Diary of a Black Rainbow: From Madness to Ministry

Cover photo credited to Amy Arndt

Back cover photo credited to Jonna MCGUYRE

© Emily Peaceful Waters Woodall

Protected by Ama Tohi, LLC

Print ISBN: 978-1-54397-828-5

eBook ISBN: 978-1-54397-829-2

Table of Contents

Introduction

Birth of a Black Rainbow

Deception of a Black Rainbow

How a Rainbow Got Her Colors Back

Somewhere Over the Black Rainbow

Black Rainbow: Episode One

Black Rainbow Episode Two

A New Normal

Adventures of a Black Rainbow

Black Rainbow Episode 3

Reflections of a Rainbow

Visions of a Rainbow

Revelations of a Rainbow

My War Cry:

Mystic Medicine

Letter to the Veterans Affairs:

Letter to the City of Moulton:

Acknowledgments

Truth Claimer:

I was broken at the hands of those who were supposed to help me, shattered and lost to the point to where I have nothing left but my truth to tell.

Introduction

As you see, on the cover of this book I am wrapped in an upside down American flag; the signal of an American in distress. I am in distress because my home state, Alabama, is ranked forty-ninth, second to Texas, in access and care for the mentally ill. People are killing themselves and others because of this. I am in distress because innocent and helpless souls like me are being abused and assaulted by the hands of those employed by the hospitals where they go to receive help. I am in distress because the media in my country uses the color of one’s skin to separate and infuse hate instead of love and unity. I am in distress because people make the conscious decision to focus on the color of one’s skin rather than the spirit within them. I am in distress because the original natives of this land, are still suffering from poverty and all the hell that comes with it on their reservations. I am in distress because certain so called Christians are giving the most precious soul who ever walked the face of this earth, Yeshua, the Lion of Judah, an evil and oppressive name.

My spirit name is Peaceful Waters. But, before I became Peaceful Waters, I was a black rainbow full of rage, hate, and pain. I was set on self destruct. It wasn’t until I learned what it was to love and to forgive that I stepped into my spirit name. Inside these pages resides my Heaven and my Hell. I was molested and raped in my younger years, only to be abused and assaulted by employees in the psych wards in Alabama in my later years. But do not get it twisted. Make no mistake. This is NO sob story. It is that of an overcomer, a warrior, a fighter, a woman who refused to give up or give in. Inside these pages you will read my redemption song, my story. Both of which I will sing and tell for the rest of my life. My spirituality is Native American and also follows the teachings of Yeshua. As you will read, I reference the spirit world. Stay with me and go with the flow. As Bruce Lee said, Be water my friend. I have written it in a very plain and matter of fact way in hopes that you too can immerse yourself in the experience with me. In order to empathize and truly feel what is was like for me to go through what I went through, you will have to walk in my shoes. The book is written so that you can. In the first few chapters lies my Hell. But, I can assure you that the Heaven that comes in this book and the hereafter is worth every bit of the hell you will read through.

May Creator and His Son bless and keep you,

Peaceful Waters

Chapter 1

Birth of a Black Rainbow

Black Rainbow

She found love in riddles, poems, and rhymes

She was told by many she was born after her time

They looked, they laughed, they stared

But she continued to dance as if they were never there

She painted in colors of life red, yellow, blue, green, and white

Yet, she found herself swimming in the

Acheron River of the night

Black rainbows reflected from her eyes

Without religion, she knew wrong from right

She was once a star illuminated in the darkness

Now she reflects the night in the light

Those that don’t know her story would quickly misunderstand

A victim of so much evil, yet she chose to live and speak love

Memories full of emotions that could be summed up as rage

Yet, she holds fast to peace and turns the page

Familiar with all the colors

The dark, the bright, the ugly, the wrong… yet she chose right

Tell her you can’t paint she’ll show you, you can

One color, one brush, one stroke of the hand

Colors that expose the light in you, she’ll help to reveal

In this world of fake, it’s imperative to hold on to what is real

Black rainbows reflect the dark in the light

They are real and full of love if you look at them right.

Peaceful Waters

In the beginning there was Emily and she was good. She frolicked amongst the trees and woods. She even sang sweet songs to them and spent her youthful days escaping into those places to catch lizards and pretty salamanders before returning to the alcoholism that awaited her at home. When darkness reared its ugly face at her, she sought sanctuary in the faery tales and hid away in her room surrounded by her collection of unicorns and stuffed animals. She played in puddles of the summer rain and danced with pretend gnome friends.

