Times has changed and the way the world is at this day and time it can’t be much longer when Jesus Christ returns. We have to ask ourselves, have we done what God has asked of us? In my heart I have walked as perfectly as possible, but to say have I done everything God has commanded me to do, I fall short not every day but on occasions as we all do while we are in the flesh. In churches today there are platforms that try to function without God. I am a Christian and that does not make me better than anyone else, that makes better than I used to be. What we need in today’s world is a Biblical and Spiritual Awakening, Restart! This is because of the times we live in. Time is of the essence!!
Shane’s Story
This Story began before I was born with the negativity and challenges in life, because of my mother’s struggles with family and life issues and the disorders that came with it.
My mother and father were born in the state of South Carolina. My mother moved to Baltimore Maryland with my grandfather. My grandfather was in the United States Navy and his best friend was molesting my mother without my grandfather’s knowledge or paying attention to my mother’s cries. My grandfather did not believe my mother at first. Then my grandfather friend raped her, but then it was too late; the mental challenges had begun. My mother never forgave my grandfather.
My grandfather moved back to South Carolina when my mother was 12 years of age. My mother had problems in school as well as the hate and distrust she showed towards my grandfather. These issues came about because of my grandfather failure to recognize her issues and her struggles as a child living in a single parent home. My mother ran away from home and quit school in the sixth grade. She met my father and started a relationship with him at the age of thirteen (13). My father was also young, fifteen (15) years of age and he dropped out of school to support himself and my mother. The harder times got the more abusive and inconsistent his life decision as a husband became. While living from one family home to the other, fights and short breakups became a way of life for my parents. My mother was 14 at the time she conceived me, and my father had just turned 16. Two young children making grown up life decision, caused extreme havoc inside their relationship. My mother soon realized the man she had chosen as a partner, husband, provider, and father did not support neither of the things she had visioned him to be. My mother separated from my father and moved in with her sister and her family for about three years.
My father did not provide child support, spousal support, or contributed to any of the things required to support a family. He ran from the police on several occasions trying to get out of supporting my mother and me. I rarely saw my father because of this specific reason. Whenever they were together there was always an argument or disagreement about the things, he was required to do to support his family. All of these things affected me mentally. My mother tried to be the single parent that she had become, but the issues she had faced as a young child as well as the issues dealing with my father at her young age took a toll on her life decisions and reasoning. My mother made sure that I went to church every Sunday alone mostly when I was five (5) years old. I think this decision by her was to bring about some type of stability and peace into my life.
My grandfather became a policeman and a fireman. At the age of four (4), my father saw my grandfather, mother and I at a local gas station. He was upset about a warrant that was placed on him, because of the decisioned he had made, and he blame everyone but himself. My father ran over and grabbed me trying to take me from my mother. My mother was pulling on my legs and my father was pulling my arms trying to take me away from her. My father hit my mother in the face, and she let me go to protect herself. My grandfather heard the screaming and cussing between my mother and father, and he ran to his truck and got his gun. I remember my father saying to my grandfather that he will not shoot while he was holding me for his protection. My grandfather shot my father in the leg. My father carried me to his friend’s car and drove away. I was so traumatized from this incident, because of the shooting as well as my father taking me away from my mother.
Shortly after, the police found the location where my father had taken me and arrested him for kidnapping. All of this trauma and destructive behavior was because of my father refusal to pay child support and do what was required to take care of the family he created. My father has continued drinking and doing drugs to this day. I saw my father very little during my life as a child as well as an adult.
My mother mental issues increased because of the lack of help and understanding that a young child and parent needed to, to deal with life decisions and the astronomical issues she dealt with during her life of an unsupported, unloved, and abused child and later, parent.
When I was between the age of 4 and 5, my mother tried to drown me in the bathtub. My aunt saved me and slapped my mother asking what is wrong with you. Her reply was she did not want me to grow up in this cruel world, even though her issues contributed to my destruction as well. As a child I did not understand why my mother did not want me and I was always scared because my mother might try to drown me again.
Around the age of six (6), my mother remarried. I started going to church with my step grandfather at this time, because he saw that I needed support away from the destructive life I had to deal with at home and with my immediate family.
My mother married a man that did not want kids and he did not want to be involved with any kids, including me. He drank heavily and he did not care for me or liked me at all. He was verbally abusive towards me, and his drinking became worse as the marriage with my mother progressed. The arguments started and then he started having adulterous relationship with other women. Soon after, my stepfather started beating my mother and I did not have the ability to stop his abusive behavior. When I got older, I tried to protect my mother from my stepfather and my mother started abusing me.
