When I was little

Alot of my memories are painful. Most I try to forget.

My grandmother is my rock. I love her with all my heart. When she died-I did too.

Because of my MPD, I have forgotten alot of them or have been blessed to have not experienced it. The flip side is one of my personalities have.

I grew up in a small town with only about 50 houses in our little 'hood.'

My grandmother was a holy woman and prayed before each meal, before bed and when she awoke. When my brother and I would act up, she use to try and bless us with holy water and stain our heads with oil to make the sign of the cross.

"Your possessed by th devil!" She would scream out.

That was the only way for old folk to make sense of MPD.

My brother and I were molested by the same man. He dealt with his issues through drugs and beer. MPD dealt with my memories so I could live on a normal life.

My world as is

Crammed into this little space of existence, I am of little hope,

I ask the world to take me away, mess me up with lies and dope.

They said there is something wrong with me and I wonder why,

Could it be my life of which I lived in secret- as a lie.

I ask myself many questions and never want to know,

Agnes, when you 10 years old, where did you go?

Were you on the run your whole life from Family and friends?

Did you not seek shelter or even asked for amends.

Why do you wear long sleeves every single day?

Could it be the nasty slashes your hiding away.

Do people see that your soul is old with torture and pain,

That living a normal life will never happen again.

Written by Me