Once upon a modern time... in the year 2000 that is, existed a heavyset 12 year old girl, and her name, Esmeralda. Esmeralda took great pride in being a white, Mexican, and Latino young lady. In her neighborhood, the "hood", there was this fine 18 year old black guy, Elonjay, whom she had had a huuuuge crush on since she was the age of 9.
As she entertained the fact that he might've thought her being Latino, was very intriguing, and meant she was beautiful, it just made her melt even more! As their friendship grew so powerful, so did the unending, painful, burning lust, that came with her crush.
So, after those starstruck months, between the star-crossed lovers; with her mischievous-malicious little smile, she persuaded Elonjay to sleep with her. He thought, "She's absolutely gorgeous, how could I refuse?" So, that's when it happened. After that one night, the young lovers created a baby, soon to be discovered. Elonjay hadn't any intentions of being a father. HE wanted to be with other girls, and the agonizing fear of being arrested, grew within him. He soon made himself scarce.
Darcy, Esmeralda's mother, herself had given birth at a young age of 16, so, it's safe to say that it ran in the family. As Darcy tried to shield Esmeralda from gangs and mischief, it soon grew too physically and verbally abusive for her to bear. After being arrested, Esmeralda was placed in and out of foster homes with different cultures, ethnicity, and rules. Esmeralda became distraught, especially without her father in her life. 3 weeks.. months, 4 months.. 5 months.. 6,7,8, finally, the 9th month. 52 hours of hard labor, and she knew it was her fault. On June 3rd, 2001 the baby, me, well...see I came out black. Inside and soon to come, the crazy attitude of a Latino, the burning anger and hardheadedness of a Mexican, ghetto ways of a African american, and the actions and accent of a white, country, little rednek baby.
We had been to all sorts of different foster homes in 4 months alone. This was where Memaw, my foster-great grandmother came in. She brought us in her home and raised us both, as a 4 month old and 12 year old mother. No one in the nosy little city of Simms, Texas, (where the rednecks grow) had ever heard of such a thing! Esmeralda wasn't the mother she should have been trying to be, so all the people in Simms, that were very well aware of my existence, decided that they would become my family. Their "adoption" was their "legal document" to help raise, love, protect, and be there for me, otherwise be in every part of my personal; PRIVATE life.
Yes, these amazing people where, ARE my family, my Simms Family. Even though they have no physical, external, or internal DNA to be examined about them . . . they are my ONLY family. (Especially, after finding out that none of my biological relatives wanted anything to do with my existence; even though I was only a mere infant.) Since then, my Simms Fam has grown in abundance. They all call me Bebee, you know like the bb gun. Esmeralda never really intended on bearing a child, let alone being a mother.
She simply wanted to party. She always shut me, or anyone that ever dared to get to know her out. I remember being very young; crying and begging mommy not to go, and her being 14 and violently kicking me off her leg and slamming the door behind her, as Memaw watched unable to break the CPS (Child Protection Services) rule of whooping her. At the age of 3 (technically 1, but I wasn't old enough to recite the words she said, let alone understand them), she began mentally and physically abusing me. She would twist my little arms to feel the happiness that my pain gave her and tell me that I would never amount to anything in life, or tell me that I was the ugliest child she's ever seen in all of her existence. She also uttered the words and I quote, "You're so fat and ugly you make me sick. I wish I would've never had you and that I would've aborted you when I had the chance! Just shut up and stop breathing! I hate you!!" She also, used to slap me over and over just to watch me cry, and gain great pleasure from her actions like a trophy or something; especially, when Memaw, wasn't paying attention.
Back then, Memaw was the only one that actually care about my endless pain. She raised us in church, until CPS, made Esmeralda move out at 18. I thought that my little life would get better, and that this, this phase . . . was simply something that all little girls my age, had to go through. Sadly, I was incorrect. By the age of 5, I began to get bullied and pushed out of groups, because the other girls and I, had several differences. All of them were beautiful and cute little bunnies. They all maintained pretty: blonde, thin; straight hair, with diamond blue, emerald green, or light brown sugar eyes.
Since I happened to be of more cultures than them, I was blessed with thick, frizzy: black, long, curly hair, with DARK chocolate brown eyes, that's how I earned my old titles, the ugly duckling or most famous, BIG ELEPHANT! Then when I turned 6, things only began to get even worse. I started to come home and erupt into tears, because no one would play with me, or they would hide from me and all the boys that would start to play with me and be my only friend, were being made fun of for hanging out with an ugly fat girl. I mean after all, I only wanted to be like all the other girls, pretty and skinny and smart, with a lot of friends. I wanted to be white. Acceptance issues chased me all the way through elementary and middle school. Especially when I had a little crush.
