"Secrets" Through Her Eyes

By Alonese Crets

"Secrets" - Thru Her Eyes is about a frightened girl who searches for love and attention in all the wrong places and find herself in a pool of misery before her time. She experiences at an early age what most grown women don't experience until they are well into their mid-lives. As the girl grows up her experiences doesn't become any lesser for her time spent aging. The girl learns valuable lessons throughout her life but only takes one with her to her adulthood.

As a young girl she finds herself losing her way but eventually finds her way back on the right path. It takes many tribulations before she realizes only one thing can save her from a total road of destruction. Once she figured out what was in the mirror she might not be afraid anymore, or would learning the truth about someone so close to her make her run faster?

She only hopes to figure things out quickly since life was running out of options.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 26, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452037660

Alonese Crets

Alonese W. Crets is an Executive Director and Founder of Regent Teen Center. In this role, Alonese looks after/coordinates/manages/leads a team providing all aspects of sustenance, including mentorship and positive social development of minors and is a big believer in leading by example.Alonese has donated numerous copies of "Secrets" Through Her Eyes to underprivileged women, women social groups, and disadvantaged men. Alonese has also encouraged many disadvantaged people by speaking in group settings.

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Secrets

Through Her Eyes

ALONESE CRETS

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2010 by Alonese Crets. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/05/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4520-3766-0 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-3764-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-3765-3 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010911050

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

This book is dedicated to my Father, even in his absence, he proved to be a huge part of my life.

Thank you for watching over me.

Rest in Serenity

LaMont Douglas Powell

October 11, 1957—May 6, 1984

I also dedicate this book to my step Father because without the foundation and the unconditional love he showed me, I would be completely lost.

Rest in Serenity

George William Murphy

May 25, 1927—July 12, 1991

I am dedicating this to my mother, Tammie, because without her I wouldn’t have developed into the woman I am today.

Finally, I dedicate this book to my sons, Arthur Jr., Maurice Jr., and Maurion, for teaching me how to trust and truly love unconditionally. My every purpose of being is for and because of them.

Rest in Serenity

Arthur LaMont Jr.

June 14, 1998—February 22, 2001

With Love,

Mommie

Contents

Prologue

Two Voices

Little girl Little girl

The Movie

My Turn

Mother

Serenity

The Uniform

Choices

Run away

The Man

First Beginning

The Long Ride

Auntie’s House

Mirror Image

Confrontation

The Setup

At Home

Déjà vu

Silly Little Girl

The Story

The Visit

Stupid kids

The Phone Call

The Forbidden Reunion

Defeated

Epilogue

Prologue

"I’m writing this book but I don’t have any intentions on reading it until after it is published. I think this will be enough to heal the pain, but it may take more.

Growing up, I didn’t know the decisions I made came out of the void in my heart. I always felt like something was missing. I was clingy to men in ways that would be questioned by others looking at me. I always wanted a man’s attention and once I got it, I cherished what we had between us and put him on a pedestal. I did not care who he was, just that he showed me some attention. In my eyes, he would be capable of doing no wrong.

For example my uncle, who appeared to be happily married, bringing over to our house a younger woman that he said, was his co-worker. He was always with this woman and they were always so secretive. I thought nothing of it until I heard mother on the phone talking to someone, telling the person on the other end of the receiver that the woman was more than my uncle’s co-worker. She expressed to that person that he should be ashamed of himself for bringing her around the house all the time. I then began to wonder, at my young age, what my mother meant when she said that woman was more than a co-worker to him. After several times of seeing my uncle and his co-worker over at the house eating and talking, I did not see the woman anymore, but I heard a conversation about how my uncle got hurt by this woman and no longer was meeting with her. I never saw that woman again.

Later, I found out and understood that conversation my mother was having over the phone. Even after understanding it in my teenage years, I did not think my own uncle did anything wrong and it was all the woman’s fault for the reason he had gotten into trouble at his job. For a long time I did not see the wrong in my uncle’s actions.

