Okay, so most of you know me as CG or Chocolate Girl, but did you ever wonder who CG really is??? Don't answer that..LOL. Well, let's see here who is CG???

My true name is Audra Vanaughn Leigh Nicole McClure-Walker. Geez, such a long name. How did I get such a long name??? Well, I guess I would have to start at the beginning.

I was born September 6, 1966 to a mother addicted to heroin. I am lucky to be able to sit and write this story anywhere, let alone in cyberland. But back to who I am. My addicted mother had three overdoses prior to my birth and I have always credited my Guardian Angel and God for watching over me. See, back in those days, babies that were born addicted were left in the backs of hospitals to starve to death or die quietly in their sleep. I did neither of those things--which proves my aunt's point--I am bullheaded. Okay, on with the story...a hospital nurse took pity on me and nursed me back to health only to return me to this drug-addicted mother. My mother, in her own messed up mind, assumed she could handle raising a baby and took me home. I can't remember before I was two years of age, but I do remember from two on what terrible things happened under the ever so unwatchful eye of my biological mother. My mother was not just a drug fiend, but she earned her money by being paid for sex--yes, she was folks--a prostitute. Well, at the age of two, my mother's men friends decided that once she was passed out on the couch--her young daughter was fair game as well. So there my nightmares begin.

I remember a certain male acquaintance of my mother, all I ever heard anyone refer to him as was Pop, but I never knew really who this man was. All I know is that when he was around I always had to choke on a big stick. At two years old, what did I know. Well, in the meantime, while mother kept partying, getting high and bringing more male friends home that got rather well acquainted with her young daughter, she bore another child, my sister Dana. With my sister, she was placed in rehab so that she wouldn't overdose with her as she had done with me--during that period of time, I have no real recollection of where I was or who I was with, but it didn't last long. Once mother had the baby, she returned to collect her first born to rejoin her and her new baby girl. My mother was truly unfit and why no one intervened on at least the children's behalf is beyond my comprehension, even at the ripe old age of 31. Knowing what happened to me, I did the best I could to protect my baby sister from the torment I had to suffer through--amazingly, at two years of age, I had enough common sense to try to help the baby. By the time my sister reached nine months of age, authorities had finally stepped in and removed us from the home. I was initially dropped into a shelter for unwanted children because Children & Youth Services felt that I was 'damaged' and no adoptive family would ever take me in. To this day, I don't know why they considered me 'damaged' but they did. My sister and I were separated, they placed her in Zoar Home for Babies and there she would stay until they could find her an adoptive family.

Again, I credit my Guardian Angel and God for watching over me and especially over my baby sister. Wouldn't you know it, a very loving couple plucked me from the shelter for unwanted children and took me into their homes. I was 3-1/2 years of age at that time. My parents were both ministers and took to me from the first day they laid eyes on this scrawny, thin blooded waif of a child. After they took me home, gave me some real home cooked food and all the love that could be bestowed on one child, I began asking after my baby sister. I guess you can say, I have been a worrier all my life--not warrior, but worrier. Everyday, I'd ask where my sister was and when she was coming home. My poor mother didn't know what to say because she was told I was an only child--go figure. Finally, with much persistence, my parents found out that I, indeed, did have a sister and that she was very much alive and doing well. My adoptive mother was a strong-willed, tough lady who would probe under rocks to get what she wanted and at that moment, she wanted to reunite me with my sister. So, my dad, the quiet man who always let mom have what she wanted, set out to find my very much alive sister. After much digging, my mother found my sister at the Zoar Home for Babies and had my father make a bee-line in their 1969 Oldsmobile station wagon straight to this home. Suffice it to say, my mother returned with my baby sister, Dana. She adopted my sister and myself and raised us in a normal family environment; however, the trauma of my childhood preceeded me into my wonderful new life.

