It’s always the same. I’m going crazy, screaming and pleading with my mother and sisters to understand what I am telling them.  I never say the words that actually tell them what is going on between my father and I, instead I just scream angry profanity’s at them and beg them to notice that something is wrong. That I am wrong. That I am trying to tell them the most important thing of my life, but I can’t put it into words. I feel them embrace me, but they want to pull away. I see them look at me like I am a crazy, spoiled child. All I want is for them to stay and hold me, but in the end they always leave me. I don’t blame them. I’m an incoherent, screaming, hysterical child. I am spoiled by a mother who cannot understand what is wrong with me. To them I am a spoiled child.  I’m angry at them. Why don’t they see? How can they be so blind? I am trying to tell them with every hateful word and action that something is wrong with me. I hate them for leaving me, for walking away to live their lives. I hate them for not knowing. I hate them for hating me.

One of the hardest lessons I have learned in my life is that no one is here to save you. We may think others owe it to us to save us, but the truth is only we can save ourselves. Occasionally I find myself getting angry, my breath gets tight and my jaw clinches shut, tears sting my eyes. I get angry because I expected they should have all saved me from him, that they should have seen his evil. I get angry and think of how selfish and wrapped up in your own life a person must be to not notice a child’s pain. I swear to myself that I will never be that selfish with anyone in my life. Then the anger turns to pain and I realize that what my father was doing to me was the last possible thing that they ever considered could be going on. Do we ever expect that the evil is in our own home? My father was a master at what he did, at hiding who he really was and the things he really felt.  I have come to a place in my heart where I realize that what happened, happened. What’s important to me is who I am now. I love the person I am becoming. Most importantly I see how strong I am and I am proud. Come what may I know I can save myself.





A Pot to Grow in

I received an unexpected phone call today. My cell phone rang and registered a number I was not familiar with. Honestly my old hometown are code showed up and I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. (I hate to be reminded of anything from my past). I don’t know what force it was that led me to answer, but I did.  A young, deep male voice sounded through the phone, it was unrecognizable to me. The caller ,much to my relief was an old friend from the past, a young man I used to babysit for in my younger days. At one time I had been very close to him and his sister; I loved them deeply, I still do. We spent a few minutes catching up, talking about choices we have made in life and where they have led us. It was interesting for me to note that we had very similar views on leaving behind our family, friends, and hometown. To say the least, after I hung up I was overjoyed that this young man had gone out of his way to call me. It started me thinking though as most things do….

A few months ago while grocery shopping I came across a small 4-inch potted plant. I enjoy having greenery in my home and winter seemed to be lasting an incredibly long time, so I purchased the little green plant. In my house it was put onto a table in the living room by a window. I watered her, I dusted her, I nurtured her. She was green and she was strong. After a month or so of passing by my little plant everyday it dawned on me that though she appeared healthy looking, she was not growing. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember thinking that I needed to probably put her into a bigger pot. However, as most thoughts that pop into our head at inopportune times, it was forgotten.

Two weeks ago my boyfriend and I moved into a house we had purchased. As I was setting up the living room I decided I might as well replant my little greenery in a bigger pot. You can probably guess what happened: she began to grow. At this moment she has doubled in size since receiving her knew pot.

The thought I had is that people can be a lot like a potted house plant. At one time I was like that little plant in a 4-inch pot, as was my unexpected caller. What changed? We chose to replant ourselves into bigger pots. How might you ask does one do this? For me and my unexpected caller it was moving away from all that we had known. It’s not to say that we were being held back by continuing to live a life in a place we knew was not for us. Or maybe it is. Perhaps, for some a bigger pot just means taking a chance, doing the unexpected. Anything that will lead to you growing stronger and healthier and branching out. So I challenge you, take a chance. Go back to school, move to a new town, start that business you have always wanted. For god’s sakes, do anything that will cause you to bloom bigger and brighter.

The First Step

             They say the first step is the hardest. Never have I found this to be more true than I have with this blog. For about six months now I have had my own WordPress account, but until today it has remained wordless. You see I want to write beautiful words. But I want my words to move people the way Plato, Vonnegut, and Buscaglia move me. When I say “move” I am not meaning it in the way you make think. I don’t want to write words that others just ponder, I want to write words that moves others to action.

My name is Michael, I am a girl with a boy’s name. I am 35 years old though I feel like I am still a child most of the time. I have brown hair and hazel eye’s that change color depending on a couple of factors. I have a 12 year old daughter, Malia. I have a 53 year old boyfriend, Robert (he’s a special education teacher). I have a mother that I love deeply. I have three older sisters and one younger brother that I have not talked to for a couple of years now (my choice). I have a mental illness; two to be exact. I have PTSD and Dissociative Identity Disorder (formally known as multiple personality disorder). I have been on disability since the age of 23.

My life is a mystery to me. i don’t remember much and what I do remember I care to forget. I don’t remember being a child. I don’t remember being a teenager. I don’t remember being in my twenties. I still tend to forget most of the time. I can truly say though the forgetfulness never bothered me until I had my daughter. It seems I turn around and years have gone by. I try to remember giving birth to her. I try to remember holding her as a baby, watching her learn to crawl, then walk. I try to remember when she first talked and I can’t. It does not exist. My daughter is twelve the age I feel I am most of the time. It is strange being a mother to some one you feel your the same age as. I find myself looking in the mirror often and trying to figure out the mystery of my face. It’s not familiar to me. I look at it and I see a girl who is in no way 35. She may be in her teens. I find myself calculating a lot the age of my daughter against my age. The inner dialogue goes something like this, “Shes 12 I am 35, that means I was 23 when I got pregnant. That doesn’t make sense though, I can’t be 35, maybe I am 25, wait that would make me 13 when I got pregnant. I know that is not possible”. These thoughts run through my head frequently. My daughter continues to age, but I do not. I never will age. I never will feel old. I will never see a middle aged women in looking back at me in the mirror, let alone an old woman. This scares me.

I have been in therapy since the age of 14. I am a very firm believer that everyone should go to therapy. I think most people do not realize how freeing it is to talk about your problems to someone else. I believe words can be as destructive as they are beneficial. We have words that form into thoughts and sometimes they are not always good words or thoughts. It’s my opinion they can become like poison inside of you. Slowly making you weaker and sicker the longer they fester inside of you. The way to cure yourself is to free yourself from the words and the thoughts. There is a Hawaiian saying I have come to cherish, “ Amama ua noa lele wale”. Translated it means, “The taboo is over, may my words fly free”. For me this means that pain and suffering happen to all of us (taboo). We need to free ourselves from it by speaking the words that form those negative and destructive thoughts and ideas in our head. That is what this blog is; my words flying free. I do this in hopes that you too will, “let your words fly free”, and with it you will see the power and strength that you truly possess.