I remember craving for the attention of my father. I always wanted to be around him. When he was not around or had other things to do without me, I waited eagerly for him to come home. It did not matter what time it was. I waited just so he could say goodnight and tell me he loved me. He made me feel special and let me know that I was his little girl.

So what happened to me? Why was everything so screwed up for me? Throughout my adolescent years, I remember feeling lonely and wanting the love of a boy or a man; it did not matter to me. If my father, uncle, neighbor’s dad or neighborhood boys, or boys from school showed me any attention it went right to my head.

I thought at one point in my life, when a boy said that he liked or loved me that it was filling that void, and that was good enough for me. I did not know that love had to be shown and proved, not only spoken. I learned very early in life the disadvantages of not having a father in my life. My father passed away when I was seven. I also learned very early in life how to take advantage of others and let others take advantage of me. Most of all I learned that I was lacking the one thing that was needed most in my life, genuine love.

My story goes like this; I was a little girl searching for love in the wrong places. I wanted to feel secure and loved by a man. It is true what they say about young girls who grow up without a father. Those girls are usually the ones who end up with the woman beater, the mental abuser, the drug addict, the drug dealer, the gang bangers, the man with multiple children by multiple women, the high school drop-out, the loser who talks a good game but still lives with his parents, the one who depends on the woman to take care of him as his mother would do, and/or, the manipulator.

Those girls also become society’s statistics as battered women, high school drop-outs, addicted to drugs, having multiple children by multiple men at young ages, strippers, streetwalkers with pimps, believing that it’s okay for a man to manipulate their minds to take care of him, swift women in the streets, careless women, disrespectful and disrespected women, gang bangers, or your everyday girl next door who every dude on the block comes to visit frequently. Those girls are all looking for one thing and that is the love that was missing from their lives as a child.

My story is repetitive at times and sketchy at other times; after all, I’m telling it through the eyes of a very young girl. But it hits home for that girl who struggles with loneliness and mistreatment from those she trusts most, so much so that she thinks that looking for comfort and love everywhere else is the right thing to do. It hits home for the girl who grew up in a household where the very thought of being around boys was considered to be an immoral thought. It hits home for the girl who is left home night after night or day after day to care for her siblings while her parents are away. It hits home for the girl who wants so desperately to have the freedom to mingle with her peers by going to school dances or a sleepover at a friend’s house from time to time. It hits home for the girl who cries herself to sleep every night because of the mental, emotional, and physical abuse she has to endure not only while at school, but also at home. It really hits home for the grown woman reflecting on her life and finally realizing she has overcome the obstacles in her life. Yes, she was raised by a mother who paraded different men in and out of her life every year of her adolescence and maybe she did have her own issues of instability with men, which she is not proud of, but being the woman she is now, she would not change any of the obstacles she had to overcome to get to where she’s standing today.

Listen closely to Secrets Through Her Eyes, for you just may hear a familiar cry, and once you recognize where it’s coming from, you too can begin the journey to healing the pain.

Two Voices

Hatred overtook me as I flat footedly stood there taking blow for blow to my head then my stomach. Desperately yelling out, Help! Help! Somebody! seemed to add more fuel to the flames. The words escaped from between my jaws powerlessly as I reached for anything that would shield me. But nothing would stop the attacks.

As young as I was I found myself making amends with God. Why doesn’t anyone hear me screaming! The harder and the longer the blows became the more intense the sound was coming from my lips.

I was hearing two voices. I tried to ignore the voice whispering in my head, Run away and run away fast! The soft whisper faded into a whimper then became an annoying shriek from outside of me. I didn’t know whether to feel more fearful of the outside voice or the constant blows to my head.

Get yo ass up, you gone take this ass whipping today! The promising threat followed by another blow to my head sounded closer and more convincing than the voice whispering in my head. I wanted to respond to both voices quickly enough to stop the agonizing pain but it was no use. The more I parted my lips to speak out, the worse the blows became.

