Stronger Than the Pain She Carries by David Johnson

Stronger Than the Pain She Carries David Johnson

The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people at-risk of, victims of, or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2017 this innovative program expanded into Chicago to create tangible, high quality opportunities that nourish the minds,,expand the voices and share the personal truths of individuals who have long been underserved and underestimated. Through the process of drafting, revising and publishing memoirs, participants develop self-reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie and positive selfprojection to author new life narratives.

Since January 2017 ConTextos has partnered with Cook County Sheriff's Office to implement Authors Circle in Cook County Department of Corrections as part of a vision for reform that recognizes the value of mental health, rehabilitation and reflection. These powerful memoirs complicate the narratives of violence and peace building, and help author a hopeful future for human beings behind walls, their families and our collective communities.

While each author’s text is solely the work of the Author, the image used to create this book’s illustrations have been sourced by various print publications. Authors curate these images and then, using only their hands, manipulate the images through tearing, folding, layering and careful positioning. By applying these collage techniques, Authors transform their written memoirs into illustrated books.

This project is being supported, in whole or in part, by federal award number ALN 21.027 awarded to Cook County by the U.S. Department of the Treasury.

Stronger Than the Pain She Carries David Johnson

Body

I feel like this story should be shared. It’s not mine, but it’s hers and if you’re reading it, she agreed to let me be her voice to tell her story.

Body

I looked down at my phone because I received a notification from V.I.M. (Venting In Motion) informing me that I have a request 10 minutes away. Someone who needs to have a therapeutic conversation on their way to their destination. I accepted the client and agreed to the confidentiality agreement.

When I arrived at the location of the requester, I found a Puerto Rican woman 4’ 11” 125 pounds, red hair and beautiful walking up to my Lincoln Navigator. I stepped out of the driver's seat, walked around the car, opened the door for her then I hopped back behind the wheel.

“Hi”, I said “My name is David. I will be your listening ear for this evening drive.”

“Hi. I really don’t know where to start, but the first thing that comes to mind is my name is Jailin.”

“But here’s the twist. My name was supposed to be Jaylaa. My granny liked the name Jaylaa, but my mom on the other hand wanted all boys. So she named me Jailin.”

“How does it feel knowing you were supposed to be somebody else? And I say that because I believe the names that are chosen for us have their own story already for us.”

“I mean, I understand though because I want all boys too.”

I made a right on Stony Island. “I will always remember my best friend, his name was Tobias. I say that because I was the last person to see him.”

I didn’t know where that came from but as a V.I.M driver it’s expected. “I’m listening,” I said.

“I was around 12 or 13 years old, and he was 14. He was in foster care but he always stayed at my house because he didn’t like going home. He picked up a juvenile case and came home on house arrest. He was on house arrest for two years.”

“The same day he got off house arrest at about seven or eight in the morning. I turn on my phone to messages, saying come outside to the parking lot. My brothers were telling me he was dead. I went outside and down to the parking lot. Upon my arrival, I saw him lying there shot in his face eight times.”

“How do you think that affected you?”

“His death broke me. Broke my heart. I was mad that he had to have a closed casket for the simple fact I couldn’t see his face one more time, and that it was nothing I could do. I still think about it to this day... I still think about him.”

“If you had the option to have a second chance with someone who would it be?”

I asked.

“If I had the option of a second chance with someone I would choose nobody.

Because for one, I feel like everything happens for a reason, and I think about it like this, what if a second chance meant that person would have to die the same way?”

“I wouldn’t want to put someone through that again,” she said.

I stopped at 79th and Stoney where there was a man with his two daughters going into White Castle that I think we both saw because she began to vent about her father.

“I do wish I went about one situation differently,” she said.

“What's that?” I asked.

“Losing a man closest to me. A man who raised me that’s not my father, but took care of me like a father. He loved me like a father, and he was there for me like a father should be.”

“How did you lose him?”

“I was still young, about 17 years old, and I was stuck between two choices,” Jailin said.

“What were your choices?”

“I had to choose to go to school or be by his side. Let me explain. So he was in a really bad car accident. I mean like he was a vegetable. The doctor said that he would never be the same. Seeing him lying there in the hospital on his deathbed opened up a new deeper wound that would never turn into a scar. So I chose not to go to school and stay by his side. But there’s one question I kept asking myself.”

“What’s that?" I inquired.

