986515359 | Ebook: 9798986515366 | Audiobook: 9798986515373

LCCN: 2022920

DEDICATION

To this sixteen-year-old girl, God was listening the entire time.

Bad Transactions

Being rewarded with bad transactions,

Growing up in domestic violence,

Watching all the dopies make their transactions,

Being around kids who don't think before making their actions into reactions,

Being stressed out from a broken heart and a confused mind,

Being hated for who I am and accused of who I'm not,

Continuously doing good and being rewarded with bad transactions

Being misled by the boy I loved but never had

Because to him, it was just a fad.

You see, I'm 16 at war with the world, and at night under my blanket curled is the only place I feel safe,

It's like I'm in a race against myself and I came in last place,

I'm doing good; I'm holding my innocence for a man who will truly love me,

I'm going to school clocking A's and B's, but I'm being rewarded with bad daily!

This is my war and you're just a battle trying to overcome my victory!

But still, I'll rise and look to the sky, and smile for all my glory !

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE | AT BIRTH 1

CHAPTER TWO | IT TAKES A VILLAGE 7

CHAPTER THREE | SAFETY CHECK 19

CHAPTER FOUR | INCIDENTS 25

CHAPTER FIVE | MOVIN' ON UP 33

CHAPTER SIX | HIGH SCHOOL DAZE 37

CHAPTER SEVEN | FAIRYTALE 47

CHAPTER EIGHT | SITUATION-SHIP 53

CHAPTER NINE | EMOTIONAL ROLLERCOASTER 63

CHAPTER TEN | WITCHCRAFT 83

CHAPTER ELEVEN | KICKED TO THE CURB 109

CHAPTER TWELVE | HOUSE HOPPIN' 117

CHAPTER THIRTEEN | COLLECTIONS 129

CHAPTER FOURTEEN | LOST ONES 137

CHAPTER FIFTEEN | PURPOSE 151

CHAPTER ONE

AT BIRTH

The devil had a plan for me at birth: rejection, abandonment, alcoholism, idolatry, witchcraft, and mental illness. Those were some of his plans and doorways. This was his plan for my family. Imagine being born to a mother who is clinically diagnosed with schizophrenia and an alcoholic father who is barely out of the Army, and they both leave you in the hospital at birth.

My mother was born in 1950, in Mississippi, and decided to reside in Chicago, IL, while still a young woman. I don’t have much insight about my mother’s upbringing as a child, nor her parents, but I do know that they both were born in the early 1900’s, and they hailed from Mississippi also. Although I don’t know much about my mother’s childhood, I was informed earlier in my adulthood by my siblings that my mother endured rape on many occasions as a young woman while living in Mississippi. They also informed me that it is likely that she experienced the same sexual abuse while residing in Chicago, and this trauma may likely be the cause of her mental illness.

As a child, I would always hear the vulgar conversations my mother had with herself. She always talked about big black dicks and how men were always coming into her room to have sex with her:

Yeah, Jimmy Junior Grear and the rest of them motherfuckers be coming in my room at night while I’m sleep with they big, black, nasty AIDS virus dicks, and they be having sex with me thinkin’ I don’t know it.

As a born-again believer in Jesus Christ, I now know that the "men" my mother experience are tormenting spirits/demons, as described in Luke 6:17-19:

"And He came down with them and stood on a level place with a crowd of His disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea and Jerusalem, and from the seacoast of Tyre and Sidon, who came to hear Him and be healed of their diseases, as well as those who were tormented with unclean spirits. And they were healed. And the whole multitude sought to touch Him, for power went out from Him and healed them all." (NKJV)

She never talked about anything other than men sneaking into her room to have sex with her. Another thing I noticed were the names. My mother always specified names, and they were always the same names, so I do believe that my mother knows who her abusers are.

As I became older, I also noticed the absurd behavior of my mother when it came to her personal hygiene. She douched daily, bathed in bleach, and gargled or rinsed her mouth with vinegar or peroxide, as if she was trying to get rid of something. Aside from her sexual trauma, I am more than certain that my mother and my grandparents had to endure the many obstacles of racism and Jim Crow as well. Although I am not fully certain about my mother’s Schizophrenia and its formation, I do believe that my mother’s mental illness is a manifestation of unhealed and unforgiven trauma, specifically rape.

My relationship with my mother is formal and our conversations are minuscule. We greet each other whenever we cross paths, but we never had a substantial conversation beyond that. Imagine living in the house with your mother and you greet each other like neighbors or a coworker. Throughout my childhood and over the years, I did not realize the impact of me not having a relationship with my mother and how it affected me, because now, at the age of twenty-eight, I finally realized I grew up feeling unsafe, unloved, and unnurtured. My mother has never told me she loves me, and up until the age I am now, I never had the privilege to call her or any other woman mom or mama – at least not directly.