Crack! It happened. It finally happened; she accomplished what she set out to do. It must be my skull cracked in half from the beating. But why is it that I can still hear her and smell her? I should be dead. But more importantly what was that cracking sound?

I can’t believe this Bitch! She is hitting me as if I am a bitch in the streets. What the hell did I ever do to her to deserve this inhumane treatment? Damn, I did not ask for this. I was just born into this bullshit. She is kicking me now. Oh my God, please save me from this turmoil. I know there is war in heaven and right now there is a war in the Middle East, but if you would allow just one bomb to drop and hit this house, killing her, I will be the best child in the world. I won’t ever think about the opposite sex. I won’t ever bring home another bad grade from school, but most of all I won’t ever have another reason to get beat like this again.

My body lay there lifeless as she hopped on top of me, vigorously shaking my head from side to side. You better get up now or I will get you up! Unconsciously I wiggled my right pinky but it was apparent by the impatience growing upon her face that my finger did not move.

Slap! Oh my god she is going to kill me!

Bitch if you die I will kill you, get yo ass up now! As much as I wanted to respond to her demands, my body wouldn’t budge. What has she done to me?

Get up! By now I’m gasping for air like a comatose patient waking up from a twenty year nap. What is she doing? Oh no, she has her hand around my neck! I guess God just wanted me to be dead instead of her.

Or maybe that was God whispering, Run away, run away fast!

But amazingly and suddenly the hand around my neck released its deadly grip. What is she doing now? Where is she going? Her strong and sweaty stench left the dread air. I knew she had left, but where to?

I heard stomping feet run hurriedly up the basement stairs that lead to the main floor of our petite Cape Cod styled house. Then I could hear those same footsteps shuffle above my head in a scattered pace. She was in the back bedroom searching for something. Whatever it was she could not find it.

Movement finally came from within me, first my neck, then my arms, and finally my legs. I quickly stood up almost falling back down because of my throbbing head. I wiped the blood from over my eyes and listened intently for the sounds above me.

My brain was in overload. It was racing as fast as those shuffling feet over my head. My eyes scanned the frigid basement hastily until only one object caught my attention. Before I darted up the very steps she went up, I walked over and picked up the flimsy object. It was the broom! It had been cracked in half and thrown aside in two pieces. Was it the object I heard cracking that made me think my skull was doomed? Before I could answer my own question the shrill sound of her voice abruptly brought me back to reality. She found what she was looking for!

My mind was made up. I would listen to the voice that whispered in my head, Run Away, Run Away Fast! All I had to do was ascend those basement steps but I would not be making a right at the top of the landing into the dreadful house she called her home. I would be making a dash towards freedom.

Little girl Little girl

Who would have thought that old wives tale was true; a girl missing her father will look for love in all the wrong ways! Well, I was that girl. I was a little girl craving for the attention of a man. Let me start there.

When I was seven, my father, Lamont, was killed. I guess because I was so young they tried to protect me from the pain, or truth, or whatever it was, from losing him. I have a very vague memory of drugs and another woman being involved, but no real details.

I do remember my mother trying to shield me so much that she moved away from the only surroundings and family I had ever known. I will never forget how long it took for Mother and my great grandmother to drive me from Detroit to Milwaukee, a town that I later learned to hate. We moved into an apartment complex that had just enough room for us three.

School was a nightmare. I remember the little girl who bullied me on my first day even though I can’t recall her name. She pushed me so hard I fell forward and hit my mouth on the back of a chair. It was one of those old metal chairs and it felt like granite. It hurt like hell; the blood was ridiculous, my lip was swollen and I chipped my front tooth. I yelled hysterically! After the principal called my mother, she had me lie on a cot next to her. I just don’t remember what happened after that, except that I was made to go back to that school and the little girl who bullied me continued to go there too.

The only bright spot in that awful new town was the mysterious appearance of another little girl my age that came to stay with me, Mother and my grandmother for a while. She was my cousin, Sherry, from Detroit. I do not know why she came to