My apologies for the lengthy time it took me to publish, ‘The Prisoner.’ I have found it so difficult to write my present stories that hold some of my most sensitive testimonies, especially ones that have tarnished my life’s journey greatly. However, I have managed to make it through this prison gate, some may not like it and others may feed from it. At the end, I hope you enjoy a good read.
I was 11 years old when I first met my dad. Unlike others whom have met their dad long before they could even understand what it meant to see life through one eye, I met my dad when I was old enough to understand right from wrong. To make my life even more complex, confusing and dramatic, would you believe me if I told you I met my Step-Father, who is now deceased long before my real dad lol?
Yes I know, the irony of it all reminded me of an anime yet to be seen. I met my step father, who is now deceased since I was 5 years old. Here is the anime segment, since then, there wasn’t anyone like my step-dad, not my mom, not my dad, no-one, well, except for God. In my eyes, he was never wrong. I would have usually played Judge Judy and sentenced my mother to days of resentment and the, ‘not speaking to you punishments,’ because I would have blamed her for his wrongs, even if she was right. I was so hungry for what is called a Father, that I was blinded to the plot of the devil, besides, I was too young anyways to even understand what it meant to be spiritually blinded. I didn’t want to be father-less so badly that I was willing to lose moments of truth with my mother because I knew my mother would always be my mother. Because of my biological father’s absenteeism, he didn’t mean much to me so I blocked him entirely from my thoughts to prevent face to face encounter with anger, resentment, obscurities, bitterness, regrets, doubts, fears and my own lethargic disillusionment. I understood how to build my own prison since I was able to alternate between happiness and sadness. Since then I have discovered my talent as a writer. As a child growing up, the most I could have written, were little cute sentences like, ‘Roses are red violets are blue, I have a dad but where are you?’ I would cut the bottoms off those little orange juice boxes and create gift cards and decoratively write on them and present them to love ones. So yes, I have been a writer, a giver and an analyzer since age 4. Growing up having an absentee parent forces you to develop skills and talents at a rather early age because that becomes your pain blocker and it may very well be the irons and walls that you have used to design your prison.
Do you believe in Angels? That’s what I thought my late step- father was. He would tease my inner cravings of a father with gifts of any child or teen-age girl’s desire. Anything I wanted, I got. At school, my friends would used to say, ‘You are so lucky to have a problem-free life.’ Or, ‘That’s so awesome you have a step parent that is nice because all step parents are horrible.’
‘Lucky,’ they said, I was, ‘lucky.’ Unknowingly they spoke of what they saw, not knowing that I had built an effective prison that even myself started to believe I lived the perfect princess life. So I really started to believe all my friends had so many different problems from broken homes to incest to abuse to disabilities not to mention identity and gender confusions, while I was living this problem free life. I mean based on the intensity of their problems, I felt like I didn’t have one.
But then one day, the truth slapped me so hard, I bit my tongue. My cousin that I was more than twice her age came to live with us and during that period my mom was in New York City for some time. So one day, I had a number of cousins stopped by to see me just in time to taste that lucious curry shrimp remedy my late step father would usually make. It was time to eat at the family table and I remembered if ever a time I gagged so hard, it was at that time being seated at that table. All I heard my late step father said, was, ‘Yuh know seh yah one likkle devil.’ I looked up suddenly, as I tried to figure out who he made reference to as I gagged on my food. Only to see, that he directed those words to my youngest cousin. I looked at him with disgust and couldn’t help it but to intervene. I said defensively, ‘Any adult whom looked at a child and called him or her a devil, is the devil himself.’ Little did I know, that he was indeed the devil.
So as days went by, months and years, the prison I built grew rapidly as I have discovered I had built that prison to detain myself and to guard myself from such evil. A prisoner I called myself, not many knew that I was invisibly detained.
A prisoner is described in the oxford dictionary as, ‘A person legally committed to prison as a punishment for a crime or while awaiting trial.‘ Then it went on to say, ‘ A person who is or feels confined or trapped by a situation and or a person captured and kept confined by an enemy or criminal.’ Over the years I have lived in such a confined environment that I used to push my mother away just to have peace in the home, just so my late step father would have all his time with her. Yes I know, you probably thinking, ‘What a chicken,’
He hated me because of the tight and close knitted relationship I have with my mother. Through those moments of loneliness and rejection God became my very best friend. Every night I studied the bible and every night I prayed. Then I remembered I got this dream of this man with long beards, a golden image and was on this white horse and he stretched out his right hand and called me by using hand gestures. Was a beautiful image, with that dream I then made the decision to be baptised, then I encouraged my little cousin and my mother. When both got baptised my late step father became possessed, he became a Lesion instead.
