when life gives you lemons

Growing up, I always knew I was different, as cliche as that sounds. Somehow I knew I
didn't belong. I was born in Mexico, and migrated to America illegally with my family when I was merely 5 months old. If I would've known how hard my life would become, not being a citizen and having to work twice as hard as my American peers to exceed in life and achieve the same goals, I would've begged my mother to never leave our homeland. Maybe then I would've became something extraordinary without having to struggle and hide away from the law. The earliest memory I can reach back to is Christmas morning, 1999. As warm as your Christmas mornings might have been, this one was nothing close to waking up by the smell of mom's breakfast, or excitement to open gifts. I got woken up by my mother's crying. My older brother and I didn't want to get out of bed, we knew that cry all too well. I remember peeking through my bedroom door, and watching my father tumble across the living room, holding an empty bottle of Vodka in his hand, standing over my mother and threatening to beat her. My brother, only three years older than me, ran out behind me, and stood in front of my father, trying to
protect her. My dad was never the type to hurt us, only when his blood turned to alcohol, then he became a completely different person. I never knew who I'd wake up to. Some days it would be dad, excited to pull me out of bed, sit with me and have breakfast. Other days, it would feel like I was getting kidnapped, yanked from my warm sheets in the middle of the night, as he carried me out, I could smell the alcohol from his breath, he'd shove me into his car, and he'd take off into the night, with no determined destination. It wasn't until the night of my 6th birthday party, when asked what I wanted as a gift, I begged him to put the bottle down for good. He's been sober ever since. Even though it was a new beginning of a sober life for him, the relationship with my mother was all too tainted by bruises, scars, and police calls. She never believed he had
truly changed, as much as he attempted to prove himself, he continued to fail us. He put the bottle down, and stopped doing drugs, yes, but instead picked up a new habit, infidelity.
As I grew up, things settled down, but were never what I wanted them to be. My dad
became too involved in his work life and missed out on being involved in our life. Instead of showing his support by showing up to my parent teacher conferences, or teaching me how to ride a bike, he just always made sure I had money in my pocket. My mother became cold, after 8 years of dealing with a drunk, and now a cheat, she closed herself off from the world, her kids included. I don't remember much of my early childhood, but a feeling I recall extremely well is loneliness. In a family of 4, dad was always missing, mom was locked in her room, and my brother was never home. He always wanted to escape our broken household, and by the age of 13, got involved with drugs, and hasn't stopped since. Our financial situation escalated quickly. We went from living in a 1 bedroom apartment in Los Angeles, our closets filled with used clothes and our fridge always half empty, to a 5 bedroom, two story home in Fontana, California, with a pool and jacuzzi. I had everything, materialistically, but always lacked love and affection. Something that, no matter how much my dad offered us, could never quite get the job done. The negative aspect of moving into a bigger house was the even greater emptiness that came along with it. Now it wasn't just a door standing between my mother and I, but a whole hallway. I spent most of my time locked in my room, reading stories and often trying to escape into them, wishing it was me in that happy family. As time passed by, I began maturing and with that came a discovery that would make my life even harsher, and make the void between my family and I even fonder, and the absence of my father, permanent. After years of always choosing to play with cars and trucks instead of playing dress up or asking for Barbie's Dream house, at the age of 13, I came to terms that, although I didn't fully understand it, I was attracted to girls and not boys. While all my friends
were talking about what boy they wanted to take to the 8th grade dance, I was so lost and
confused. It was upsetting to realize that it was way easier telling my friends, than telling my
family. I was blessed to have such a loving and accepted response by my closest friends, and
thankfully lost no friendships or experienced any bullying at school. The mistreatment came
from my own family. The group of people that were supposed to accept me the most, were the
ones that hurt me and permanently damaged myself esteem. I recall telling my dad first, while shopping for "back to school" clothes, entering my freshman year of high school. I headed over to the boy section of the store, and with that, hinted to him that I wanted to buy boy clothes instead of girl clothes, because I didn't feel comfortable in dresses and crop tops, I wanted jeans and tshirts. I remember seeing my father as my best friend, regardless of everything he put us through, it was always him and I together, the times he was around; so I figured telling him was the smartest, and easiest thing to do. After all, he would always promise to "love me no matter what". After hours of anticipating and rehearsing over and
over in my head the words, "I'm gay", I finally told him. He was quiet for a moment, but told me that it was okay, and how much he still loved me. It was a pleasant feeling that didn't last long. I asked him not to tell my mother, I wanted to tell her when I was ready, and he agreed to my wishes. As we headed home, the car ride was quiet. We didn't speak at all. He pulled up to our driveway but didn't exit the car along with me, "Are you coming, dad?", "No, I have something to do, I'll be back later." he responded, and drove off, violently. Confused, I headed inside, and before I could greet my mother, the house phone rang, and it was my dad, yelling at my mom for "not knowing how to be a true woman", and according to him, is what lead me to be such a
disgrace. Shocked and upset that my dad viewed her like that because of me, my mom instantly disapproved of my sexuality. The next day while I was in school, he packed his things and moved out. My parents relationship was already headed down a dead end, but my coming out is what lead him to permanently leave. For 4 years, my father and I didn't speak. He eventually moved on and remarried,
and completely forgot about the family he left behind, along with a mortgage and thousands of dollars worth of debt. We went from having nothing but the clothes on our back when we first moved to America, to everything we could ever ask for; designer shoes, and the newest electronics, to an eviction notice and an incomplete family. With no job, my mother panicked and desperately attempted to put food on the table. We'd constantly call my father asking for help, but heard his answering machine more often than we heard his voice. At 15, I was forced to look for a job. Instead of focusing on my teenage years and enjoying the few moments I had left of no responsibilities, I began to stress and worry over how we'd make it through the end of the year, having no place to live. Eventually, all three of us obtained minimum paying jobs and moved into a 2 bedroom apartment. For the next 2 years, things seemed to be okay. My mother came along to accepting my sexuality and our relationship improved. It took us losing everything for each one of us to realize that all we really had was each other. My brother still heavily involved in drugs, managed to help my mother and I financially. I missed my father every day of my life. His rejection damaged me emotionally and mentally, and I began to seek love and acceptance relationships in attempt to fill a void in my heart that he left behind.