There came a time when she got older that she could no longer escape what stared her in the face. She began to speak out and confront it. Unfortunately, for her, that meant joining in a battle in which alcohol would win. Consequently, she would cry for hours. The stress had formed stomach ulcers and left her coughing up blood. The panic attacks landed her in the emergency rooms on many late nights puking blood. The journey she would take back to herself would not occur until years later.

The violence came to a head one day and the decision to leave was made. My brother, mother, and I had a new mobile home. My first journal entry from the day we moved in was beautiful and innocent. I described the butterfly that flickered around a flower and the sun as it set in the distant sky. I was sincerely happy that I finally had a home. However, the school was a different story. People there came from money and I didn’t. I was called a poor skank because my clothes weren’t name brand.

I did make friends though. Tia and I would harmonize, sing gospel songs, and play basketball every day at recess. I found refuge in the few friendships I did have. When the students found out my daddy was in real estate they picked on me even harder saying, Why don’t you have nicer clothes since your daddy’s got money, skank? I had never known what it was like to feel completely ugly and unwanted until the days of that school.

Back at the trailer park the other kids pushed me into my first fight. This guy Dee hit me with a right hook and caused my lips to attach themselves to my braces. I had never experienced blackout rage until that moment. I remember the taste of my blood and how it made me crazy. I chased him all the way back to his mom’s apartment. Back at school, another guy had been annoying me. He bullied other students all the time. One day, I asked him if he had anything different to talk about besides wrestling. He shoved me over about six chairs into the floor. I got up and engaged in a fight that happened so fast! I remember him grabbing my hair and pulling it as I faced the floor. When rage took over again, I jerked my head back and let him have all the hair that was in his hands. I can still remember the ripping sound. I had witnessed so much violence at home. Now, I was going through it at school. I was tired of it. After that day, I made an agreement of peace with myself that I would never fight again.

During my middle school years, I fell madly in love with music. The first cd I ever bought was Soulfly, but my collection stretched from Bob Marley to Pantera to some techno to and from that to Psychopathic Records. I used to listen to all of my mom’s vinyl. Her collection stretched from Alice Cooper to ZZ Top. I was very eclectic when it came to music. I had hell to pay for that too because I didn’t fit in just one group or genre. May I add that I did not care to fit in? I was happy to be who I was. I wore whatever made me happy. Black fishnets with rainbow toe socks and open toed high heels. I would wear spiked collars with Grateful Dead shirts. Nothing I wore made sense to anyone but me. As far as I am concerned, as long as you’re happy with who you are, who cares? Well, the principals at that time did. I ended up in their offices more times than I would have liked. One day the assistant principle kept me in his office for two hours just to degrade me. It was horrible. But you know what? I never let him see me cry.

I started having thoughts of committing arson. I wanted to burn the school down. Not with anyone in it, but I wanted to burn it for what it began to represent. The football players were treated as the kings of that campus and the cheerleaders as the queens. It turned my stomach some times. I had been through so much. By age fourteen I had been molested three times not to mention the fifteen year old boy who chased me through my house when I was twelve and tried to rip my clothes off and pined me against the wall trying to rape me. Lucky for me, I had saved my germen shepherd Ginger’s hair brush that had a sharp point on the end of it. When I broke loose from his grip, I ran back to my room. As he continued to chase me, I grabbed the brush clinching it tightly in my fist. I then swung with as much force as my eleven year old body could muster up nailing him directly in the temple. As he fell across my bed, I jumped over his body and began to run. I grabbed the cordless phone and began dialing my mother’s number.. He ran out of my house. The cops came and said they couldn’t do anything because he was a minor. I had constant flashbacks from the violence in my childhood. But, I knew who I was and that I had to stand for something.