Back then I was so in love with the thought of love. Anyways, when I was seven, (Did I mention I used to be extremely tender-hearted? So that just made stuff worse), Esmeralda had to move out of Memaw’s house, the CPS (Child Protective Services) has a law, that a child that is 18 years of age or older, has to move out and get their own place, since we had taken two other girls from foster care in, she had to move out. They retaliated against us, because they didn’t like how Memaw ran the household. Even though I was chubby, I was REEEEAL stout, and one very treacherous day, I had had enough. I completed my list of everything they did to her, back to them! Then the court ordered counselor meetings.
In the meetings, they would tell the counselor, she pinches me, she hits me, she bites me! They were ranting about me, not Memaw. CPS had come and taken me, Esmeralda, and the 2 other girls away, 46 days I was gone. 46 flippin days! Do you know what that can even do a little 7 year old?! Every night I screamed and cried myself to sleep.
I was in mourning, it was tough. After the investigation was dropped, and Memaw was cleared, we were returned to her. Several people from my Simms Fam, wrote very distraught letters every day and fought for my return. Including my present band director, and his wife. I had learned VERY early in life about the birds and the bees, given my situation (I was 5 when I figured it out). Then one day, in 2nd Grade Memaw came to school and told me I was moving again. I tried with all my 8 year old might to fight back my tears.
It didn’t work. I erupted into tears, as I watched Memaw and my 2nd Grade teacher bawl with me. I had to move, I had never heard of something so tragic in all of my little life. I was being forced to live with Esmeralda, and she was a very unfit mother. Her attention span spent on me, was that of a dog. She began angrily beating me, and punching me, destroying my self confidence.
I suffered for 6 long months of abuse and near starvation and lost 34 lbs, due to her ever longing laziness and cold hearted hatred towards me. I was her slave. She had already given birth to my eldest little sister, on her side that is, who is now 7. Back then, she was only 9 months old. When Evan, my full blooded mexican stepfather, would leave to go to work, she would bully and beat on my sister and I, until I cooked for the 3 of us. She pushed me against the wall of our trailer and, yanked me by my hair just so I would cry. Then threaten my life privileges, if I didn’t clean the house and bathe my sister or wash the clothes…. Let’s just say, it would’ve been tragic.
One horrid day, after the freedom of being over in the presence of my grandmother Darcy, before she died, I was tired and I wanted to go bed, I wasn’t whiny or being unreasonable, I was just petrified of what Esmeralda might do to me when I would fall asleep. I made the terrible mistake of asking her twice if we could travel back home, and that when it occurred to me, my life was in grave danger. In Darcy’s (or Nana as I used to call her) house, there appeared to be a brick wall she and her fiance’ had built up, and inside the room was an old, uncomfortable, squeaky, bed. Believe me, the rust showed it age. Esmeralda took a firm grasp of both my little arms, and my torso... and threw me as hard as should could against the brick wall. The pain was unbearable, I couldn’t move for what seemed to be a long while, but in reality 15 minutes.
She threw me so aggressively, one of my little teeth came out. It wasn’t even lose. I had a huge nick on the back of my head, I burned the sentence “Well maybe if i’m good tomorrow she won’t hurt me again! And if I lose weight and stop being ugly.. We can be friends finally!” into my tormented, abused, scared adolescent mind. That weekend, she delivered me back into Memaw’s care. She said “Here I don’t want the little batch! She’s not worth anything!” As I grew older I began to feel so much depression and sorrow enter my angered body.
I began to hate everything and everyone. I felt as if.. the world owed me something, for all those perilous years of torture and several never ending types of abuse. At the age of 10, I developed anorexia and people’s every thought of me mattered. I sought out the joy and love of a mother and tried to fill that burning hole in my shattered heart. I pushed away Memaw and everyone that never gave me a chance. I’d given up. My grades out the window, my clarinet skills, (I play Bb clarinet and sit 2nd chair in the band btw) started to deteriorate. I was hateful to myself, and Memaw and I,.... Well all we did was fight.
It became harder and harder; more difficult. I wanted to die, but God had a different reason. A better reason for me to live... even though the agony was unbearable, I still made it through... on July 11, 2010, I was saved. As I grew in my walk with Jesus, I knew that something wasn't quite right. I felt depression re enter my body again. I kept wanting to die. Oh dear sweet agony.
I was broken and only I knew, I started pushing away my love and strength for Christ. In the 7th grade I had the biggest crush on my ex best friend, and halfway thru the 8th. Being bullied over associating and being his acquaintance, or just being bullied general, was too much for me. He would tell me that I was the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen, just for show in front of teachers, but in front of our acquaintances, he would be all like you’re never gonna lose weight so just stop, you’re just ugly you freak, even though, I’m still young and may not know much about love, I know we, Hamsen and I never had any to begin with. All through elementary, I had an atrocious attitude.