At the age of 16, I believed I fell in love. Stacy became everything to me. Her love and affection made me believe I was finally complete. After 3 months of dating, she began to be unfaithful, and we carried on an abusive relationship. I felt hopeless and finally understood what my mother went through. I realized that it was a cycle I was warned I'd encounter after growing up with a drunk, abusive and cheating father. I always said the curse would skip me, but I was wrong. For 2 years I was trapped in this horrible relationship. Then, an event happened that
completely changed my life. One sunday night, upset after a fight Stacy and I had, I picked up a bottle of Absinth, a substance that contained 68% alcohol, and became completely and utterly intoxicated, to escape the pain temporarily. As always, I was home alone and was completely free to keep drinking. I was determined to drink until I was completely unconscious. I began to throw up violently and became scared for my life. I picked up the phone and called Steph, hoping she'd come to my aid. As soon as she showed up to my house and realized my sickness was due to an overdose of alcohol, she became extremely upset and refused to help me. "You're just like your father!", she yelled over and over. I cried and pleaded for her to not leave me, and she refused, and walked out. I chased after her and as she climbed into her car, she locked her doors. I banged on her windows, and begged for her to come back inside, and again, she refused. I ran over to the passenger side and noticed the window was cracked open about 6 inches, I saw an opportunity to reach in and attempt to unlock the door, but my arm got stuck. As I was unable to remove it, Stacy began to drive off. Panicked, I began to scream, telling her to stop. She ignored me and accelerated, my feet dragged along the rough concrete and after realizing that I was still
attached to the side of her car, she lowered the passenger window, and my arm was finally free. I lost my balance and fell to the floor, she took this chance to leave, not realizing that her back tires ran over my left foot. Because I was heavily intoxicated, the pain was bearable. I then stood up and made the biggest mistake of my life. I headed back towards my house, and reached for my car keys, in an attempt to follow her and apologize for upsetting her.
The events that followed are still a blur to me. All I remember is looking to my left and
being blinded by headlights. The impact was hard enough to make my car spin out of control
about 3 times. That night was the first time I ever got arrested and rode in the back of a police car. My clean record, my dreams to become a police officer, shattered in a matter of 10 seconds when I attempted to turn left at a stop sign, not realizing a car was headed right towards me. I'm more than lucky I didn't kill anyone, or myself. I realize now, the mistake I made was necessary, almost like destiny. Thanks to that event, my outlook on life completely changed. They say it takes almost losing your life to be reborn again, and I'm a living example of such. After that night, I turned into a completely different person. I finally discovered the courage I needed to leave my relationship, and headed down a healing path of spirituality. My father reached out to me and offered me a place in his home and a new start in our relationship. My mother, almost losing me in a horrible car accident, finally realized how important I was to her, and began to show me the love and appreciation I
desperately craved. I was able to find my worth along the line, and began a new chapter in my
life. I now have a healthy relationship with my mother and father, and after years of being
mistreated in a relationship, I now know the true difference between love and lust, and can
honestly say that I am completely in love with my soul mate, Melany. A girl that took me in
understanding and accepting my past and devoting herself to fade away my horrible experiences by truly loving me and pushing me to become an even better person than I am today. Although I understand deeply that my mistake of deciding to go behind the wheel while drunk will haunt me for quite some time, including a punishment I have yet to endure, by serving a month and a half in jail on January 4, 2016. Thanks to my unfortunate events, I am strong enough to overcome anything that is headed my way. My story is far from being finished, but I am proud to say that it's off to a great start. When life gives you lemons, paint your world gold.