DNA Diaries

I have been alone most of my life. I may have had a family and a home but what went on behind closed doors in my home was torturous and volatile to the family unit. I was the youngest of 3 and the only female child. I witnessed violence, caustic conversation, and was the victim of abuse from a very early age that lasted for what seemed like an eternity.

My mother has been emotionally unavailable to me most of my life. My doing I suppose, I wouldn't let her in. In order for me to do that I would have to give up the secrets that held me captive. The ones that I was threatened with more harm, more abuse, and yes even death if I revealed.

I was poked, prodded, analyzed, reanalyzed, hospitalized and institutionalized. No one could get in. I was passed around from one specialist to another, one psychiatrist to another, one family member to another. Until one day at age 13, I finally opened up to the one person who had gained my trust. She was not a professional but a family member by marriage.

I told her half the story. She insisted I tell my mother to make our relationship right again. Armed with the confidence she instilled in me and the guarantee that she would be by my side every inch of the way, I faced my mother and told her tales she never thought possible. I expected something much different than what I got.

My new family member was horrified when my mother reached out slapped my face and called me a liar. I just looked at my new family member, I said nothing, I did nothing, and it was the end of what little relationship I had with my mother from that day on. It was also the end of my new family members respect for my mother.

The poking and prodding continued, so did the dead ends. No one could get inside me. My mother grew angrier and angrier with me. It was costing her a fortune and she had to drive miles to make these scheduled appointments that were getting her no results. Certainly not getting her her daughter back. The cute little thing that was once her pride and joy who used to smile all the time but no more. Not for a long time.

As a last ditch resort, the master minds of the most prestigious University decided it would be a good idea to have 6 panel members behind glass to watch as I was poked and questioned. I was told they were there, I was told how many of them there were. I was told they would be observing my gestures, mannerisms, and behavior.

As the questions started, I shook my head to represent no. More questions more shaking of the head. These were not yes or no questions. But the only answer I would, could offer was no. I would not answer their questions because I would be dead if I did. Dead the minute I got home. Dead the minute they found out I told.

The tone of my interrogator got more and more arrogant. He started accusing me of faking, being manipulative to get attention, of feeling sorry for myself.

In one quick motion I was off my chair, in his face and screaming at the top of my lungs that I would not answer his questions, ever. No matter how many appointments they made, no matter how many people, therapists, or what ever their title were, no matter what tactics they used I would not answer their questions. I turned to the mirror and screamed at the ones who could only see me as well. I don't remember all that came out of my mouth but I was exhausted by the time I got done. I was physically and emotionally drained, and I had developed a complete hatred for liars. It was the liars who had put me through all this. The ones who sat back and watched me go through all this and never said a word in my defense. Never confessed to what they were doing to me. The liars who threatened to kill me if I told their dirty little secrets.

As of that day my therapy sessions were through. I told them I would not come back, and if I were forced to come back I would still not answer their questions so stop waisting my mothers money and time. That was the day I was declared mentally unstable. But at least I was set free.

That information was shared with the entire family. I was the mentally unstable child who everyone stared at and stayed away from at family functions. I was isolated and as much as it bothered me it was better than having them trying to patronize me. My hatred for liars intensified. As I watched them pretend they were good upstanding family and community members, I loathed their very being, silently. I knew what they were, and what they were capable of.

They all used every opportunity to tell me that I was mentally unstable and that I need help, therapy, a psychiatrist. At first I would argue back with them, but I could never win. As time went on I just quietly slipped into myself and let them have at me. I would pretend I was somewhere else.

My hatred for liars began to spill out into public. I got very good with words, insults, one liners that most people had no comeback for. I was vicious, volatile, and unafraid. If I didn't like what you were saying I would crucify you on the spot. I would shove your lies down your throat until you choked on them. I would expose you to every member of society that would listen. I would do this to everyone but the people who I should have been doing it to, the ones who made me the way I was.

Years of therapy followed at my own hand. I tried several times over the course of my life to get help for my violent nature. Although I can't honestly say that none of it helped, I do believe in the end time was my best healer. As I aged so did I mellow. I lost enough friends and acquaintances to teach me that most people lie, most people have two faces, most people expect you to accept their fabrications and remain their friend.

I still detest liars but I have learned to keep my opinion of them to myself, unless they intend to hurt one of the few people I care for. For the most part I just keep my distance from them.

There are times when I feel the stress and pressure of everyday life building up on me. I know what will happen if I am provoked. I try my best to stay away from people when it's building, I ask people not to pressure me for things or answers. It doesn't happen as much as it used to but I am still very capable of going off on someone and being that volatile little girl all over again. I hate myself when it happens but if you insist on pushing me I will defend myself, and in the end lose another friend or acquaintance.

Why is it when people have no knowledge of the true source of a problem do they willingly jump on the popular opinion train and join in creating you more pain? Who's to say that any one person or thing is to blame for anther's behavior or defense? Why is it never addressed that what came to be, might have been a series of events?