For years I suffered emotional torment because of the sexual abuse and neglect. The thought that my own flesh and blood chose drugs, men and the street life over her own children is something I still struggle with today. I have three small children and I could not fathom losing one of them because I was deemed unfit to raise them. I also could never, ever terminate my parental rights..never--but my mother did just that. She signed papers to say she didn't want her children ever in life. I have lived with the pain of knowing that all my life--knowing that my own mother didn't love or want me and harder still to swallow is the fact that she never tried to change her lifestyle in order to care for her children. Painful as this all is to me, it has actually made me a better and stronger person today. I don't hate my mother for what she did, I pity her because she missed out on a lot of good things that comes from watching your child mature and grow. She missed out on the late night girl talks and the pillow fights and the popcorn and the tears. She missed out on watching me in school plays, graduating with honor and pride, going to college, getting married, the birth of her first grandchild--yes, you see, I'm the lucky one, my sister was lucky--we had PARENTS, people who cared and they were always there for us. My motto is: ANYONE CAN HAVE A BABY, BUT NOT EVERYONE CAN BE A PARENT. It's sad but true. I thank my Guardian Angel and God everyday for not letting me die in the back room of Western Pennsylvania Hospital where I was born, I thank them everyday for loaning me two wonderful parents, I thank them everyday that Dana and I weren't separated for long and that we grew up together. Yes, Dana, if you read this, I still love ya!!! My nightmares are what prompted this web page. It's freeing to put your thoughts and feelings into words and be able to go back and say hey, I overcame. I truly have overcome many obstacles in my life and this is one hurdle I will be relieved to clear in years to come. I haven't cleared the hurdle yet, but with God's help and the support of my friends and family--I WILL clear the hurdle!!!

