Читать книгу Souls of My Young Sisters: - Dawn Marie Daniels - Страница 17

By Sybil Clark Amuti

Be the change you wish to see in this world.

—Gandhi

I remember walking into the apartment on Forty-third and Eighth Avenue, in New York City, seeing this on the fridge door. The quote stood out in white text to a black background, amid other random, “not so memorable” magnets. I continued walking to the bedroom where Todd, the apartment owner, showed me the room for rent. We sat and talked about who I was, where I was from, and what brought me back to New York City after hating it so madly. We were total strangers, but quickly became fond of each other through hope and experience. I found myself speaking freely with this guy about things that very few people knew. He wanted to trust me to be a good, honest roommate, and I wanted that room with no holds barred. I didn’t want the option of being imprisoned by my past anymore. I knew that freedom is an act of the heart that I should quickly adopt if I wanted to live at all.

“So tell me about yourself.”…And there it began.

I took Todd into the story of my life: the youngest of five children, growing up in Memphis, Tennessee. Life was normal; we were a middle-income family, with two working parents that were totally devoted to our success. I left Memphis in 1996 to attend Dillard University in New Orleans, Louisiana. I majored in urban studies and public policy in school, and college life on the side. I spent a lot of time with my sister and friends, partying around New Orleans and experiencing life in a new way.

Along my journey were several influential people, one of them being the guy that raped me in 1997. He was an acquaintance of mine, someone I knew for months at that time. He came over one day in the summer of 1996 to see me before a road trip that I was taking to Houston, Texas. I will never forget: The car was packed, the snacks were prepped, the music was in the player, and we were almost ready to leave. I accepted the request to come by, as normal, because I trusted this guy and had no resistance to his company. I heard knocking on my bedroom door, and as I opened it he stood there with a warm greeting. We exchanged hugs, and he sat in the chair in the corner of my room. Within a matter of minutes and minimal conversation, I found myself fighting him off me and repeating “no.” We tussled for minutes and I grew numb to the experience. The “no” began to fade and the moment was over. He left, I showered, and we headed to Houston.

Although I continued things as normal, I knew something was wrong. I knew that I said “no” and I knew that he heard me. I knew that I had been victimized because I felt hollow and pathetic inside. I felt ashamed and humiliated, and I felt vulnerable. I was confused about what to do; I always heard that rapists were strangers who broke into your house and took advantage of you. I then considered this foul play an act of immaturity and decided to go on as if nothing was wrong. Besides, this guy was a very well-known person—who would people believe?

I spent years erasing the moment from my mind and masking my emotional drought. I never told a soul and I pretended that I was normal. I focused on school by day and heavy partying by night, drinking excessively and hating myself nearly every moment. I wanted to kill myself, and wrote two suicide notes to my family and loved ones. I avoided mirrors and any reflection of myself; still, I dressed in fashionably chic clothing and stilettos to imagine that I felt as “fabulous” as I looked. I attempted to control any relationship with guys to protect myself from a repeat of that event. I worked twenty-four hours a day to shield my image from even the thought of brokenness. It was a total masquerade.

In 1999 I left New Orleans to move to New York for graduate school at Columbia University. I was only twenty-one years old and grad school was really tough, so I remained focused on school and moving away from the nightlife. In my last semester of school, my thesis writing grew extremely intense. It was proving to be the most stress I had ever encountered in my life. One particular night I was awakened by my own screaming and sweating. I was having a recurring dream about an incident that I put far behind me. I kept seeing the rape being replayed in my head, over and over again. I woke up, called my friend, and broke my silence. I told my dear friend about everything that happened in 1997.

I finally faced the fact that I had been raped, been depressed, been suicidal, and been in denial for about four years. I woke up to who I had become, and I began fighting back. I prayed daily for strength, understanding, and forgiveness. I called myself a survivor instead of a victim. I began to look in the mirror and see who I really was. I smiled at myself, and laughed aloud. I changed my perspective, and then changed my life.

I learned that living as a victim meant that I would always be on the downside of things, looking for the worst in every scenario and expecting people to support me out of pity. Being a victim meant I couldn’t see the sun for all of the rain. I couldn’t respect myself or other people. I was overly critical. I would disqualify myself from meaningful relationships. I feared life would get the best of me, and I had no inspiration for change.

I learned that living as a survivor meant that I was victorious. I could move forward from depression and live a joyous life. I didn’t have to fear what people would think about me, or what I thought of myself. I could see potential for my future and work toward it. I could hope for God to shine His light in my life and make me whole again. And most importantly, I could be free. No more containment, because I was the winner. I held all of the power in my hands. I could control my destiny, and change became inevitable.

By the time I learned about the victorious person I was, I had been raped once again, by another male acquaintance, in 2001. Here again, there was another attempt to take my life, but it was unsuccessful. I fought back spiritually, mentally, and physically to ensure that my victory could be maintained.

I immediately prayed to the Lord for forgiveness in my heart over this incident, and the power to stand against the attempts of the enemy to destroy me. I meditated on scriptures daily that motivated me to keep living. I drew closer to God. I broke my silence and told friends about what was going on. I started reading about women who had conquered insurmountable circumstances in their lives. I started to exercise, eat differently, sit in the park and stare at the birds and the sky, and take deep breaths to keep my spirit calm. I learned what it means to survive, to overcome, to persevere, to achieve. My mind was transformed and so was my life.

No more living in a moment. I now live for my destiny.

After many nights of staying up late and exchanging life stories, Todd and I were no longer strangers. In fact, he introduced me to the man that is now my husband and father to our five-month-old son. Many times I asked myself why God allowed us to share so much with each other so fast, and I realize that God allowed Todd to be the bridge between my present and my future.

It’s now over ten years later, and, though the circumstances remain the same, I am different. I am now a wife, a mother, and a friend to many. I am free from the life sentence that some call “depression.” Free to live the life that God has intended, free to love people the way that God loves me, free to chart my path, free to dance and sing a new song.

I know that change is a choice. Change happens when we decide to be different than we were the second before. I chose to become the change that I wanted to see in my life. When I felt liberated in my heart, freedom rang forth from my being. I could no longer think or act the same because my spirit was renewed in Christ and my heart followed suit. I am free.

Sybil Clark Amuti works as a brand manager for myMuze Inc. in New York City. After many years as a GIS specialist, she has consulted with various companies and city organizations. She now lives in Harlem with her husband of three years, Kwaku, and their five-month-old son, Samuel.