The older I got the more I started understanding my mother’s condition. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and bipolar rapid cycling. This condition is when a person experiences four or more episodes of mania or depression in one year. I cannot count the number of times my mother tried to kill herself. There were some good times with my mother, but mostly bad times with her condition.
When I was eleven (11) I came back from spending the night with my grandparents and my mother was lying on the floor bleeding and not moving. My stepfather was standing over her cursing at her, because he had been out drinking and spending time with other women denying his actions. I screamed stop and he wouldn’t listen to me, so I got his gun pointed it at him and he started coming towards me; I pulled the trigger back and I said I will kill you. My stepfather dropped to his knees and begged me not to shoot him. My mother awakened and started screaming at me to put the gun down, because she did not want me to go to prison for shooting him. She said, “he was not worth it”. The police came to our residents and told my stepfather that he did not blame me for what I had did. The police officer threatened my stepfather and said that they were going to lock him up.
Because of the incident my mother put me in counseling at Behavior Health of Greenville, hoping that it would help me with my anger issues. The counselors were not able to help me with my disorders. I was tested and I was diagnosed with ADD, Dyslexia. Because of my condition I was put into a fully self -contained classes in my third-grade school year.
The school did the opposite of what it was intended to do. The children made fun of me, picked on me, bullied me, and called me retarded. Because of the environment and the abusive homes, I grew up in, these words were just words. I did not get offended until the bullies picked on handicapped kids, kids in wheelchairs, blind, autistic, down syndrome, and other kids with disabilities. I would tell the bullies to stop teasing these kids and they would get mad, and we would end up fighting.
I went to five different Elementary schools because of the moving from one place to another and my learning disabilities. I also went to two different middle schools and three different high schools.
At the age of twelve (12) I started visiting my father more. He continued with the abuse and the drug usage. He gave me drugs and I had to be taken to the hospital. The doctors found drugs in my system, and they asked me where I had received drugs. I told them that I had taken what my father had given me. My father was arrested, and he blamed me, because I had to tell the truth about where I had received the illegal substance. I was no longer allowed to visit my father for a long time.
One day when school was let out early, I decided not to ride the bus, but to walk home. I did not go straight home, and my mother was looking for me. When my mother could not find me, she came home, and I was sitting on the porch. My mother got out of the car and asked where I had been, and I told her. My mother did not believe me, so she grabbed a big stick and started beating me with it. She hit me several times and I ran to keep from being hit with the stick. The cops came to our home and arrested my mother and sent her to jail. My mother was evaluated and sent to a mental institution.
The state sent me to a boys home (Pendleton Place Home). Because of my anger, abuse, abandonment, and trauma, I was removed from the bus for fighting and causing trouble on several occasions during my stay. Most of the cadre at Pendleton Place were good, but one of the men was verbally abusive. I broke the door at Pendleton place and ran away. I had to spend the night on the streets. For three weeks I was homeless surviving on the streets and living the best way I could. I was at a gas station one day and a friendly Officer named McCallister saw me and told me to turn myself in. He said, “I would not be charged, and he would help me”, so I did what the officer told me to do. I turned myself in, back to Pendleton Place. The verbal abusive cadre told me “He did not care what Officer McCallister said they were going to charge me; he would see to it”.
Upon entering into the facility, myself and another child came up with a plan with the help of another individual from another home for older boys to get out of this facility. We climbed on top of one of the houses and the kid that was with me said he was going to jump off the house and kill himself. He jumped and broke his leg. I told the cadre we were not going to jump, and they called the Fire Department to get us down. The police were waiting for us after the Fire Department removed us from the roof.
The Policemen took us to another facility called William S. Hall Psychiatric Institute in Columbia SC.
William S. Hall Psychiatric Institute was horrifying. Our plan was to be sent to Marshall Pickens, a facility that had a pool. Little did we know that our actions would take us to a more extreme place of confinement. I was beaten by my peers, I witnessed boys getting raped, and other boys being beaten and tortured by other boys. The staff at this facility did not care what happened to who. When a fight occurred, the staff would throw you down to the ground or floor, put a knee on your back or neck and they would drag you to lock up. The kids were stripped down nude and thrown into their perspective rooms. These rooms smelled terrible as if they had not been cleaned. Once inside the rooms you were told to sit in the middle of the floor with no clothing or a blanket for warmth. If a kid tried to resist, he would be given a shot in the hip, dragged to the perspective room and the kid would wake up in their own feces and urine.
