Living Dead While Being Alive

By Michelle L Melendez

A story based on the true events in the life of a little girl born into a world of abuse, trauma, and chaos. A world where she finds herself not only fighting for her life from the hands of her abusers, who in all reality are the very people who were supposed to love, care for, and protect her. But the biggest battle of her life she must fight i

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Jul 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638378136

Michelle L Melendez

Michelle L Melendez was born in Brooklyn, New York, where she was raised by her grandparents in a small underprivileged neighborhood and a world of toxicity, trauma, and chaos. But she refused to become a victim of her circumstances, disadvantages, and all the odds stacked against her. Despite fighting for her life as a child from the hands of abusers, and falling victim to alcoholism for six years, Michelle found herself fighting the most abstruse battle she had ever encountered. It was the war within, the internal battle of her own mind. She was going under, and knew if she did not take extreme action, she could lose herself forever. So, she packed a suitcase and hopped on a plane to Puerto Rico, where she isolated herself from the life she had once known, in order to reinvent herself. Disconnecting completely from the outside world for five years, she began to strip away everything and force herself to face all her fears, traumas, and issues, and observe and acknowledge all her feelings, beliefs, and actions. It was only then she realized that she had a choice, that only she had the power to change it all. Rising above all odds she was able to empty the toxic and limiting beliefs, feelings, and mental programming. After turning herself around, she become one of the top athletes in the sport of Wallball, representing team Puerto Rico and winning titles all over the world: The World Championships in Dublin Ireland in 2012, The world Games in Cali Columbia, the Fed Cup in Liguria Italy, and many more. She then went on to help build one of New York City's top nonprofit organizations for the sport of Wallball.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

LIFE BEGINS

I

was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, raised by my grandparents (my father’s parents) in a small, cluttered apartment. The apartment was one of those old-fashioned apartments they called train tracks because they had no rooms; it was just one straight away. The bathrooms were located in the hallways and looked like little hallway closets. As the years modernized, they implemented bathrooms in each of the apartments. It was a five-story building with four apartments on each floor. I lived on the third floor with my grandparents and brother. My father lived in the building as well, on the fifth floor. Although I was raised by my grandparents, my father was always around and very much a part of my life. However, my real mother I did not know even existed until years later. Both my grandparents were heavy smokers, and I can still remember the smell of heavy tobacco and the clouds of smoke that lingered through the air. I can still remember my grandmother bathing me in the kitchen sink before bed. I can still remember staying up at night to watch my grandparents sit side by side in these old wooden chairs as they watched Spanish soap operas and puffed on their cigarettes. I still remember the stories my grandfather would tell me about his adventures at sea when he was a merchant seaman. One, in particular, I will never forget. My grandfather was out to sea transporting cargo, and on his ship was a young boy, the son of another fellow merchant who did not have anyone to care for his twelve-year-old boy. And so he had snuck the young boy on the ship. While out on this transport, my grandfather’s ship was bombed. My grandfather, being a phenomenal swimmer, saved this young boy’s life. For his heroic act, he was honored by President Truman himself. I still have the handwritten letter he wrote my grandfather. I used to love to hear my grandfather’s stories! I could sit and listen for hours and get completely lost in my imagination. The apartment we lived in was cluttered from all the artifacts and trinkets my grandfather had collected throughout his years of traveling the world.

Growing up, I was raised extremely strict, old-fashioned, and sheltered from the outside world. I was not allowed to have friends, play outside, or even look out of my own windows. My father had drilled bolts into the windows so that they could not be opened. For many years, there were black, plastic garbage bags duct taped covering the bedroom windows. Growing up in a poor family was not easy at all. I got picked on in school for not having the best clothes, sneakers, or material items. It was a lonely and isolated upbringing for a little girl.

At the age of five years old, I was introduced to abuse. I began being abused physically, mentally, emotionally, and even sexually—yes, sexually abused at five years old—all of which is any child’s worst nightmare. My father was an alcoholic and struggled emotionally from abuse he was never able to overcome from his own childhood. I later found that out for, at the time, I had no idea. My father was a great provider. He worked extremely hard and held the same job for almost twenty-three years, where he worked the night shift. As a side job on the weekends, he would make extra money doing phone hookups for people, and people would hire him to videotape their special events. He did well for himself, I must say. On his days off in his free time in the summer, he would always dedicate those times to me and my brother, taking us to different parks and pools all over the city. He would meet people everywhere we went and strike up conversation. I still remember word for word the script he would tell everyone all the time. It was the same scripted introduction every time. He had it memorized word for word and would never skip a beat. He would tell people he met how he is a single father, how our mom abandoned us when we were just babies, and how he named me after the Beatles. Then he would always begin to sing the Beatles song Michelle. I would always hide my face in embarrassment. To the outside world, anyone would think he was an incredible man and a spectacular, dedicated father. In many ways, he was! To anyone looking from the outside in, we had to have been the luckiest children in the world to have a father so loving and dedicated as him. However, my father had a dark side no one ever knew about. And how could they? He covered it up so very well.

As I mentioned, early on my father struggled heavily with alcohol abuse, and the fact that he too struggled emotionally from abuse growing up only enhanced his violent behavior when he was under the influence. When he drank, he would become extremely angry, abusive, and violent. Sometimes, as I would sit and watch him talk to people, I would stare in awe because, at the time, I thought my dad was one of the greatest actors to ever live. To the world outside, they saw this beautiful, loving, gentle man with a heart of gold. My dad behind closed doors was always mentally and emotionally abusive even when he was sober. However, it would become physical and extremely dangerous when he was drinking. He had absolutely no control over himself. Growing up, my dad treated me as a slave, ordering me to do things around the house. God forbid, if I did not complete the task to his liking, he would lash out and become both verbally and physically abusive. I cannot begin to tell you the names he would call me or the things he would say to me, any of which would do a number on any child psychologically.

My father would beat me with belt buckles, wire, and plastic hangers, his fists—whatever was easier for him at the time. Also, I believe whatever he felt would cause the amount of pain and damage he was seeking to cause at the time. I can still see and feel the anger and emotion that would completely take control of him while he was in this state. It was as if he were possessed and truly hated me—as if I were an absolute enemy to him and did the worst thing a person could ever do to someone. Although I tried many times to understand what I did so bad to make him feel that way about me, I was never able to make sense of it. There were many times when I was kept home from school because the bruises were too severe.