for those of you who are interested to know why i am how i am. for those of you who know me and those of you who don't. this is what made me. this is how my life was formed...this is me..
i was born on august 31st 1981 in los angeles california and was named adriana. as a child i grew in fear. i was fathered by a man who probably had a horrible childhood himself. i don't really judge him much now. now that i'm older, but in those days i hated him like i never knew i would. he was a very violent man with problems. at a young age he got hit by a bat several times. doctor's said he wouldn't make it but they were obviously wrong. we will later find out the consequences of the miracle. moving on, he joined the marines which led to his discharge because of a knee injury caused by training (apparently he fell off a hill). all i recall as a child was never being able to speak. if you were around him you had to be like a soldier. not moving or making a single sound. it first started with the long nights where i would wake up by the heavy punches to my face. at first i didn't know why for i would blank out by the force. as the nights would pass he would begin to ask why my brother and sister and i "talked" to each other at night. i failed to mention that i have a brother and sister didn't i? my older sister is 26 and my older brother is 23. i am the youngest. back to my story, he would claim to hear us converse with each other at the wee hours of the night. ofcourse we had no idea what he was talking about. i must've been 5 or 6. it was then when we knew he was not right. there would be times when you would see him looking from the corner of his eyes looking under a chair or out the window. at times he would even run in and out of the room like a madman yelling to who knows what that he was being followed. i distinctly remember one night when things had gotten so out of control that i was trying to fall asleep and he began his what seemed to be a daily routine. i guess being a child and all i was too scared to even move under my blankets. i didn't even want to breathe as i heard him yelling at my mother things that were irrelevant. what can you say to a mad man? he hears what he wants to. i remember not moving at all, not breathing not even blinking. and as he raised his fist at my mother i stood up and his hand not only hit hers but mine as well.
we learned to deal with the way he was. we had no choice. for some odd reason my mother chose to stay with him even after the insults and all kinds of abuse that one can think of. we had it all. here and there i'll remember things. a lot which i have stored away but somehow manage to crawl into my mind. did he ever hit me? yes. did he ever insult me? yes. and as the years passed by he only got worse. his family had pushed him away leaving us without close relatives, so my daily routine was to come home from school and lock myself in my room. there were times when i would walk in on him tying a band on his leg. ofcourse i never knew what it was. he was only doing it in the living room for crying out loud. he never even tried to conceal it. i didn't know what he was doing until one day i found a little black box under the sofa and realized that it had needles inside. heroine.
ofcourse his little "flashbacks" as he called them were always there, but like i said before you kinda just learned how to deal with them. ofcourse i never felt comfortable around him and even more so when his spells would come. who i felt worse for was my brother. he would get the worst verbal abuse than anyone. i guess that's why he left the house at age 16. my older sister left AT 10 DID I FAIL TO MENTION THAT? YEAS, WE WERE ALWAYS TO AND FROM COURThouses speaking to psychologists, lying to them telling them we had happy childhoods, ofcourse we had to lie. he would always threaten us. why bring on an extra beating right? when my brother left the house i felt even more alone than ever. my wall was my only friend. you may think this funny but it's true. the wall and my books were my company. there were times when i thought i was loosing it. i would hit myself to bleed. it started to become an every day thing. i would punch myself in the nose just for the hell of it. until it would start to bleed. why would someone want to do this? at the time i was 13 years old. alone and miserable. that was the year when i started to write. ofcourse looking at my then poetry you can tell i was on the verge of killing myself. when i started high school i would drink anywhere from 6 to 15 tylenol a day. why? i don't know. did i actually think i would kill myself like that? maybe. it stopped when i would get painful stomach aches. ofcourse, i was a coward. i would never truly would have been able to succeed at it. i spent 17 years of my life trying to figure out why i was always so damned depressed and lonely. why i could be in a room filled with people yet still feel alone. why i cried for no reason then would start to laugh and punch myself. why i hated everyone and everything and being in a dark small room would make me feel better. the day he died, was when i was able to breathe. july of 1999 was the year it happened. drug overdose. died in a motel just around the corner of my house. now dealing with the new sudden emotions. being older and able to understand more, not as dark and pitiful. i truly felt a pain for his departure. he was father yet at his funeral i felt like i didn't have the right to cry. like i was a hypocrite for even letting a single tear drop. when for years i held in a lot of emotions. they all fell that day. everything i had felt for the 17 years i let go that night. and after came to remorse. could we have helped him? could we have given him the proper love he needed to survive. was he just like me? was i just like him? and what about the hole i dug in myself. the one where i threw all the anger in? how to let go of that? let go of all the painful memories and the beating and yelling. all the abuse and the pain of seing my mother rot away because of the affect he had given her. how does one get rid of all that? even now, now that it's been 4 years since his death i cannot sem to let go. my heart falls and i want to cry. remembering all the sleepless nights with fear and rage at the same time. forgiving is easy, but what about forgetting? what affect did this cause my life? the fear of not being able to be affectionate. of not being able to hear someone yell at me because the second it happens my eyes get teary and my heart drops. i am not angry anymore and i am proud to say that i am happy. i am no longer that depressed girl who wore black ever day who wanted to die. i can live. i can breathe but to my luck i also have that scar. the one that refuses to heal. the one i shall carry for the rest of my life.
11:23 p.m. - 2003-01-14
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