These rooms (cell) were made of block walls with concrete floors. The doors were made of steel with a small square window made of thick glass, with wire mesh, with an accommodating door for food and water. There were no bathroom facilities in these rooms, so releasing bodily fluids was terrible. Being treated less than animals took a toll on our humanity.
Outside of lockup, rooms were shared between four (4) individuals. If you told information about other kids in the facility, no matter what happened to you, other children would beat you worse than your current situation. I shared a room with two other individuals. One of my bunk mates killed his whole family by burning them up in their house while they slept. He would scream at night only when the lights were shut off. Another of the kids beat his grandmother to death with a shovel.
I remember all the screams from the facility, it was nonstop. You did not know if you were going to be the next person that was going to be beaten or hurt. You never went to the bathroom alone; you always took a buddy or friend for your protection. If you were alone, you would most likely be jumped, beaten, or even raped. Sometimes even though you had a buddy or friend for your protection, the other kids outnumbered you and a child suffered the consequences given to them by the larger group of individuals.
After my time was up, I went to court to see if I could go back home or back to Pendleton Place. The Judge stated “that I had been in trouble at William S. Hall, so he sent me to Patrick B. Harris. I was placed in a padded cell. I finally was allowed to have visitors, so my grandmother and her sister came to see me, and I told them of my situation. My grandmother said something to the staff and my situation became a nightmare. The staff called me a rat, snitch.
I lost some of my privileges for telling my grandmother what I had been through at this facility. My situation also got worse when I went to take a shower. I was jumped knocked out and choked. I woke up on the floor bleeding from the beating that I received. I finally got my privileges returned and I called my grandmother and informed her of my situation again.
My grandmother called the facility and threatened them by calling the police. The police investigated the facility, but they said it was not enough evidence to prosecute.
The bigger teen was mad, so at dinner he came up to me and punched me in the head as hard as he could. I flipped out, took him down, and was beating him in the face as hard as I could. I started beating his head on the floor and it took three staff members to detain me. I broke my hand in the process of hitting the kid in the face.
A doctor came to check out my injury and he started pulling on my hand several times. I informed him that it was hurting. He did it again and I told him it was hurting bad, the doctor said, “shut my damn mouth, he was in charge”. I snatched my hand back and one staff member threw me to the ground, pulled my arms behind my back and put a knee into my back at the same time. Another staff member grabbed me by the hair, and they put me in a straitjacket. The doctor gave me a shot in my hip, I woke up in my urine and feces. They placed a guard by the door as I took a shower and went to the bathroom.
Later I found out a staff member was having sexual relations with two teenage patients, and they were being investigated. I saw one of the girls sitting in the lap of a male staff member. He talked to her about how big her breast was.
I stayed in the facility for about a month, and they let me out early. I went to live with my grandmothers sister. Because of all the abuse, beatings, and destructive behavior, I was in a bad place.
I was sent to Dr. Hill Middle School where I had to cope with children and their spoiled ways. I was never taught how to deal with anger properly or with situations and consequences that would affect my life as I became an adult.
In High School I got into a few fights because I was protecting kids that could not protect themselves. I was kicked out of school for protecting handicapped students from bullies. I hated bullies because of the abuse I received in my life as a child inside the justice system.
Knowing that I would not make it in school, I applied for jobs. I started working while I was homeless, then I found refuge inside family and friends’ homes. I was also put on numerous medications to help with my anger, which changed nothing. One Psychiatrist diagnosed me with bipolar syndrome while others said I was not. I had to put my trust in God. He was and is the medicine that made a change in my life. Little did I know that God walked with me through the good and He carried me through the bad, so my life would not end in destruction during the darkest times when I thought there was no hope.
Dyslexic, ADD, PTSD are some of the disorders that come along with the mental, verbal, and physical abuse I endured in my life. I spent four years in speech class, learning how to write letters and paragraphs correctly. Moving forward and learning with understanding and truth was required to improve my situation and I walked in the change (God) that changed my life forever. Knowing that God would not put more on me than I could handle, helped me to deal with things that most people think they cannot overcome.
Raising a family when you have disorders is extremely hard. If a person thinks that they can travel this path alone, they are sadly mistaken. Majority of my life I thought the same. Getting to know true God fearing, God loving, truthful, knowledgeable people that walk in God’s wisdom and understanding has truly made a difference in my life. I will forever be grateful for what God has done for me and my family. Get to know the Father and He will change your life. Have a Blessed day.