A few years later, I was dropped off at my first party with a fifth of rum. The only way I knew how to drink was to binge. I mean blackout wasted. So, that’s what I did. I was passed out and was locked away in the back bedroom of the house. My best friend guarded the door so no one could get to me. I was lucky to have her there with me. I mean I could have been raped or anything. Rumors flew through the school that I did things that I didn’t. They were so bad they made me sick. I remember I puked all the way down the hall to the bathroom when people’s whispers started echoing in my head. On top of that, a book went out that was approved by the teachers and other staff members at that school. I was in it. A senior cheerleader said, "To Emily Herring I leave a subscription to Vogue magazine." I didn’t know if it was a compliment or an insult. I mean, I didn’t read fashion magazines. I didn’t even know what Vogue magazine was. If you can’t make your own decisions on what to wear without the approval of others, then you really have a problem. When my best friend explained to me that chick was making fun of the way I dressed, I decided to pay her a visit. When the bell rang at the end of class, I marched straight up to her and asked her why she wrote that about me. She smirked and said, Well, I thought it was funny. I jumped back in her face and said, Well I didn’t! Next thing I knew, she ran off down the hallway. I knew I had chosen to be peaceful but that didn’t mean that I was going to let people disrespect and walk all over me. I think the better question I could have asked is, Why would teachers approve a senior picking on a little ninth grader who is doing nothing more than expressing herself?

I want to stress to the faculty and staff of our schools that we should embrace students for who they are and not who we think they should be. We need to face the fact that teenagers are coming into who they truly are and that self-expression is important. We need to celebrate those who are unique and paving their own way. We need to encourage it. Those are the leaders and the visionaries. Do not crush their spirit. Instead, try to understand who they are and who they are becoming. They are on a journey of self-discovery. Join them on their journey. Love them for who they are. You never know, you may have a writer, musician, or artist developing right before your very eyes. Who knows, you may be have a new age Muddy Waters, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Maya Angelou, Bob Dylan, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., William Blake, or Vincent Van Gogh on your hands. Cherish them. Realize what is before you. Embrace these adolescents for exactly who they are. You have the power to mold, make, or break them. I hope you use your words to assist them into becoming who they are meant to be. There are two teachers who said two things to me that stuck with me ever since. Coach Mac said, Emily, you are a breath of fresh air in a world full of people who are fake. Always let your honesty be your guide. Mrs. Riech, who has since crossed over, told me the something similar. I never forgot that. Those words were burned into my memory and are part of why, with faith, I have written so honestly in this book.

Around the time that book was released there was a guy named Lance who picked on me for the way I dressed. Every day in my history class he tormented me. One day he took it too far. He not only picked on me, but he decided to come raise his hand, and scream, I’ll smack you bitch! as he stood over me. I snapped and banged my desk against the floor screaming, I wish you would motherfucker! He sat down when he saw my rage, but that did it for me. I was fed up with the rumors, the hate, and the judgment. The memories became deep cuts and left scars on my arms. Heartache and the cold pain from all of it had me wanting to just quit. I was spent, man, just spent. One day, I was dropped off at my daddy’s house. I walked into his room and the .45 was hanging fully loaded on the bedpost. I wanted to die. I’ll never forget the sting of the tears as they ran down my face when I stared at the gun. I slid down to the floor, my back pressed against the wall. My head in my hands, pulling my hair, sobbing, and asking, Why? Just, why? Memories of the tainted hands that had touched me accompanied by the principals, rumors, and Lance’s voice rushed through my mind. In the moment of what I call Me and the .45 angelic intervention came in the form of my grandmother’s love for me and how I couldn’t hurt her that way. She never knew it, but she saved me that day. The love she had for me kept me from pulling the trigger at age fourteen.

I went to my mother with a plea to leave that school and transfer to East Lawrence High School. Thank God, man, she said, Yes! I had to leave my best friends and start all over again. I needed it. I was so free. I felt like a little girl who had wondered in a desert covered in dirt and sweat that finally found an oasis and just plunged into the waters. There were so many wrong and evil things that happened at that other school. I just wanted away from it all. Finally, I was.

I had so much rage pent up from it all that it was unhealthy. Hate will consume you, if you let it. I didn’t know what to do but turn to my music. Mosh pits and live shows were where I let out my rage in a healthy way. Although, I chose to be a peaceful and passive person to others, they were not always that way with me. Even though everyone at my new school and I were at peace, unnecessary drama came at me from another school.

