The Scars Within

Childhood

My childhood is probably one thing I've cherished now that I'm grown and I'll share why.

Whenever I flashback to it, I see brighter pictures. Life looked more lively than ever. The beauty of innocence it holds, the endless sweet sounds of children's laughter. Ice cream trucks riding around the neighborhood, the familiar jingles they would play.

The adults barbecuing and listening to the music that still feeds our souls in our mid and late adolescent lives. I felt like there was never ending fun back then. So nostalgic. Even school had its fair share of fun. The field days, recesses, the nap time after story time. The pizza parties and dances. I also loved to learn, so that was a bonus for me.

Although I was a happy and vibrant child, I still had hardships and sometimes I can't help that I flashback to some of the darkest times in my childhood as well, like the moments where things just seemed like they would never get better. I come from a background where I often had to watch my mother struggle alone to make a life for herself along with my older sister and I. Back then life was much easier, money wise, but the game of survival felt just the same. We didn't have the luxury of always having things figured out or to work in our favors. We started from the very bottom. Not having many stabled homes. If not living with family, we'd go shelter to shelter, and having to eat by the day. I always seen this life as impossible, the way I watched my mom cry, pray, and pick herself up repeatedly. What I knew about my mother; she has a natural fiery essence about her that never allowed her to settle for less or allowed her family to go without. Along with her increasing faith in the higher divine, she got through. Seeing this in her always spoke to me. It inspired me to have that same ability and seeing how we got through made me not only grateful, but it made me want to grow up and repay her for her efforts. To take care of her like she has for us.

During the hardest battle we had, we still found enjoyment in some of what life offered us. Downtown festivals in the city, or trips to amusement parks, and close knit gatherings. These activities gave me hope and it whether I knew it, it was my sign that life was going to get better.

In those times, I didn't know my dad and where he was. I was told that he was there for a small fraction of it, but I was too small to remember, so aside from what I knew is that I never really gotten to know my father as a child, even though, he has memories with me, mine of his completely wiped out. To me, he was a blurred figure in my memory. A person I didn't think too much about, but parts of me wondered.

I never been the child to ask about his whereabouts. I just accepted he wasn't there. I knew it affected my mother deeply, as she wanted him to be there for me the way I never knew I needed him to be. My thoughts on his disappearance were only, why did he have to leave me behind? And to make matters worse, his side of the family didn't acknowledge me much, either.

Can you imagine being an outcast by people who are supposed to make you feel fulfilled and loved? Ones you've never met. It really hurt me. Having the pain of not being acknowledged or wanted it left an emptiness inside me and a feeling of deep hatred towards not only those who abandoned me, but I hated myself, too because I was a part of them and I didn't want to be a part of people who didn't care for me.

Cousins popped in here and there, but the faces never stuck, nor did the names. Because we all lived in the same city that was as small as a circle, I ran into them in public. They acknowledged me then and would introduce themselves to me, but what I never understood about them is that they have gotten offended or upset with me for not knowing or remembering them as if it was my fault.

It angered me they carried that reaction when it was me who should have felt offended. You only choose to recognize my existence in a public setting while I couldn't get a simple visit or invite to family gatherings. I also hated that they pretended to be so happy to see me as if they had always cared and loved me. I'd never had so much resentment towards anyone more than I had with them. It got to where I'd avoid them if I ran into them in public and if they acknowledged me; I ignored them. It was the only way I felt a power as a child. I realized that I was just trying to protect myself from them. Protecting myself from further hurt and pain.

Growing up, I missed the opportunity to have the love from grandparents.

Something I strongly desired, but unfortunately for me, when I was born, all of my grandparents had already passed away except for the only remaining one on my dad's side who's now deceased as well. I remembered her back then, though. She would get me sometimes, and I was always so excited.

It was a new experience, and I loved I could have that love from her, but it never felt like she wanted to deal with me. She never showed much care or attention for me within her presence and she made that known as I got older.

The ironic part was that my dad was her favorite son. She absolutely adored him, so I couldn't understand why she hated me is what I felt and knew. My only family, to my knowledge, was my mom's side. I grew up with them and saw them a lot more. They weren't perfect, either, but they acknowledged me, although I still left out of a lot of things with them.

I feel like not having that village to raise me created my abandonment and trust issues. I struggled with my identity because I didn't know who all of me was. I easily attached to people as long as they showed care or interest in my world because I was always so lonely. I found comfort in my space since I got bullied often a lot at school, so for the longest time, I was all I had. When I saw other kids have their dads or their grandparents in their lives, my heart ached for that same gift.

I didn't really have a relationship with my siblings, either. I had many of them.

They were all older than me but they hardly acknowledged me and not all of them knew about me, hell I didn't know about any of them. I grew sorta close with my older brother on my dad's side, but he was his own person.

My older sister on my mom's side, we bickered more than anything. Our relationship was one hell of a rollercoaster. I cared for her, but I hated she never bonded with me more. I felt pushed away, and I understood we had a seven-year age gap. However, I felt that it shouldn't have stopped us from growing together as we shared the same life as kids.

Other than her, I had a brother that was before me. Unfortunately, he died earlier on as a miscarried baby. We were more close in age, only three years apart. So, my chances of ever having a sibling bond were severed.

From what I knew, I was going to be alone. I always wished I could've met him. I thought maybe he'd be someone I could bond with. That could give me that sibling love I wanted, but he did me one better. I was born after him, making me a rainbow baby. I wasn't supposed to be here. My parents never intended to have another, but he exchanged his life for mine is the way I like to see it and that's the closest to love I'll ever have from him and that brings me peace.