Dear Mom,
My arrival to Puerto Rico was not a planned one. Then again, it isn’t like I wrote it down on my ‘to do’ list when I woke up one random morning. Puerto Rico hadn’t even been on my radar as a place for me to continue my life without you. Thinking of any kind of future during that time was rather difficult, especially as a teenager. I wasn’t sure what people expected of me. All I knew was how to be the kind of person that would make you proud. It just so happened that you were the only one who could see me for me. Everyone else saw me as some sort of ticket to fast cash or nothing more than a financial and emotional burden. It almost felt like I stopped being a person to the people around us.
And it felt like everyone forgot my own fight with cancer.
I started high school in a building that confused the living daylights out of me. I can’t remember the name of the second school that was located there, but as someone who went through their pivotal years being homeschooled, I was intimidated by the sheer amount of people walking with me into that damned building. I believe they called my high school Williamsburg Prep. It was my first and only choice due to how close to home it was. I wish I could tell you what I thought of the teachers or how the classes went, but all I can remember were the few friends that I made, and what ultimately led me to Puerto Rico.
Despite how timid I was, I managed to make a few new friends at the start of high school. Which was nice since it would be the first time I’ll be around people who were complete and total strangers to me. One of these friends would go on to teach me just what a toxic relationship looks like. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t interested in playing along. Unfortunately for me, his retaliation landed me in a psych hospital for three months. I can’t help but laugh at the audacity he displayed when we saw each other face to face a few years after this. I think he believed I would have forgiven him, and while I did, there was no chance in hell that I would rekindle whatever flame that burned me.
I’ve explained what my mental health was like during this time in my previous letter
(Unaddressed Scars), so I won’t go into detail. My new friends weren’t exactly made aware of what had happened to me in the months before class started. They knew the basics of what I had experienced, but I didn’t go into detail. I had no choice but to mention my cancer since my hair was still struggling to grow around this time, but I want to make one thing clear; these people didn’t know me. If I didn’t tell them something I wanted them to know, they couldn’t have possibly guessed I was struggling with my mental health. I hesitated to let anyone else know in fears of their judgment, their actions or their lack of care. I’ve always been good at hiding what I’m feeling inside. They didn’t need to worry about me, and I didn’t want my struggles to be a part of my personality. I know better now, but at the time, I was trying to appear strong. Especially when one of the new friends I made (a guy we’ll call Jeff) acknowledged the small crush I had on him.
I should have been cautious with my approach. I was drawn by the new direction, interested in exploring a relationship but not in the physical sense. This is where I’ll have to confess that I was looking for confirmation that I was lovable. Since your passing, nobody has shared ‘I love yous’ with me as often as you did. I missed your hugs. I yearned for someone to just hold me while I laid down. My body was always aching, and I couldn’t keep food down like an ordinary person. These were complaints I couldn’t share with anyone because I feared being a problem. I thought Jeff could heal some of the empty holes you left behind. I didn’t expect for him to quickly search for a physical connection with me. Not when I was, at least, vocal about my discomforts. I played down my upset stomach and body aches, but he was still very much aware of them…
I saw the cracks in his behavior towards me the more I denied being physical with him. Despite having access to our home at this time, where there was no adult to possibly stop me, I never told him of this freedom nor did I invite him anywhere near my family friend. I just was not interested in stepping into something so complex when I was just understanding what it means to fall in love with a person like one does in a relationship. I have to thank you for having those tough, and deep conversations with me at a young age. I believe I was nine or ten years old when we spoke about boys, and how important it was to exercise my right to comfort. We brushed up on the topic here and there, and you did let your thoughts known before you passed, but I didn’t think I had to put much of it into practice so soon after your passing. I think that is what scared me the most about being with Jeff. I felt like I had no one to turn to whenever he was pushing me into a corner. I didn’t even know what to say or do when I experienced that incident in the park.
Who the hell wants to have sex in the park, anyway?
I was afraid of letting Absal know of what was happening. He would have defended me, but he’s also incredibly intimidating and I didn’t want to be so drastic. So, I handled the situation to the best of my ability. As an adult now, I think back to Jeff and how I handled myself and there is not a single thing I would have done differently. At most, maybe I could have mentioned his behavior and the pressure he was putting on me, but otherwise, I feel like I made you proud. I was afraid of letting Absal know of what was happening. He would have defended me, but he’s also incredibly intimidating and I didn’t want to be so drastic. So, I handled the situation to the best of my ability. As an adult now, I think back to Jeff and how I handled myself and there is not a single thing I would have done differently. At most, maybe I could have mentioned his behavior and the pressure he was putting on me, but otherwise, I feel like I made you proud.
The retaliation was the only thing I didn’t expect. Honestly, I don’t think he thought everything through. I do want to say that being sent to Puerto Rico was a secret blessing, so I don’t blame him for the three years I had to spend in another country. I cherish those years greatly.
It is the three months in the psych ward that makes it hard to forgive him.