My father has a similar upbringing as my mother’s. He was born in 1958. His parents were also born in the early 1900’s and they hailed from Mississippi. Just like my mother, I don’t have much insight into my father’s childhood, and I don’t have any insight about his parents, but my father has told me stories about the deliberate racism he faced and the traumatic situations he faced while serving in the Army. He often got into physical altercations for being called a nigger, which could have cost him his life, and for being spat on.

My father’s addiction to alcohol began before I was born, meaning this was something I was born into. I have been told that my father has always been a heavy drinker, which he still is today. I believe my father’s alcoholism is a coping mechanism for unhealed trauma from poverty, trauma from the Army, and possible PTSD.

I specify my father’s poverty mindset because of his decisions when it comes to everyday living. I can’t recall the last time my father went to a grocery store because he prefers the donations from food pantries. Instead of buying furniture, he prefers the neighbor’s furniture out of the alley, and I don’t recall my father ever buying shoes or clothes. I would just see him in something that has been obviously worn.

Aside from his poverty mindset, I saw my father’s possible PTSD through an incident I endured. My little brother and I were in the basement going through old boxes and we found water guns. So, I came up with the "brilliant" idea to load them up and to shoot my drunk and sleeping father. And before I continue, please, don’t let me neglect to tell the fact that I was an adult when I decided to do this, and yes, I knew better. But I still decided that this would be a fun joke to pull on my father.

So, my little brother and I loaded the water guns, and we shot our drunken father while he was asleep. When he woke up, he was confused yet upset, but there we were on the floor, nearly out of breath from laughter.

He finally got up from his chair and said, You motherfuckers wanna play with play bullets? Stay right there, I got some real bullets for y’all asses!

Now, I got up and sat on the arm of the couch with an arrogant matter of-fact type of attitude, waiting to see what he was about to do, until my little brother grabbed

my hand and ran with me upstairs telling me, He gon’ shoot us for real!

I continued to follow my little brother’s lead and we ran into my little sister’s room. He instructed me to get under the bed and then he went into the closet. I got under the bed, but I thought to myself, How did he know to do this? I heard a gunshot and my father yelling, Bring y’all asses out! and he let off another gunshot. I could hear his footsteps pacing the creaking floor. I’ve never been so scared in my life.

Yeah, y’all better stay y’all asses in there!

And we eventually heard him go back downstairs. Some time went by, and I finally whispered my little brother’s name to make sure he was alright. We finally came out of our hiding spots, and I decided to ask my little brother how did he know to go and hide, and he told me that wasn’t his first time experiencing that type of behavior from my father. He told me he and my little sister played a similar joke on my father and the same thing happened:

Me and Kay did the same thing when mama was alive. We was playing with water in the house, and we threw some on daddy, and he pulled out his gun and mama told us to go hide under the bed.

When we finally came out of the room we saw the shell casings on the floor, one bullet in the wall, and another in the ceiling. My father was downstairs in his chair with his liquor on the side of him as he nodded back off to sleep.

I think it’s safe to say that my father didn’t have any serious intentions to really shoot us because the door to my little sister’s room was very weak, so had he wanted to, he could have easily broken down the door and done just that. I believe his true motive was to instill fear in us.

Although I sat on the arm of that couch like I was big and bad, I’d be lying if I were to tell you that I wasn’t scared. To be honest, scared is an understatement for the way I was feeling. I was scared because of how quickly he reacted and the extent that he allowed his anger to lead him. I also still question what he would have done had I continued to sit on the arm of that couch, but you see I didn’t continue to sit there though.

Based on what I know and what I’ve observed with the generations of both my paternal and maternal family, I believe the enemy had a major plan for mental illness and alcoholism, but of course no plans are superior to God’s plans.

I still don’t know how I got out of that hospital, but I do know that I was raised by my maternal elder aunt until the age of two. Once I became an adult my aunt informed me that although my father did not pursue custody rights, he always made it his business to come visit. She said he would come by to visit me, sometimes drunk and crying, and he would always leave money.

After a while, my aunt reached an age where she was unable to physically take care of me. Once she realized she would not be able to care for me, her daughter (my cousin), pursued custody rights, but my sister stepped in instead. From that point, I was raised by my eldest sister, who then got legal custody of me. So legally, my sister is my mother.

CHAPTER TWO

IT TAKES A VILLAGE

––––––––

My sister had two daughters of her own before she got custody of me. She also had custody of my older brother, she decided to take responsibility for my eldest brother, and eventually she became the primary caretaker for my mother. So, altogether she was raising five children and taking care of our mother. My sister took on a lot of responsibility while sacrificing a lot at the age of twenty-three. Because of the great responsibility she took on, I often wonder about her dreams, her goals, and her passions—what dreams my sister would have pursued, and whether she feels like she didn’t experience the abundance of her life. Was this the purpose God