My wonderful new life...as it turned out, took on many tumbles and turns. The new parents were great--they were patient and understanding, they were kind and loving, they were all that and more, but in my mind they didn't belong to me. At the age of 3-1/2, all I knew was these people took me in and I wasn't quite sure how to take them. All my life I have felt like a charity case--some poor sap took pity on this scrawny, malnourished kid and said we'll take her. Something like one does when they get a pet from the pound. True, they may fall in love with the pet, but before any of that becomes true, they feel sorry for the pet. Well, I always made them prove they loved me by doing stupid things--and when I say stupid--I mean S-T-U-P-I-D!!! Like for instance, the time when I was 7 years old and decided I was going to run away--yes, I did runaway, I ran to the backyard and hid under a shaded tree for four hours--whew, that was some running away, huh?? LOL The reason I decided I was running away was due to the fact, my parents had decided to move to a larger home in the suburbs and I didn't want to move because I was 'in love' with the little boy next door, Jimmy was his name. That was my first and only 'boyfriend' until I reached the age of 17. I spent most of my childhood being a tom boy and driving my parents mad with all my crazy antics. I was fortunate to have 'special' parents as I referred to them over the years. Not many parents get to 'pick' their kids...lol My mother had been a model and dancer in her younger years--as she was 52 when she adopted me and my sister--so she always liked to dress us up in these dainty, frilly, lacy clothes and I hated them. I would climb trees and dig in the dirt looking for worms and this exasperated my mother. She used to punish me for getting dirty because I did it so much and when I got dirty--there was no hope for the clothes...lol No, no hope at all. Things went along pretty smoothly until I reached puberty--the dreaded prepubescent adolescent. Up until that age, I was a pretty normal kid--I did normal kid things except with a twist--see I forgot to mention, my parents were 'apostolic' ministers so that meant no dancing, no pants, no cutting the hair, no wearing makeup, no wild parties and lord forbid--NO BOYS!!!...lol. My mother was adamant that if you looked at a boy cross eyed, you'd end up barefoot with ten kids in tow...and funnier still--I believed her until.....well, we'll get to that later. Yes, I was still a normal kid through all that and did cause my share of grief--nothing like the grief my kid sister caused and she got away with it, I didn't....lol I was a very mischievous kid--see I liked starting a fire--then stand back and watch it burn using a euphemism because I never actually set anything on fire. Looking back on my early childhood, I wonder why they never sent me packing or why they never took off running...either way, I'm glad they never did. I had a very good life until the prepubescent adolescent years--that's when all hell broke loose. Since my mother was old as Methusela, she had these odd ideas about things and well my dad was only around for the beginning trauma of a pre-adolescent--dad had passed away by the time I became a full-fledged nightmare on heels..LMAO, yes--I said HEELS and not wheels...LEH. I really miss my parents because they put up with a lot from me and I truly owe them a debt of gratitude. My mother ruled with a wicked hook-heel shot. See my mother never chased us to spank us--she threw shoes...high heeled shoes. When she threw a shoe, it would turn corners, klonk you on the head and boomerang back into her hand where she would blow the smoke off the shoe and holster it like a gunman in an old western movie. I never knew how she did that--and she never missed. I guess you all can tell, I've been klonked by her shoes many times. My mother hated back talk, as she called it, and I was infamous in our house as the one who always challenged authority with back talk. Hey, I figured I had a right to know why I couldn't do something--so I questioned her. I guess you all know what came next -- THE HOOK-HEEL SHOT. Yes, mom always had a high heeled shoe hidden somewhere. Those shoes never deterred my challenges of her authority and at some point my mother gave up--she would just give me the silent treatment for a week. She never knew this, but it was cool with me--no lectures...lol. Honestly, folks, I was a darn teenager who thought she knew it all--who was I kidding??? At the age of 14, after my father passed away, I hit a very low point. Dad had always handled the budget, the bills and the balancing of the checkbook--mom had no clue, she only knew how to spend it. I can thank mom for the course of study I decided to pursue once I went to college--Business. So when dad died, mom--at age 65--was left with four children all under age 18, an 11-room house, a mortgage payment, two cars with insurance payments, a church and bills--lots of bills. I watched my mother age after my dad died--they had been married 35 years and that was the turning point in my life. I had to grow up overnight because mom needed me. Mom never understood the check writing concept--I got many shoes thrown at me because of this. When mom wrote a check and sent it off to Mr. Bill Man, she never actually thought of it as paper representing the money she had in the bank--so she'd write checks and still spend the money in the bank that she wrote the check against. She would always say, but the money was there--it's in the bank. Naturally, I would back talk her and say -- it's not your money anymore mother, it's Mr. Bill Man's money now--even at 65, mom still had pretty good aim with the hook-heel shot. After a while, mom gave in and I did all her bills for her--she just had to sign the checks. At age 14, I gave up being a kid--for the second time in my life--and had to play the adult. It took it's toll by age 15--I tried to commit suicide by drinking a veritable HOUSEHOLD CLEANER COCKTAIL. I had mixed 1/2 bottle of ammonia and 1/2 bottle of bleach then downed it as fast as I could. Well, as you can tell, the cocktail didn't kill me--it did; however, ruin the lining of my stomach and landed me a four month stay at the finest mental hospital in Southwestern Pennsylvania. Here, again, I'll say my Guardian Angel and God were watching over me. At the hospital, I met my nearest and dearest friend--Patti. Patti, at that time, was a psychiatric nurse on my ward. When I arrived at the hospital, I wouldn't talk, I wouldn't move, I never acknowledged anyone. If you've never been in a psych ward, let me explain something--they put you in a 'bug' cell and watch you for several days. What is a 'bug' cell you ask?? It's an open, observation room--they never let you close the door, if you go take a leak-they watch you..thus the name 'bug' cell. Each day they'd have someone else sit outside and watch you, all the while writing everything in a notebook. One day Patti was assigned and for some unknown reason--we clicked. I would only talk to Patti. Suffice it to say, Patti came to observe me after that and she had me out in the general population in no time. After four months of group therapy and individual family counseling, both my mother and I had a new found respect for each other. She understood I was still a kid and needed to be treated as such and I understood that she had just suffered a great loss in her life and things for her would never be the same. These revelations were all thanks to one lady--Patti. Patti and I, all these years later, are still very close and we're the best of friends. Patti is no longer a psych nurse, but she is still very much working with the finest psych establishment in Southwestern PA.