By: Rachel Aviles
The short story is my father is an addict. The long story is my father decided crack was more important than loving his daughter; than loving me.
I live with my father’s impact daily.
It was extremely difficult to live in a home where I didn’t feel cared about. Where I felt my needs were put second until I accepted they didn’t belong first.
I cried. I bawled, and I sobbed. I sat in front of my mirror on the floor and just let the pain embrace me; I was consumed with unexplainable suffering. I was searching for answers, racking my brain for faults I had committed, flaws that made me deserving.
“What did I do?” I asked myself over and over.
“What did I do to deserve this? Am I that horrible of a person? Why was it that I, out of all the parents in the world, I got stuck with the two who didn’t care?
Parents are supposed to love and protect us. I expect them to support me, and help me to get to the right answers. I must have done something to deserve the only pair of parents in the world who hurt instead of loved.
You are my father. Your job, your duty is to protect, love and to guide me. The world outside this home is supposed to be the scary place.”
Read carefully now. This is the good part.
I don’t know why; I don’t know how. Something clicked.
I don’t deserve this.
SAY IT AGAIN!
I do not deserve to be treated this way. This is not my fault; this is not even about me.
I sat taller as I looked at myself. I could physically feel my body, mind and spirit get stronger.
It felt for a long time that I was always angry, and solemn. A black thunderous cloud waiting to crack and storm; and in that moment the sun began to shine and I became calm.
I did not deserve that.
I Did. Not. Deserve. That.
I was born beautiful, rebellious and resilient. This was the first of many moments to come where my true colors began to show.
I began to color myself beautifully.