Peace was no longer an experience for us. Soon after, my cousin left and went back to live with her mother, leaving my mother and I and the devil. I used to have dreams of what was to come, dreams of deception, dreams of pain, dreams of judgment, dreams of betrayal and dreams of nicromancies. . Years of verbal abuse made me focused less in school, so when I was to take 9 exams, I took only 6, though I got all 6 with distinctions and credits, the fragments remained and the truth linguered, the devil robbed me yet again. With nights of fear and terror I used to sleep with one of those butcher knives under my bed, my sleeps became closed eyes while my brain still functions as though I was awake, so that I may hear every movements inside my mother’s room, that I may give him a taste of his own medicine. He hated me so much, especially when I spoke the word of God, he would say, ‘yuh voice come in like pin a juk mi up, mi hate hear yuh mouth guh ina yuh room man.’ And I would go. I was so obedient because of how my mother grew me and as a single parent I knew she worked hard so the least trouble I give would show her that I absolutely love her. I carried that pain every day because I know she got into that relational situation because she felt It would have been best for me. As years past I got weakened, as nights would come and literally I would be afraid to close my eyes because of repeated attacks. Have you ever felt like something holding you down in your sleep and you are awake and can’t speak and all you could do is shout, ‘Jesus!’
Well for months that was my experience until I started to have the most painful chest aches, chest pains that caused me to can’t move. My mother always know the remedy though, a huge jar of water that is consecrated by her prayers. And all he would do in that moment is look and as I looked in his eyes, I met Satan himself. Years I battled with an infirmity of blood issues. I was severely anaemic, I had repeated stomach issues, I had terrible chest pains and days and nights of dizziness. I became so isolative, all I wanted to do is run away from a battle I didn’t think was mine, because I was so innocent to life. Prison isn’t a grand place to be the bible tells you in Revelation 2:10, ‘Do not fear what you are about to suffer. Behold, the devil is about to throw some of you into prison, that you may be tested, and for ten days you will have tribulation. Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life.‘ Well both my mother and I experienced a huge ordeal.
Though I used to warn my mother, for some reason, complacency allowed her to remain, ministerial advices allowed her to continue and so she ignored the signs. Word of advice to the naive and those whom believe changing a person is in their control or for those whom are fearful of starting over or even to simply walk-away; Never underestimate signs. Signs are granted to us as an expression, as a voice of God, never ignore it.
Abuse is obnoxious in its own identity in that if you are not careful, you would believe you are the problem. Abuse can be observed in many different form. Just to name a few: emotional, physical, social, financial, even spiritual etc. Don’t believe for a minute that your emotional abuser will not try to harm you. An abuser is imprisoned by their own thoughts and by their own deeds. They cannot and will not change unless they are willing to change, a few days change isn’t considered a change, that is considered an act of strategic manipulation; all abusers have that one gift in common. My late step-father tried to murder my mother and I have lived with that pain for years. However, I will not share this story here, because that is a topic by itself. Over the years my experiences have lead me to discover, my mind and how I perceived things was my prison. I could not be freed until I understood the formation of strong holds, and the trickery of seeds. It was after 6 years of marriage that I became sensitive to imprisonment because I became immune to it. I was tired of a repitition, I became frustrated of generational curses, I became intolerable to the devil’s plan and the lies and deception that came with it. It was through the innocent, meaningful soul, my son, that gave me the courage to loose myself from bondages and from things that doesn’t foster growth of prosperity in my life and like wise that of my son. God spoke to me through the innocense of my son, to this day I am breaking down irons, I am breaking down walls, so I maybe freed and that I would be annointed to recognize prisons and prisoners and share my remedies so they maybe delivered.
Our mind is the battlefield, we fight our toughtest and all battles there. So God said, ‘put on the whole armour, guard yourselves for battle like a soldier when they prepare for war. Put on the helmet of Salvation. Put on the breastplate of righteousness. Grip your loins with the belt of truth. Put upon your feet the preparation of peace. Put in your hands the shield of faith and have the sword of God’s true and living words in your mouth.
Woman thou art loosed! Free yourselves from the babbling fire of Satan. Make that step while you can and when you do, never look back because looking back maybe your very last chance.
Prayer of Freedom:
Dear God, I seek thee o Lord, that you search me right through and if there be anything seen or unseen that goes against your will, cleanse me. Forgive me o Lord of all that I have done. Restore that which brings fort your purpose. Free me o Lord from a negative mind, for you said, ‘You didn’t give me the spirit of fear but of power and of love and of a sound mind.’ You are my deliverer o God, teach me thy ways so my thoughts and my mind maybe transformed, for you said, ‘My thoughts are not your thoughts and my ways are not your ways.’ Thank you Lord for rescuing me, when I needed to be rescued, in Jesus Christ name, Amen.