I've made some poor decisions in my life's time… and I've made some pretty great ones too. Some have led to the loss of friendships, loss of partners and loss of opportunities but the best feeling is knowing that in the present moment, my view of my life, and my self, will always be in my control. I know that one day I have to die. I'll have no choice, no one does. So we might as well make the most of every day, of every relationship, of every opportunity and every passion.
I don't know how long I'll write for. Or what I'll write about. But one day all that will be left of me are my social media accounts and this blog. My hope is that my children, or children's children, or their children, will read about my life, understand my choices, and hopefully feel a connection to me, no matter how long the human race goes on without me.
Am I a coward? I thought as I sat in my room. I spent a lot of days in my room. I didn't play sports, wasn't allowed to spend the night at friends' and people weren't allowed to come over. The only freedom I had was to listen to whatever music I wanted to on my radio clock (normally some alternative rock station). And to tape whatever pictures I wanted on the wall of my room. My world at 13 and 14 years old was boring. And I had no one to talk to.
This was my life. It felt like the worst time, I didn't know how I could survive it. I had come to the realization that I had maybe 100 years to live as a human and at 13 I couldn't wait to get out. I started planning ways to speed up the process. I already knew about death, knew how fragile we are as humans. And how easy it is to end a life. As easy as it is to squish an ant… that's how fragile we are.
As my thoughts became plans, I thought about everyone in my life. Wondered who would miss me. Wondered if anyone would cry at my funeral. But like my mom's death, I knew that eventually everyone would have to move on. Everyone would have to keep going.
My nephew, Jo, was a one year old at the time. I took care of him a lot, babysat him and my three younger sisters. I thought about them, if they would understand why I had to do it. But it was my choice, I knew that as they got older they'd make their own choices… and that their choices would take them to the same end. I didn't want to be there to see it, and this was one way to make sure of it.
I wanted my guardian, my oldest sister, to understand my pain. And my anger because I felt like it was my only choice. So I told my CPS worker about how I planned on killing myself. Everything I had seen I'd take to my grave. She'd never know the truth about everything that had happened to me. Never know how much pain I was in.
It will be easy. And the pain will go away. I thought to myself.
At the interviews, I explained in detail to my interviewer what I wanted to do and why. My guardian didn't believe me. Instead she asked how a child at my age could think like that. She thought that nothing in my life was so bad that I'd kill myself. It hurt me to think that my sister couldn't understand how serious I was. I don't think she understood that I didn't see my life the same as hers. She grew up without my mom… for 21 years she was raised in the Honduran culture. She dealt with an alcoholic father and an abusive stepmother who treated her children like gods and her stepchildren like slaves. Her view on life was different.
My mom was my everything. The first year without her felt like it had no end. Living without her at my graduation, or my wedding… or her never getting to meet my children… felt impossible.
I didn't understand it at the time, that things would change, and that they'd keep changing as the years went on.