Those few words will be everlasting to me. I knew that I had been isolating myself and it is with good reasons. I mean come on; everyone knows that I was in for the fight of my life. Bipolar stepped in and gave my insane behavior a name. To be fair and keep this “on the real”, I rode on the coattails of this thing called bipolar. To me it was just what everyone had … except mine just showed a bit more, around this time something else hit me. (And we aren’t talking the medication that either made me feel nothing or feel something in the form of pure fat growing upon my body. No it didn’t hit me that I could handle, it floored my big ass to the point of true mental insanity (bipolar, whatever) it sucked!!!!
Now I don’t want to get on the bipolar train because I this isn’t what my aim is here. I have issues; I hope that doesn’t come as a big surprise to anyone. If so you better log off now. Cause this blog is all about me “ healing myself and coming to terms with ME” Forgiveness is the answer is what everyone says, ok how??? So far I have not had one person really explain that part. Also they really need to give a damn.
Now on to the healing: (this will not be public but as always I will add a peek for those who care and please send feedback…)
Today, I bought some picture frames and I had to actually put the pictures in . These pictures help me to write this. I know I would rather avoid much of what I have to say. Not because I can’t remember, because remembering is having to feel the burn, the pain… just feel!
After the first few writings I am ok with feeling this pain, sometimes I cry, most times I just try to get a grip of what I am feeling. These are all new feelings that have been hid deep.
I have just received a email from my cousin who lives in California, she has seen the blog and wished me well.
I have always felt close to her but in way I really do not know her at all. So here I am back in Oakland again( in my head ) , only now I do recall everything . I recall the full blow abuse that was put upon my mom, I no longer ignore it. I no longer feel the cause of the abuse. I am confused at how to keep being my daddy’s girl and still have empathy for my mom. This was the beginning of what would be the end of the “Miller family “. It was also the beginning of a love /hate relationship with my mother that was vocal.
I recall the night that we left LA to never return ( well as a family anyway).
I wasn’t really aware that my mom was taking me and my brother to live with my Aunt on the east coast. My mom and dad were living apart, well actually my dad was living a few streets down the block with his then new girlfriend. Her name was Debra and she was jealous of me. But I was jealous of her, not because of my mom. Because she was invading in my dad’s affection for me. She also had kids, I think 2 boys. My dad should not have spent one second with them. Sadly, It never occurred to me that my mom was living with this daily and what is worst she could not do a thing when my dad had the nerve to bring this woman to my moms house. Our family house. In truth , I was still “ all daddy’s girl and remained so for years . Somehow my mom managed to find the strength to leave all she had and I only recall the taxi coming late at night and my mother rushing
to get me and my brother in to the car. No clothes, no nothing. As I look back I suppose she kept this a secret because surely as California has earthquakes, I would have cause a private one by telling my dad all the plans. I will never forget the hatred, (maybe that is a bit strong word to use) but I really did feel something close to it. I was twelve at the time. I was just completely broken up and could not understand how my mother could break up our family. I had not even thought about Debra, her boys , or the fact that he still came over to beat the hell out of my mom. This was forgotten as soon as I was tossed in the taxi and made keep my mouth shut.
No amount of pleading, crying, threatening even fazed my mother. She must have been very scared and here I was making it as if we were running away to join a crazy cult. (In a way we did. living with my aunt was no picnic but that comes later). All I knew was she took me away from my daddy. And she took me to live with the meanest woman I have ever known. She was also the most loyal and caring woman. As life would have it, I did not think that at the time. I looked at my mother the way you would look at any traitor; I hated her from that moment on. I am not twelve anymore and I wish I could behaved different. I hope she knows that I truly am sorry. I did not make it any easier for her; in fact I did all I could to make it as hard as possible. For this I am ashamed.
It is for this and many other shameful moments that I write this.
I had already turned into a very troubled little girl.