“Where was everybody’s support? Which was making me angry and making me feel like I was holding on all alone. It was just me there for him. He couldn’t talk, but I would always talk to him telling him to come back and that I needed him. Hoping he would wake up.

Hoping I wake up from this bad dream. Sometimes he would respond by squeezing my hand. Most of the time I didn’t get a response.”

“A year later, I told the doctor to pull the plug. Looking back, I didn’t even think to ask what he felt about the decision I was about to make and wait for a squeeze. A response.”

“How do you carry that? How did that make you feel?” I investigated.

”I felt selfish. This is my biggest guilt. This is the worst decision I’ve ever made, and I regret it. I could have kept fighting and waiting. I wonder if he's mad at me because of the decision I made. How do I even begin to fill this cup of forgiveness and be less guilty of what I’ve done? I wasn’t strong then. If I was then who I am today, I would have taken care of him and went to school. I would have done both. I wish I would have handled it all differently.”

“Is there someone you think deserves an apology from you or you deserve an apology from them?” I asked.

“I feel like apologies and sorry is for suckers. I mean they are not needed. I personally don’t like them. I’d rather just admit that I was wrong or for them to admit that they were wrong and move on.”

Turning into Citgo gas station on 83rd and Stoney, there was a couple sitting in their car arguing. When we pulled up they were pulling off.

“Did you live in an abusive household growing up?” I asked.

I was in an abusive relationship for 4 years and, because he was a drug user, I thought it was OK. That it was love. That it was just the drugs. I would watch my mom get beat by my dad. I didn’t understand, but I started to notice that everything he did, he would do it because he was drunk. I began to feel like it was an every man thing.”

“That’s where the four years of tolerating abuse comes from. One day I came to my senses and realized that it wasn’t love, and I also realized the same for my parents. I promised myself I would not go through that again. Maybe I used to beat myself up inside more than he did on the outside in.”

She exited the car and walked into the gas station. While sitting there waiting, I set the GPS to take the long way back to her house because I was interested in hearing the rest of her story to the end, and I felt like she needed more time to Express & Release. First, I had to take her to Walmart across the street.

She returned with two bags and I got out, walked around the car, opened the door for her and got back in the driver seat.

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” I asked before pulling out of the gas station.

“I have eight brothers and one sister,” she responded.

“Who would be your hero out of all of them if you had to choose?”

“Don’t get me wrong I love all of them, but my hero is my granny. She was the real definition of a super girl. A real superhero.”

“Was?” I asked her, She put her head down. “Want to talk about it? If not, you can just say ‘Pass’ and we’ll move on healing.”

“It was a regular day and she was fine the whole day, like, the day was so right.

No one would even expect something to go wrong. Around 10 PM she started to say that she wasn’t feeling good and said that she wanted to go to the hospital”.

“I said okay and called the ambulance. They arrived, and before we even made it to the hospital, she started throwing up blood and started bleeding from everywhere. Her eyes, ears, nose…”

I was driving around Walmart parking lot looking for a parking spot all the while feeling her pain and taking it all in.

“She died four times that day. The first time they brought her back, I knew my granny was gone. All of her bones were broken. You can see that her body was beat up. She died three more times after that, the fourth time she didn’t come back.”

“I never heard of someone dying that way.” I stated.

“The irony and tragedy of it all is all of her siblings died the same way. I can’t even begin to explain how she did it, how she carried everything in the world on her shoulders, but she did. So yeah if I have a choice to be a superhero I would choose to be her,” She continued.

I wanted to say I was sorry she had to go through that but she doesn't like apologies so I thought against it.

After I found a parking spot, she asked me to accompany her into Walmart and I said sure.

Fifteen minutes inside the store, a kid ran right past us with a brand new football in his hand in a hurry to tell his mom he wanted it. That stopped us dead in our tracks.

Five minutes later as she’s picking up a box of Cap’n Crunch, I asked her “Do you talk to all of your brothers and sisters?”

“Yeah, we have a family group chat. I talk to them every day.”

“All of them?” I asked.

“Yeah, except my brothers, Irving and Jose” “Why not?”

“Because they passed away. My brother Irving and I were always together.”

“How could someone take so many losses at a young age in life and have a personality and smile that hides it so good no one would ever expect a thing?

Isn’t that painful in itself, trying to hide the weight of one and a million losses?”

“He used to love playing basketball. I mean, I’m not really an athletic person. But for him, I would play and compete with him just for fun because I loved spending time with him”.

“We bonded like crazy. We would always go outside together and have long deep conversations. Heart to hearts.” She pondered for a second.

