Author: glittersparkleprincess67

The Cycle

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It’s like clockwork, every year at some point, that feeling of numbness and dissociation kicks back in like it never left. I can’t control it, but I can always see it coming, almost like watching a car crash in slow motion. I do everything I’m supposed to: I take my meds, I go to therapy, I have a routine, and yet no matter how hard I try or how many tools I use, I can’t escape this feeling. It never fully goes away either; it lies dormant, but I know it’s still there, waiting for the moment to awaken again. I hate that no matter how many years of work I have put in to escape this feeling and to escape those dark places my mind takes me, I can’t seem to fully get away; it will always be there, waiting for me to slip and fall back into the cycle. Depression is something that never goes away, no matter how many meds you take or how many therapy sessions you go to, but it is something you can come out on the other side of, even if it seems impossible. I have done it a million times, and I would do it a million more if it means I get to live my life to the fullest and make myself proud. Depression is most likely something I will struggle with for the rest of my life but I will never let it control my life again.

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Who gets to be called family?

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Does someone who has betrayed your trust deserve to be called family? Does someone who has been remiss in their responsibilities to you deserve to be called family? Does the person who has hurt you the most in life deserve to be called family? Just because someone gave you life, does that mean they deserve to be called family? Are DNA and a last name the only things that make a family, despite years of trauma and anguish? I learned very young that even though society might consider these people your family, they don’t have to be. Our families should be made up of people we trust, people who support us, people who love us unconditionally, and people who don’t put us through years of pain because they wouldn’t get help. You shouldn’t have to put up with unacceptable behavior just because you are related to someone, even if that person gave you life. You choose who your family is, whether that is made up of people you are genetically related to or not, that is still your family. We unfortunately can’t control the “families” we are born into, but throughout life we can choose who makes up our family. I believe the people who make you feel loved, safe, and appreciated deserve to be called family.

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Boxes

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I don’t want to move, it’s not fair. I know this sounds like a stereotypical response from a kid when they are told they are moving, but it’s true I don’t want to move, and the fact that I have to isn’t fair. It’s not like I’m moving with my parents because they got new jobs, or because I am going to a different school. In fact, it is the complete opposite; I am moving because my parents couldn’t get it together. I have lived with my grandparents since I was four and a half, and I can’t remember anything but that. We didn’t move in with my grandparents because they needed assistance or help; we moved in because my parents couldn’t financially support us anymore, and while it was only supposed to be for six months, that turned into thirteen and a half years. I am so angry because if it wasn’t for them, I could stay in my home, in my town, with my best friend, with my other family, and in a place that I may not always be in but feels safe and stable. I don’t want to move to Virginia. I have nothing and nobody there; the only thing I have in that town is my brother’s college that he has already graduated from. I hate that I feel like I’m being dramatic; I know I’m not, and I know I am valid for feeling what I am, but I also feel like, in an odd way, I knew this would happen one day, so why am I so upset if I was prepared for it? It feels like I am being suffocated by this situation, like every day it is getting closer and closer, and I’m getting less and less control. I know I won’t be there a lot with college coming up, but I don’t ever want to be there; I want to be at home in my room, in my house. I can’t live with my dad, and I won’t live with my mom, and so I know I don’t have options here, and yes, much worse things could be happening; it is just so frustrating to think about because if they had gotten it together for themselves and for me, I wouldn’t have to move to the middle of no where, Lexington, Virginia. I don’t want to pack my life into a bunch of boxes because it feels like it doesn’t do my life justice, my life is so much more than what is being packed away into those boxes. So much more happened in that house that shaped me as a person than what can be shoved in those boxes. I don’t want to accept that it is happening; I don’t want to come to terms with he fact that my parents couldn’t and didn’t get it together for me; they didn’t care enough to get it together for me, and it sucks.

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Fall

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One of the things I miss most about New York is that we have four seasons, but most of all, I miss real fall. I miss the cold, crisp air whipping through my hair, the vibrant and colorful trees and leaves, and the falling acorns and pinecones. I especially miss being with my grandma during the fall. Every year before I came to OVS, we would walk through my neighborhood and collect all kinds of beautiful leaves, pinecones, and acorns to take home and use them to create some fall decor in our house. I remember my first year at OVS, I would call my grandma so much complaining about how much I miss real fall that she sent me leaves she collected around the neighborhood, pressed them, and then dipped them in wax to make sure they didn’t die. I still have the box with those leaves to this day, and in the box I have added other objects that are valuable to me. I cherish this box more than anything I own; it is now filled with memories of those I love and meaningful things they have given me. I miss fall not only for the leaves and the crisp winds but for the memories I have with my grandma and the time we would spend together.

