Out of the Rain
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Myisha Boulware
Getting my first book published was an unparallel experience. I started writing my book three years ago. I sat back and reflected on my life and all I had been through and found a way to reach out to people going through the same things. There are so many moments in a persons life when they can be surrounded by a flock of people and still feel alone. I just wanted to relay to everyone never give up on your dreams no matter who you are or where you come from. You can achieve anything and anyone who tells you, you cant do it is only saying it because they don't believe THEY can do it. Motivational speaker Les Brown inspired me a great deal. Whenever I had doubts about my goals and dreams, listening to him speak diminished it
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Out of the Rain - Myisha Boulware
AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: 1 (800) 839-8640
© 2006 Myisha Boulware. 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 08/07/2015
ISBN: 978-1-4259-4952-5 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4678-1546-8 (e)
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.
Contents
My Message
Chapter 1 Off to a Rocky Start
Chapter 2 Lost and Turned Out
Chapter 3 Learning the Hard Way
Chapter 4 Undressing a Wolf in Sheeps Clothing
Chapter 5 Mother knows best, Supposedly
Chapter 6 I think I’m in love. I think.
Chapter 7 My Quarter-Life Crisis
Chapter 8 Sex, Lies and Pure Hate
Chapter 9 The Turning Point
MY MESSAGE
I am dedicating this book to the life and love of my grandmother for every time you helped me when you couldn’t even help yourself. I appreciate you. For all those that have made my life more than a struggle I thank you. Without you this book would not be possible and the knowledge I’ve acquired from your malicious intent is priceless. And for my fans, this book was designed with you in mind. I’ve put my insanity on the line by digging deep into my past to dig up all my suppressed memories just to let anyone who’s going through the same thing know they are not alone. There have been so many moments in my life where I felt all alone with no one to turn to. It’s not necessarily that no one was around, but I felt there was no one who understood my pain and could offer me more than just a pity party. There’s nothing more painful than pouring your heart out to someone and having them say, Damn that’s fucked up.
Or even worse have them explain how glad they are it’s not happening to them. Let my words be of sound advice as you follow my voice with every page.
CHAPTER 1
Off to a Rocky Start
I was born July 5, 1980. Yup, that’s right a day after the Fourth of July. My mom had me when she was seventeen, and my dad, well he was eight years older than my mom and practically married to another woman at the time. I’m not quite sure how they met or why they were together for that matter. All I know is that my mom was a free spirit and my dad was the type of man every woman wanted to own, and pretty much did. I’ve only seen my father twice in my entire life, once when I was born and again when I was nine. My mom told me that as soon as I was born he took one look at me and said This girl is gonna grow up to be a star, a beautiful star
. Then he went around and told everybody I wasn’t his kid cause my skin was too light.
Every since I can remember I’ve been the center of attention. Having a mother that was such a free spirit and a family that constantly worried about our well being, I had no choice but to be. We lived with my grandmother up until I was six, and from what I’m told those six years were the beginning of the worse years of my life. My grandmother told me she couldn’t begin to count the endless times she was awaken by my screams because my mother had left in the middle of the night and I woke up scared.
My mother says that never happened, but you know most mothers, they never want to admit their wrong, especially when it insinuates they’re a bad mother.
We ended up moving twice before we settled on the south side of Chicago. My mom had just given birth to my brother, Lil’ Jerry, and introduced me to the new man in her life, Big Jerry. That relationship was doomed before it even began. Even then I couldn’t understand how a woman could love a man that took pride in bellowing in her misery. I was old enough to understand but was too young to evaluate what was going on. All I knew is that Big Jerry made it a hobby of making a punching bag out of my mother. I never really knew why he hit her, all I knew is that no matter what he did she kept going back.
My mom and Big Jerry did have their on & off times, and boy did she make the most of their off times. I remember it like it was yesterday. The aroma of cigarette smoke and liquor filled the living room while my mother entertained her male and female friends by singing Anita Baker tunes. My mother was a gorgeous woman with looks that could kill and a body to die for. Besides her occasional bad choice in men, my mother could have anyone eating out the palm of her hand in a matter of seconds. When she would sing in that living room, tipsy off the bottle of Cognac she just erased, the entire room would be silent and listen.
My mother had that effect on people. She never gave you room to talk just room to listen. She never knew I saw her. I would pretend to be sleep when she checked on me, and I’d retreat right back to the crack in the door to watch her entertain the crowd. There were a couple of times I would wake up in the middle of the night and she’d be gone. The radio would still be playing, empty liquor bottles would be lying everywhere, and my little brother would be fast asleep in her bed. I would call my grandmother and stay on the phone with her until I heard my mother stick her key in the door, then I’d hang up the phone, run in my room, and pretend I was sleep the entire time.
A bulk of my childhood consisted of my mother breaking her neck to make me happy. She always listened to what I had to say and rarely told me no. She was there to say my prayers with me at night and make me breakfast in the morning. Every afternoon when I got home from school she’d have a pan of cookies sitting on the stove that spelled out my name. These are the moments I would never suppress. Everyone has those moments from their childhood that they work obsessively to suppress. Those moments that when mentioned in adulthood build a huge lump in your throat and sends tingles down your spine. A bulk of my childhood consisted of these moments.
I never did anything to draw attention to myself. It was okay with me if I disappeared in a corner and everyone forgot I existed. It’s no wonder why I was always getting picked on. There were these two teenage girls in my building that absolutely enjoyed making my life a living hell. A day never passed without them knocking my books out my hand or spitting on my shoes. All I did was tolerate it because I knew if I told my mother she’d just tell their mother and then they’d beat me up even more. One day the two girls caught me coming from the candy store. They pushed me to the ground and took all my candy. I ran in the house crying as I frantically tried to explain to my mother what happened. I just knew she’d take care of things and console me. That’s when I saw the fire in her eyes and braced myself for the rage in her words.
You let those funky ass girls take your candy!
But Mom they’re bigger than I am.
I don’t give a damn! If that’s the case you pick up the biggest weapon you can find and knock the shit out of ‘em. Now you go out there and whoop their ass or I’m gonna whoop your ass when you get back home!
I was hit with a strong jolt of fury as I searched the house for whatever weapon I could find. I came across an old crowbar and jolted out the door like I was Superwoman. I ran towards the girls, closed my eyes, and swung like I’d never swung before.