I could smell my favorite soap making bubbles in the bathtub. I loved my Barbie Bath Time Bubbles! They made my skin soft like Mommy’s and smelled like cotton candy, my favorite. Bath Time was my favorite! Mommy and I would play with the bubbles, and if I was good, she would let me put my dolls in the tub, and wash their hair. Then Daddy would bring a warm towel fresh out of the dryer in the basement, Mommy would wrap me up, and carry me to my room, put Johnson and Johnson Baby Lotion and me, some powder, and my pajamas! I am finally a big girl, no more pull-ups! I learned when I have to go, to just go to the bathroom. They always leave the light on for me, so the monsters won’t bother me.

“Angela! Come on!” I hear my Mommy yell from the bathroom. There’s company downstairs, I can hear my father talking about me. He calls me “Daddy’s Little Girl”, or “Angela the Angel”, you know cute things like that.  It makes me feel special. I run into the bathroom and get ready for my bath. MMMM…Cotton Candy! I get in the tub and the fun begins, first I put bubbles around my chin like that President we learned about in school, “Babe Lincoln”, yeah that’s the one! My mom is washing me up, all behind my ears, and everything else, and like clockwork here comes Daddy with my towel. His eyes seem a little red tonight, and glossy like. But he brings my towel and away I go to my room. Mommy does the usual, my lotion my powder, and a nightgown. This one is new. It’s real silky like the ones in her room in the bottom of the drawer that I don’t think I was supposed to see next to some red tube that when I picked it up it started to jiggle. I’ve got to remember to go check that drawer out some more tomorrow. But anyway, so I have this nice new night gown and then my Mommy sprays her perfume on me. The good stuff she puts on when she wears her nighty like this. I can hear foot steps coming up the stairs, I guess Daddy is coming to say goodnight. “You want to play dress up Angela?” My mommy asks, “I will even do your makeup just like mine, and you can wear Mommy’s fancy pearls.” My eyes lit up! I love her pearls! She usually only wears them to church on Sunday, and her makeup always looks so nice! “Ok Mommy!” I sat on my bed and closed my eyes as she put on eye shadow, lipstick, blush, and her pearls. “Does this mean I get to take another bath to wash this off?” “Whatever you want baby.” Then she walked out the room, and closed my door.

Our maid Hilda put my pretty pink satin sheets on the bed, the ones where I can slide all around, especially in this nighty. I felt like the fairytale princesses that were painted on my walls, and in the framed pictures hanging all around me. Princess Jasmine, Cinderella, Snow White, and her seven dwarfs. I pictured my house as being the grand castle, with lavish dresses, glass slippers, princess friends, and I guess there could be a night in shining armor, although boys have cooties, all the princesses I know seem to love them. Maybe they will grow on me as well. I can feel the sandman coming, and my eyes are getting heavy. I yawn, and I stretch, wondering why I was still hearing footsteps in the hallway, I got under my covers and closed my eyes. I will never forget how easy it was to fall asleep that night. Usually I toss and turn, watch some TV, wrestle with my pillows and stuffed animals that are strewn across my bed. But not tonight, As soon as my head hit the pillow I fell asleep it seemed. Peaceful, kind of like when Snow White ate the apple and fell asleep, a sweet innocent sleep.

This is one of my earliest childhood memories. That sleep, that nighty, that bath, that particular night. I suppose that’s the night my whole life changed. I was six then. Didn’t have a worry or a care in the world, aside from which stuffed animal to sleep with, what cereal I wanted to eat in the morning. Back when simple arguments were settled with a thumb wrestle or yelling “Do Over!” When I knew I was loved. When there wasn’t anything or anyone in this world who could tell me that Mommy and Daddy didn’t love me. I suppose that was also the last time I would consider myself to be in the right state of mind. I guess life is a lot like a house. People put so much emphasis into the foundation, a strong foundation and everything will be okay. But they never think about what they put into that house. Someone smoking in the house could set the whole house on fire, and it wouldn’t have ever mattered if the house had a foundation made of stone or sand, it would have all been doomed to hell. That doesn’t mean the foundation was week, but no one was cautious about what was put inside. I had that strong foundation. From the outside looking it, it seemed as perfect as ones life could be. My parents never seemed to argue about anything major, just small things like what to have for dinner, where to go for dinner, what color they wanted to paint the living room, and my favorite, who loved me more.  My, how the times have changed, almost in an instant, I went from a cotton candy scented fairytale dream to a nightmare that has lasted the remainder of my life.

I used to be surrounded by love and support and family, now I am in this white room, plain white walls, these plain yellow scrub like pajamas, sure there are people around, but they are convinced that I am crazy. They say I have a drug issue, yet they are steady pushing pills down my throat, checking my cheeks and under my tongue to make sure I swallowed them, or shoving needles in my veins, telling me it will make me feel better. They say I am suicidal but they force me to go to these depressing meetings and bombard me with other people’s issues, as if I don’t have enough of my own. They say I have an eating disorder because I refuse to eat so they are constantly watching me. When in reality the food here is horrible, and I am trying to fast. They say I am depressed but I am locked away, like an animal, bars on the one little window that I have, it seems like the sun is never shining, the shower water is cold, the food is horrible, I am surrounded by “residents” with issues, and these nurses who always seem to be so happy. No one I know comes to visit me. I am all alone, alone with my thoughts, and IF I was as crazy as they all want me to be, as they all say that I am, why isolate me? Why make me go to the meetings and hear other people’s issues. I think I might be the only sane one here, yeah that’s it! Everyone else is crazy. This is going to be one interesting ride. As I sit in my bed and think back, I wonder, as I have much of my life, what did I do that was so wrong? What did I do to make the people who say they love me the most turn on me? Was it something I said? Did I not do well enough in school? Did I ask for too much? I remember being told they were going to teach me a lesson, but what have I learned? That, no matter how loud I scream, no one would help? That you can’t scream when someone is choking you? That no matter how much someone says “I love you” they always find a way to hurt you? So many questions and no one is around to answer them. No one ever could answer them. Those who knew the answer act as if it never happened. Those who stood by and watched like it was some type of spectators sport said nothing. Was it because these were their husbands, and they feared loosing them? My biggest questions were “Why Me?” and “Where is God? If he loved me so much why does he let these things happen? Why did these men go unpunished? Why did no one believe me when I reached out? How come no one cared?”

I hate thinking, because these questions flood my mind and the tears flood my face. Then here come the nurses and the shrinks trying their hardest to make me feel better. Some nasty chalky pills, some type of sedative injected into me, and once again I am a vegetable. Even then I would have been relieved to not have these thoughts, be numb to everything, that perhaps this is the only way to heal. The continual use of pain killers-the emotional kind-and everything will go away. I will forget, and then forgive, because I don’t even remember why I was mad.  However that is not my reality. Reality is, these images dance through my mind and flash before my eyes over and over again depicting the lost childhood which was mine. A total and complete debilitating loss of dignity, and self respect before I could even spell either word, or comprehend the complex simplicity of their definitions, or knew what they were to even enjoy them for a moment in time. Reality is my nightmare, life has become my nightmare. No, it wasn’t the boogie man in the closet, or under the bed. It wasn’t the creatures that go bump in the night. It wasn’t Jason or Freddy, or the Texas Chainsaw killer “Leather Face”. It was my father Reginald Barker the Third, his friends, and my family.