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Brother

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My brother is my favorite person in my life; he understands me better than anybody and has never given up on me. He has seen me through every aspect of my life and has helped me through everything. He is, of course, my annoying older brother who pushes my buttons, but he is also my biggest inspiration. He makes me want to work harder every day for my goals because I watched him do just that his whole life. He holds me accountable for my actions and for being responsible for my life and my future, and while it may be frustrating and irritating in the moment, I can look back and be so thankful I have someone who pushes me like that. Besides being an amazing role model, he is an amazing friend; I call him multiple times a week at all hours of the day, and he always answers and lets me talk about nonsense for hours. He constantly takes me out to dinner, shopping, or golfing just so we can spend time together doing fun activities. My brother makes sure I always have what I need to achieve my goals, and I could not be more grateful for him. He is by far the best big brother in the world, not only because he loves me but because he makes it his mission to ensure I succeed and can live the best life possible.

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The Start to an End

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It is the third week of my senior year and I already have learned so much about myself and those around me. I moved in this year alone which was honestly really sad and depressing, I felt alone and like I had been pushed out of nest without any warning and before I was ready. However when I got to California I felt this odd sense of peace and support that I had never really felt before. Not only from my family here in California but especially from my friends. Within 24 hours of me being here I already had a hangout planned and was beyond excited to see my friends who I haven’t seen in 3 months. My first couple days on campus were filled with long hugs and constant “I missed you so much!” Hearing this and seeing it for myself made em feel so loved and wanted. I know it is only the third week of my senior year but I already am getting this vibe that this year is going to be amazing or at least I hope it is. I am excited to experience my final high school moments and memories with the people who have given me a family here. I truly can’t express into words how grateful I am for my friends here, I especially can’t express my gratitude for being able to finish high school with them.

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Girlhood

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Being a girl is an experience that words cannot capture, no matter how hard we try. There is a sense of connection that every woman feels with each other; we all know what it’s like to experience your period for the first time, what it’s like to have to go bra shopping for the first time, and we all know what it’s like to look over our shoulders when walking alone. Like many, if not almost all, women, I remember my first time looking over my shoulder and feeling an instant adrenaline rush telling me to run. I was 10 years old, walking to the Walgreens two streets over from my house to go grab snacks on a hot summer day. I was wearing black Nike shorts and an oversized Miami Dolphins t-shirt. A man driving in his car up the road I was going down slowed when he saw me, and he instantly turned around and started following me. My heart sank to my feet, and my whole body went cold. I was only a child, but I had this immediate response, almost as if it had been ingrained into my DNA, telling me to run, and I did. I ran as fast as my body physically could home, and when I got into my house, I sprinted up to my room and didn’t come out for hours. I didn’t walk to that Walgreens for 3 years after that due to the fact that I was so terrified. This may sound like some unique experience, but it is a common one for women to experience even at that young age. Being a girl means having to assess your surroundings wherever you go to ensure you are safe or at least know how to get out. Being a girl means going everywhere with someone else to make sure you are never alone. Being a girl means knowing to cover your drink and only taking closed cans when you are out. Girlhood is the feeling of experiencing universal experiences with women you may never meet; girlhood is knowing what it’s like to look over your shoulder wherever you go, a feeling every woman who has ever lived can relate to.

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Documentaries

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As a kid, if you asked me whether I would rather watch SpongeBob or a documentary on ancient civilizations, unlike most children, I would have said the documentary. I loved documentaries as a kid, specifically on ancient history or endangered animals. I can’t exactly explain why; I guess I liked to learn, along with the fact that I had a probably unhealthy obsession with ancient Egypt for an 8-year-old. I still, to this day, could tell you the step-by-step process for mummification as well as the amazing technology they had for their time. I could probably also still recall the reasons that the Northern White Rhino is critically endangered, or how whales evolved. Part of me wishes I still had this same urge to learn as I did when I was a kid. It’s not that I don’t like learning now, but it all feels too rehearsed and processed; it’s like it’s only taught to us to give us a grade and move us to the next level of the school system, and not because they want us to actually be entertained and invested. I hope one day I want to learn the same way I did when I was a kid, when I believed I could be anything and do anything.

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Mixed

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Growing up mixed meant never fitting into a box. I was too white for the Latino kids and too Latina for the white kids. On standardized tests, it felt like a betrayal to pick a box identifying my ethnicity, like I was picking sides. Even with my family, I felt out of place; my white side never understood why I was offended by certain “jokes”, and they could never understand certain struggles I would have to face. My Latino side always criticized me for being no sabo and disconnected from my culture. I felt so isolated and alienated from everyone and everything that should have given me a sense of community and belonging. As I got older, though, I realized that my identity, both racially and culturally, is mine to define and should not be dictated by others and their comments. I am so proud of my Salvadoran roots and work every day to grow closer to my culture, whether through language, food, or dance. I am also proud of my French roots and often try to learn more about them through my grandfather. I feel so blessed to be able to experience multiple amazing cultures all within my family. If I could go back and give my younger self a hug and tell her she is enough for both her Latina and white side I would. I am mixed and I am proud to be mixed.

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