E.F.

I was born in the midst of chaos. My big blue eyes, colored after the sea of apologies my father never spoke, saw more than any little girl should. Drugs, violence, and neglect painted the insides of my walls before they could ever become a home. My father was in jail. And my mother was nowhere near ready to raise a child; she was barely able to support herself. So, I spent the first years of my life living under my grandma’s roof, until my mom got pregnant again. Two daughters born with two different dads, both addicted to drugs and dealing with imprisonment due to drug dealing. No money, no job, no home. She packed up her things and moved out, in an attempt to give life a real shot. We lived where she could afford and lived off of what she could afford. Moving from home to home, with my unstable mother and my little sister was a constant part of my life. Due to the absence of our fathers, my little sister and I were left with our mother, who also has a substance abuse problem and suffers from depression. I often found her in her bed sleeping, shutting the world and all responsibilities out for countless days as we barely got by. When I was around her, she attacked me with verbal abuse, the words piercing my ears and engraving my mind with the gradual realization that our mother was unable to care for us. Living in an unstable home environment, I was forced to learn at an early age how to take care of myself and my family in order to survive.

My grandmother was my savior. With tears streaming down my face, grasping for breath between sobs, I would beg her to come pick me up. Night after night, I would sleep in the safety of my grandma’s home because living at my home was too toxic. Eventually, my mom accepted the reality of the situation and gave in to my grandmother’s offer to allow us to live with her. The pain never stopped. A time came when all of life’s tortures hit me like a brick. Staring at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t recognize the girl staring back at me. All I felt was unwanted by everyone and unworthy to be alive. What was the point? I didn’t have an answer. My depression got so bad, I began to hurt myself. My anxiety attacks got so bad, I would faint. Very deep in a hole of self-hate, I saw a light that completely carried me out and placed me right back on the ground. I suddenly found the will to regain strength. The joys in life became so abundant when I chose healing. I began to make decisions in my best interest and take care of myself and the precious life that I know I was supposed to be blessed with.

In this period of self acceptance and self love, I was vulnerable. This vulnerability manifested into me falling in love with someone equally as damaged. We gave each other the unconditional love that we both lacked. This gave me happiness, something I wasn’t too familiar with. Our love was intense; in the best and worst ways possible.  Break ups and threats of self-harm became a norm. He would make me cry just as much as he would wipe my tears. Because of this relationship, we lost so many people close to us and missed out on so many experiences we will never get back. It was us against the world and we couldn’t let go. We were addicted. My heart begged for the pain because it didn’t know anything else. He made me feel so special while simultaneously gave himself to whoever he wanted. I felt worthless, but that didn’t matter because I felt so loved by him at the same time. We controlled each other and couldn’t live without each other, no matter how hard we tried. An unhealthy co-dependency quickly developed. He broke me until there was no life left in me. He made me believe that no one else except for him cared for me, and I would not be okay without him. For nearly four years, I let this boy walk in and out of my life whenever he pleased, because that is all that I was used to from the relationships in my life. But one day I decided to choose me, and I haven’t looked back.

College was my ticket out, away from the toxicity. Yet, it seemed unattainable coming from a background where college wasn’t an option for my friends and for some, even a high school diploma. Going to college was my chance to break the cycle in my family and to pave the way for my younger sister and cousins. It was my chance to be different from the environment in which I was raised. However, I had to face the challenges of being first generation and financially independent at a competitive and very expensive university. I persevered through these obstacles with the motivation to inspire the younger ones in my family. Unfortunately, the chaos at home has not stopped since I have been away. 

During the spring of my freshman year, I got an unexpected call from my father. He told me that I should come visit him in the hospital because he doesn’t think that he would be living for much longer. At just eighteen years old, I drove home and said goodbye. My dad had no one and legally, the responsibilities of his death were put on me. At the end of his life, I had to be there for him when he was never there for me. On his deathbed, he apologized to me for the first time for his absence and hearing those words gave me the healing that I needed. Family members dealing with drug abuse has always been a common theme in my life. Both my aunt and my uncle have dealt with overdoses and in my uncle’s case, it resulted in death a few years ago. I have learned to separate the disease of addiction from the person, giving me the ability to continue to love and support them through the struggles of drug abuse.

My little sister was my strength through it all. Throughout my life, I would spend every moment making sure that she was safe and happy. I shielded her from the painful circumstances we were exposed to. But when I left for college, I was forced to leave her behind and she suffered deeply. Every time I visited home, she became skinnier and skinnier, until she looked death straight in the eyes. One Christmas, I came home to see her weighing just 85 pounds. I immediately forced my mom to admit her to the hospital where she was diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa and Bulimia, spending 9 months in treatment.  During those 9 months, I spent countless hours holding her hand, helping her rebuild strength and teaching her the importance of self care.

I am a flower that grew from concrete. I looked adversity in the face and walked away stronger than ever. I would not be who I am today had I not been through these challenges. I am beyond grateful for Girls Who Handle It for providing me with a platform to tell my story. Vulnerability is powerful. Having open conversations about painful experiences, has the power to heal. There is so much to gain in sharing stories and experiences. Please understand that you are not alone and not everyone is as they seem. It is okay to not be okay. You are strong. You are worthy. And, you can handle this.