“How old were you?”

“I was 13 and he was 18. Losing him broke me. It was the year of 2015. He was killed doing what he loved doing the most, on the court playing basketball.”

She wiped her tears that were going to flow from her eyes.

“What’s crazy is it was mistaken identity. Someone thought he was somebody else, and killed him. He died for nothing and that hurt me so bad!”

She then held her head up with watery eyes, looking towards the ceiling, the light reflecting in her eyes.

We went to the self checkout. She scanned her food and zoned out. As much as I wish I didn't have to bring her back to reality by asking, I asked “What about Jose?”

“Jose? Jose was my smoke buddy. He was so funny. He always made me laugh, lifting my spirits. Food was the key to both of our hearts. I gain the feelings and memories of that love that connection with him, just to have his girlfriend take him away from me by killing him.”

Damn…

“I don’t know why, and a million people can tell you what they think her reasoning was, but here’s my guess. I think she did it for her own selfish reason.

Like saying, my brother couldn’t be with no one but her. But then again, nobody will know the truth.”

“Do you want to know the truth? How do you feel deep down about that situation?”

“I am a universe girl, so I believe the universe is going to bring us together, and I’m going to ask her why. I’m not mad, but I will never forgive her. I just don’t understand, and I feel I deserve to know why… at least,” Jailin said.

I turn on to 83rd headed towards Cottage Grove. I thought to myself “She’s strong.” I once read that women have been told that being resilient and enduring pain is a form of personal victory and triumph.

“What’s the biggest thing that weighs on your heart about yourself that no one knows about?”

“There’s a parasite sitting on my liver, just sucking life out of me.”

I made a right on Cottage Grove headed towards 75th. I looked through the rearview mirror to see her face, and asked her to explain. If she felt comfortable.

“When I was 14 on Thanksgiving night around 10 o’clock my stomach was hurting bad. I thought a little rest would do me some justice so I went to sleep. My stomach was hurting so bad it woke me up out of my sleep.”

“I took a hot shower, which actually helped me out. Four days later, the pain still hadn’t gone away and I’m not a big fan of hospitals.”

I made a right turn on 75th listening with heavy ears.

“Why no hospitals?”

“Because I’m scared of them. From the age 14 to 18 I’ve been in and out of them.

Every time I went it seemed like things were getting worse. My lungs, my liver, my kidneys, everything was affected. All because of this parasite. It makes it hard for me to breathe, sleep and eat.”

“When you went to the hospital what did the doctor say about removing it?”

“The doctor said they had never seen anything like it before and that they don’t know how to diagnose what it was that had happened to me.”

I parked in front of her house on 75th and Ellis and we sat there finishing our conversation.

“He said that if I go into surgery, there is a one percent chance of me coming out.”

I turned around in my seat and repeated the words “one percent?”

“Why not find another doctor?”

“I did my research and of every last one I’ve been to, he was the only one that gave me at least one percent.”

I was in my head with a million questions and worries.

“I decided to go into surgery with because I thought to myself like ‘What do I have to lose? Why would I just sit back and let myself suffer through this pain for the rest of my life or until I die.’

I guess God had different plans for me in this life. I survived the surgery, waking up after 10 days. I was told the doctors weren’t able to remove the parasite. He said they can’t remove something that is constantly moving.”

“How do you feel about them not being able to remove the parasite?”

“In the moment I was mad. But I thought OK if the doctor can’t fix it, I can’t fix it. I knew I had to move on. My biggest concern about it still being a part of me is I don’t want it to be passed on to my kids.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I know it will, because it happened to me. I am scared I won’t be able to help them because I can’t even help myself. Like what am I supposed to tell them?

What I’m sharing I am ashamed of.”

She started grabbing her bags.

“Not just about where I came from, who I was raised by or who my siblings are. I’m ashamed of the girl I am in the shadows. I just want my pain to be seen. I mean I don’t carry it. I don’t cope with it. Maybe that’s how I cope, but one thing for sure and two for certain,”

“I haven’t lost hope.”

She got out of the car and walked up the stairs. When she made it to the door, she opened it. Before closing it, she turned around and put on the best smile she could give on her face.

I can see the strength of her soul through her eyes. She waved goodbye and closed the door. When I drove off, I said to myself “She’s stronger than the pain she carries.”

Until the lion learns to write their own story, tales of the hunt will always glorify the hunter - African Proverb Copyright

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