To grow in a world where the thoughts “my mother didn't want me, how could you?” is to be stagnant and still, unknowing, awaiting a deathbed of regret. That does not sound like a life worthy of a friend and how dare I ever think it was a life worthy of me. In that same vein, how dare I shame that poor young man for being so afraid of his first time living?
In my youth, I was surrounded by alcohol, pills, and violence. An immigrant mother and a self-titled “neo-nazi” do not make a pleasant pairing, especially when you throw in two older siblings from a former, more corrupt past relationship. As I grew I learned to be small, for if I were small it's as if I were nothing at all. I learned to say yes when it was asked of me and to do anything if it meant I could hold my mother's hand. I had been severely bullied as I was too masculine for a girl, too short, too brown, I didn't speak Spanish, I was the ugly sister a long list of normal things taunted by an unknowingly cruel youth. This crushed a then-eight-year-old me. The first time I tried to take what has now become a beautiful life.
The alienation, confusion, everything continued at a steady pace well into my teens, only now I was a little gayer and sometimes cried when I saw videos of people transitioning. Only now, I realized I was not only smart but funny, sweet even. Little victories in a war I'd spent a lifetime losing. My biggest victory though was going to college early! Away from the bullies but entirely on my own. You see, I had been kicked out by fifteen as my parents assumed I was a lesbian before I had been able to even look my sexuality in the mirror. I was hungry but hard working for it was my little victory, I showed myself I was worth it through my work, but I always failed to accept it as worth. Then after graduation and the horrors of dating in my twenties, things got worse. Work was no longer proof of my worthy existence but a necessity under a society that prioritizes production of passion and profit over ethics. I could not be proud of what I had to do. Yet even through the escape of romance I found myself entering yet another cycle.
Between holding my first love together in the bathtub, accepting that I was a man, and learning to put the gun down, life was abstract, dissociated, and unreal. That was no life worth living. Immovable for weeks, I smelled like rot, I sought validation through external means but nothing ever worked. “If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own backyard”, a quote from the Wizard of Oz, and a quote I just so happened to hear as my dehydrated and delusional brain entered its final stage of failure. This very quote made me wake up. Perhaps not all the way, but for the first time ever I felt like I had an answer. I had spent a lifetime being a friend to all, giving people the very ground I stood on just because it was kind and nothing more. “So Atticus, why don't you deserve the same thing from yourself? Why take less than they'd ever dare to give?”. I'll be damned… what did I do?
My mom was bipolar, a narcissist, and an undiagnosed schizophrenic, who loved alcohol and tramadol, My father, was often found in bouts of religious psychosis, could not empathize, and would start a war just to force you into saying he was right. Neither of these people really sounds like they ever looked inside, they had robbed themselves of the gift of being wrong and okay with it. They lived their whole lives prideful and willingly ignorant, pretending to be someone they weren't, to know what they didn't, for shame, for ego. That is no life for me.
It was in my early 20s that I had been diagnosed with CPTSD, bipolar, autism, and severe chronic depression. Things that once crushed my very soul are now placed onto pieces of paper, and easily digestible. Therapy was a tool, not something I could or should rely on. So, I began to speak to myself, I allowed my flaws to become big, not for the sake of judgment, but rather to tell myself that I was only human, I didn't know, I tried my best. Everything would be okay because it had to be. Everything would be okay because my life is so long, how dare I condense it into the years that have passed?
Now, at the age of 23, I find myself struggling with hallucinations, intrusive thoughts, and the desire to simply never wake up, but now I know that I am safe. I find purpose within my work with my community. I find love in gardening, in the friends I've made, and in the smiles on the faces of those who just needed someone to listen. I see life as a series of dying, every moment, a silent death of the self, a death to be used as fertilizer for the life that I aspire to live. I learned that there are chemicals in me that make it harder to function, not impossible, everything is achievable. I live and breathe to love because it is what everyone needs. I sit and listen with grateful ears. My goal is to work with humanitarian groups and to help others beyond the kitchens, beyond clothing drives, to become a firefighter/EMT, as that provides me a platform to spread awareness and information. To remind people to love the bugs and appreciate the trees, to take care of ourselves and those around us. I wish to love. I wish to help.