My elementary teachers beg to differ, although, I can’t presume why. I started asking myself, why. Why am I here, why do I always hurt for other people, and myself? Do I even matter, why did God make me the way I am, does God even hear my longing calls, just, just why? Why am I always suffering?! I always managed to come to the assumption of, “I don’t matter, I’m nothing. God never intended on letting me have a incredible life, or talent. I’M UGLY AND ALWAYS WILL BE. No one wants to date an obese, unintelligent, nobody who lacks everything of beauty. Especially talent!!!!!!!!!”
When I would try to change my actions and be at most, a decent human being, a lot of people stared in disbelief. Tragically, some people had “gotten involved” with me and told me that they were my family and that they would always be there for me. I didn’t know any better. It ate me alive when they said that they weren’t serious and what they had proposed, was that if I ever needed money or something, but nothing more. So, I backed off, like they had asked me to, and when I turned 14, I planned to not live, since people wouldn’t even attempt to understand me. They were to worried about themselves or the goody-two-shoes around our neighborhood. When I failed at being a majorette, that was my breaking point.
Yes, I shouldn’t have been feeling sorry for myself that much, I mean.. If I didn’t sometimes nobody would. Then I wouldn’t have learned that movies LIE, no one has ever nor will ever be exquisite and perfect or live that lifestyle, and to stop trying to be perfect. Back then, it was a matter of life or death. I reached out to a teacher no one knew but me, even she cast me away. My pain burned within me like 10,000 suns or my little celeb crush on Chris Evans aka Captain America!!!<3 A month later, I had had enough.
On a hot day, in the middle of the 2nd semester, of 7th grade year I was looking for a book about Stephen F. Austin for my history project, when...an old librarian of mine had seen me crying. Anger swept across her face, as she muttered the words “Stop trying to get people to feel sorry for you, I’m not.” I began to bawl, so much it hurt, inside and out. I had taken an black sharpie, located my pulse on both wrists, and drawn horizontal lines to be cut with an old knife. When I was to get home, I was going to permanently end my temporary problems. As I checked out my book, the librarian felt horrible for her actions and apologized, because she could see the hurt she had caused. Through my heavily salted tears...I said, it’s fine i’m used to it.
I asked her if she truly loved me, she said “why would you ask me that??” I didn’t reply. Again she said why would you ask me that. I simply showed her my wrist shaking in fear of death. She looked at me with great hurt and swelling tears in her eyes. She said, “You hold on, and wait right here!” Then she took her long legs down from her wooden bar, where she checks out the books, and walked down to the HS office to get someone to keep an eye on the class in the library. When she returned, she took me to the counselor’s office. On the way, she held me so tight, as if she was trying to squeeze out all my pain, and hurt and sealed it with a great big kiss. When we arrived there, we all sat down and talked. They asked me if I was just doing this for attention, I said why would I.
A year later, I was all better, I had matured and grown so much in happiness, and love, strength, hope, but most of all my walk with Christ! I’ll admit, It was a bumpy start 8th grade year, but I made it through. The 2nd semester was even better. Despite losing Hamsen, my ex best friend, and current friend, due to his being atheist and constant fighting.. Everything fell back into the puzzle, all the broken pieces were renewed. I rededicated my life, and I rose up from all my pain and suffering, like a bright red rose through the concrete. I attended church camp, and finally gave my self-consciousness over to the Lord, and I’m currently still working on my body shaming.
Now, in 2016 as 15 year old Freshman, I stand and talk to people about God and mainly ecstatic almost every day. I would also like to think all those people who did everything negative and positive to me, who put me down, pushed me away, kicked me out of their groups, abused me, talked about me behind my back, left my life, discouraged me, who didn’t let me play most of the time on the team, who are jealous of me, who lifted me up, who helped raise me, who keep keeping me from having a boyfriend without them knowing everything about them first, who are very overprotective of me, who support me, who knows everything about me, who will whip and nae nae with or hit the folks (dance) with me, who will create all kinds of dumb rednek things or foods with me, who let me cry it out on their shoulder, who embarrasses me everyday, who make me smile, who push me to develop new limits and outstanding; phenomenal talents, who first told me about Jesus. You my brothers and sisters and Aunties an Uncs and cousins and most teachers, and first and foremost, God and blood of Jesus you are, and will always remain the biggest parts of me today and tomorrow!!!! <3<3 This is my testimony. THIS IS MY STORY, this is my song, praising my savior… all the day long!
“God can not give us happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is NOT there. There is no such thing!”
--- C.S. Lewis