There was a girl who had a problem with me that I had never even met. She was a juggalette, who hated me from first glance. Honestly, I never knew why. For those of you who don’t know what a juggalette is, I will try to explain. However, trying to explain a juggalette is like trying to explain something as beautiful as the wind or the water. She is wild, untamed by society. She is her own. She doesn’t need the opinion of anyone to make her feel as if she is accepted because she accepts herself. Many people try to stereotype her but the minute they do, she does something insanely beautiful to bust out of the box they tried to put her in. She could care less about authority because she is her own authority. She is love and has love for family. She is magic. She has love for Psychopathic music, family, and life. And, for real juggalettes out there…I love you. But back to the one who hated me, she declared I was not good enough to listen to Psychopathic Records. She said that I was a fake juggaho because I listened to metal and other music. I, of course, thought it was ridiculous. I just blew her hate off. I continued to listen to whatever I wanted. What drew the line with her was when I went to a meet and greet. I was invited by other juggalos to go so I put on my face paint and went. I got to meet Violent J and Shaggs. It was awesome. Shortly after that time, I crossed paths with this girl. She demanded that I step outside and fight her. I told her straight up in a plain flatly, direct voice.

No, I am not going to fight you over whether or not I can listen to a certain type of music that is ridiculous.

I walked away from her. She in turn, ran up behind me and started punching me in the back of the head. I stood there and took it. After she stopped hitting me, I asked, Are you done? She replied, Yes, I am. She then took off running, laughing, and boasting about what she had just done. I can’t, and don’t, hate her. Somewhere, somebody hurt her and taught her to hate and judge. I continued to go to Psychopathic shows and listen as I pleased. You know, you can’t let someone’s hate prevent you from being who you are and just as importantly doing what you love. It’s imperative to stay true to yourself and if you haven’t found out who you are yet, keep searching because you inevitably will. Love will reveal it to you, if you let go of the hate.

Church, praying, hope, any of these were out of the question for me at that time. Church along with other institutions had left scars on my heart. The thought brings me back to the day one of my first boyfriends had taken me to his youth group. He and his family were very religious. I accompanied him to church one Wednesday. I went because it was the only time I could see him. His youth pastor came out onto the pulpit. I immediately got a bad feeling in my gut. He approached the stage and screamed, Lock those doors! No one is leaving until they hear what I have to say! We need our church in Decatur High! We need our church in Austin High! You want to know why? Because, they are all going to hell!

Now at that very moment I had to turn to myself and have a sincere conversation with me, myself, and I. I thought, Did I just hear this man damn every high school in Morgan County to hell? Why, yes, Emily, you most certainly did. Shall I stand up and ask this man who died and made him God? Why, no, Emily you shouldn’t. And, Emily why shouldn’t you turn this church upside down and put this pastor in his place? Then the peaceful side of my psyche produced the words of my sweet grandmother saying, This is neither the time nor place. This pastor had a pocket full of stones casting them across the influential minds of the youth. All I could think at that point was, This is why I don’t do religion or attend churches that have pastors with egos bigger than their brains which obviously don’t consider the words that come from their mouths before they speak them. I mean, who is it that instills the thought that someone has the right to damn another to a place of eternal suffering? If you follow these teachings, then I pray love finds you. After all, scripture says God is made of love and love doesn’t damn anyone to anywhere. I regret not standing up to the preacher that day. But, if I had spoken up there may have been one less poisoned mind leaving the building.

I want to take a moment to reflect on that entire situation and say my silence was wrong. It was the time. It was the place. I had been given the opportunity to correct that man and instill love in all the eyes of the youth in that room but I did not. Do not do what I did. If Creator puts it on your heart, I encourage you to stand up and speak out. Be gentle and wise with your words. But stand up and speak out. Do not let one soul be misled by an ego driven tyrant disguised as a preacher. And remember he puts his pants on one leg at a time just as you do. He or she is no better than you are. The church needs true devout leadership now more than ever. Maybe you are that leader. You could have been the one put in that situation to stand up and do something. We have too many sheep and not enough lions; if you feel what I am saying. Be heard, be love, be truth, be alive in a world full of people who seem to be the walking dead! Do not settle, do not give in, and do not ignore such a delicate moment to empower the fragile that may be sitting among you.

During that time, I didn’t study the hate I saw flowing from the church. Instead, I embraced the love that flowed to me from those in my circle at that time. I still wore my eccentric clothes and expressed myself as I loved to but this time it was without resistance. My principal and teachers at my new school accepted me for being myself. I want to tell you if you find yourself in a school full of hate, leave it. Go to a place where you are celebrated and embraced for who you are! I was able to love and be loved at East Lawrence High School. It was something beautiful. I began to throw parties around that time. Because I chose to love people from all walks of life, I was able to bring them all together. The parties were huge. At one point, I counted over a hundred present. In my small town that was a lot of people. Metal heads, juggalos, football players, and