Don’t give up – Part 1

By Anonymous

Well, let me start off with saying I am Miranda, I’m 22 and I live in the state of Arkansas.

I wasn’t always as accepting of myself as I am now. I know the self doubt and sometimes even hatred that come along with mental illness. Especially with those who suffer from anxiety, the whole ‘Why am I not like everyone else. Why am I not normal?’ Then one day I realized, what is normal?.. who and what defines it?, who achieves it?, and do I even want it?

My diagnoses are as follows: Post Traumatic Stress, Major Reoccurring Depression (With Psychotic Features), General Anxiety Disorder, Panic Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and last but the most bothersome.. Depersonalization and Denationalization Disorder. It took me years to get all the correct diagnoses. For a long time I just walked around thinking, ‘man I’m really messed up’. I thought to myself I’m unfix-able, unlovable and worthless.

To kick things off I think I should give you a little back story about my life so you understand me a little bit more..

**WARNING** I’M GOING TO BE TELLING YOU ABOUT MY LIFE WHICH INCLUDES SOME NOT VERY NICE THINGS, THIS MAY TRIGGER SOME OF YOU AND OTHERS MAY FIND IT DISTURBING.. **

Let me start out saying I was born in the winter of 1994, to my mother. Yes, my biological father was around but in all honesty, I wish I never laid eyes on him. Around the time I was about two years old my parents got into drugs pretty hardcore and fought a lot. I remember being a small toddler and seeing those two go at it. Hitting, screaming, cursing, throwing stuff, the whole nine yards. I used to either hide behind the couch or in their bedroom in the bed under the covers. When I got real scared I would talk to Jesus and tell him to send me my angel because I was scared. I can only remember very few things around that age and most of them are bad. My dad punched me in the mouth when I was only two years old, for God knows why. My mother never really wanted me around. She had her own issues.

Well one day the DEA kick in my parents door and says if my mom doesn’t give up my dad for cooking dope then they would put me into foster care. So she did what any mother would do and gave him up and it was just me and her. Being an only child (for the time being) I was pretty much on my own, mom worked a lot and if she wasn’t working she was out partying. I was usually dropped off at my Aunt and Uncles house or my Grandparents. I never was home much and hardly saw my mom.

Since I spent most of the time at my grandparents house I guess I will start with my life there. It’s honestly pretty hard to talk about and it took me years to tell anyone about it. So to be honest I feel exposed as I sit here typing these secrets I was taught to hide. I feel a wee bit nervous as I sit here sharing a piece of my life, my heart, and my soul with you guys that I don’t know. I hope it helps someone somewhere.

From the age of 2 to 10 I was at my grandparents house most of the time. My Grandma who is no longer alive, was a saint to me, a beautiful soul who deserved the world but was only given state. My Grandpa, was a mixed story. Yes, I love and loved him very much but he is also to blame for me, as my mother says, ‘being the way I am’. My mother and I were very poor and my Grandpa was very comfortable financially, and I say that so a part later on in this story makes sense. He.. well there is no way to ease into or sugar coat this.. molested me from the time I was a baby to the time I was about 10 or so. I remember going over there and having the sleazy touching and looks going on. I remember feeling as though maybe I was bad and deserved to be punished? Like my mom, sister and I was always begging for money and he needed payment. I learned the hard lesson, at a very young age, that nothing is life was free. I won’t go into detail, but the abuse was brutal and it lasted for years.

I remember every year around August, school time, he would buy my sister and I’s school clothes and supplies and he would make me feel as though I ‘owed him’. Think about that sh*t.. a 9 year old girl having to be molested so her and her little sister could get their school supplies and have a roof over there head. He paid all of my mothers bills, Mortgage payment, electric, gas.. all of it.. I know this because he would tell me. So as a child who didn’t know any better, I did what I thought a good little girl was supposed to do and take the abuse so my mom, sister and I could eat and have school supplies and clothes. I thought that was just how it was.

To be honest I had a lot of resentment towards my mom for the longest time, because I thought she knew about what was going on. I thought she was pretty much whoring me out so her and my sis could live comfortably. I later found out she had no idea. The abuse lasted years until one night that I now, after years of therapy, remember vividly. He came into the living room where I was staying and started his stuff and I remember trying everything I could to distract him and take his mind off of it. I said, ‘Hey, Grandpa look! Your favorite show was on the TV.’ Then he looked at me and said, this one sentence that will forever be burned into my mind, that makes me shudder every time I hear someone say it no matter the context. ‘If you want me to stop, I will.’ That single sentence, those choice of words messed with me for a really long time. He made it out as though I had a choice.

So, I’m about eleven years old at this point. My mom stopped working and stayed home more. So, I stopped staying over at my grandparents house. Sounds like it would be a turning point for the good right? Nope, not even close.

Continue to Part 2 here

submit


Share:
%d bloggers like this: