So, over the past, however long I haven’t written for, I was overcome with fear. I started to think about how any of this would maybe never make a difference or how I would inevitably mess things up. But then something someone really great I met told me, popped into my head and it suddenly felt like I woke up on the right side of the bed after a long down period. This person told me not to let fear overcome, because some day even if one person in need reads my blog, I will have achieved my purpose. So not to give up.
The thing about us survivors is that we have an uncontrollable urge to fight. I mean, why shouldn’t we? We made it this far! After a lot of years of reckless behavior, addiction issues, and the list can go on…I have finally reached a point in my life where I think blow no. 10,000 just feels like a tiny scratch compared to past battles. I don’t know if it’s sad to think of it that way, when you compare something bad that happens to you- to something even worse that has happened to you- so that you can feel slightly better about the unfortunate thing that you just experienced. I try to think of it in a positive light because this very strange defense mechanism is my armor.
What it’s like for me? It’s confusing. I grew up in a great family (most of them, at least). I have a large family. At some point we were 21 people in a more than moderately well sized apartment. And this is only the immediate paternal side of my family that I grew up with. Even during introductions, the word “ cousin” never came naturally to me. We used to fly paper rockets into the jungle behind my house, gather and overthrow my grandparents from the television room to watch Full House at 7 pm sharp every day. I grew up believing in “Ohana” and that my family was my safest place.
After coming to New York I realized how I never really received the help I needed, back home. I was in so much agony and I didn’t even know it. I started to question everything long before I came to this city. I was a volcano waiting to explode, and I did. I packed up my things one day and ran fast, never looked back. So it confuses me as to why things have to be so black or white for me. Why I changed every single thing in my life even though 95% of my family is just great, I still feel most alone there.
The point is, life can be so confusing. There are moments where you are just going to want to give up. You try to find and hold onto things that make you happy but for some reason, once again, *boom* you’ve been hit with blow no. 10,000. But you’re alright, you’re going to get up, pick up your pieces, rebuild and start over. Remember that armor? The past will flash in front of your eyes, but you’re going to stare it back in the eyes and tell it that it just made you so much stronger.