Days before it was discovered that I was covering healing cuts up and down my arms at school, Nikki had knocked some sense into me. Along with her, and two other friends, we had a long discussion about my mental state and the steps I had taken to deal with the problem myself. A lot of tears were shed. A lot of yelling. A lot of hugging. While I can think back on that moment fondly, it does wound me that I am no longer close to the other two people who were in the room when Nikki made all of us aware that she knew what I was doing. Their absence no longer matters, but sometimes I’m struck by a small bit of pain. Much like when thinking about how Jeff outed me to a classroom full of students who knew me as the quiet kid. Well, I was the cutter by the end of the day.
Hopefully they all forgot about me.
I ended up in the ward that night. Everything happened so fast that I can’t even tell you what was said to me before I was taken. I tried to explain to them that these wounds were old, and that I had stopped some time ago, but none of that mattered. Schools were mandated to report the welfare of their kids, and I, unfortunately, was not made an exception. I soothed myself to the best of my ability as I sat in an empty room colored in pure white. To this day, it unnerves me to be in a room so plain and vacant. I recall being taken care of by nurses and doctors, and asked a few questions about my cancer, but otherwise, I was left alone. If only that was the end of the storm, but it was only the beginning.
Belle was not allowed to sign me out of the hospital due to not being my legal guardian. The paperwork associated with all that was tied up in legal proceedings because of Rose abandoning me soon after we read your will. Belle had five other children of her own, so expecting her to fight for me was selfish and I didn’t press her to do so, but that left me a ward of the state. Absal had tried his hand in getting me released, but it fell through much like it did for Belle. That made my short stay in the hospital become three months, as there was no one to release me to and Social Services was taking their time in coming up with a solution.
I addressed some of the troubles that plagued me while I was there. Might as well take advantage of the situation, right? The doctors were kind, and listened to me as I went through my emotional state. It was the first time I was told about how emotionally mature I was. They called me incredibly eloquent because of the way I write and the way I speak. My approach to adults was crafted by you, and then from pieces of the people around me. It was mainly done to protect myself. The more mature I sounded the more wanted I felt I would be. There were times I could be playful and childish, but those moments of me were reserved for people who I knew wouldn’t find me as a burden or troublesome. To some degree, I’ve shared these thoughts and was given a few ways to monitor my anxiety and self confidence. None of which worked, but I still put in the effort.
I was placed on Ambien for my inability to sleep, as I had insomnia and struggled to fall asleep on my own, and I was given Zoloft to treat my anxiety and depression. They probably would have worked if I wasn’t in that hospital surrounded by patients who would make me uncomfortable. While they may have been around my age (give or take a year or two), their behaviors and personalities were wildly different from mine. As a quiet, shy individual – their brash attitude and violent outbursts made for an interesting stay. I kept to myself, followed the therapies given to me and participated if I had to. I still can’t listen to this one song they played while we were doing ‘yoga’ without feeling like doom is fast approaching. That was a feeling I always had while in that hospital.
Maybe that is why I welcomed Puerto Rico. After three months stuck in a mental facility – bright blue skies and green trees with miles upon miles of beaches was the best way to wipe that place from my mind. And family. Your brother welcomed me into his home, staging a small reunion with my father and two half siblings. I didn’t have your comfort for almost a year by this point, so their embraces and warm welcomes made me feel truly loved for the first time since your passing.
I don’t want to discredit Belle and the wonderful months I spent at her home. She took me in when she did not have to, and gave me a stable roof over my head even if the dynamic was an incredible change from what I was used to. Yet there was an emptiness that I don’t think she was meant to fill. Living with her five children in a four bedroom apartment would have worked if I wasn’t so different from the rest of them. There were more good days than bad, but the bad days are one of the reasons why I suffer through PTSD now. I hate when people yell.
Puerto Rico has become a fond memory. A much needed break during a time where nothing made any sense to me. I struggled with the language, especially since I was never taught how to read and write in Spanish, and yet that became a welcomed challenge compared to everything else. I had a room to myself, peace and quiet for as long as I needed it, and my backyard was literal jungles of greenery and beautiful fruit trees. School was a brisk walk away, and grandma’s house was crumbling at the foot of the hill where uncle’s home sat. Yet I was able to explore the memories of her home with my aunt, and learn stories about our family that I wouldn’t have learned otherwise. They became like parents to me, and my heart feels heavy as I recall how I wasn’t there when your brother passed away. I should have. I should have told him just how much I appreciated my time with him. I could only hope that you’re telling him this for me.
I entertained two boyfriends while I was there (not at the same time, of course), and I think Jeff might have ruined my approach to relationships. Or improved it. I’ll leave the opinion up to you.
I will acknowledge that I had some anger issues while I was on the island. It had nothing to do with the island itself or the family that took me in. The change in scenery was an incredible contrast to what I’ve known all my life, so having an adjustment period came with the territory. Especially when you’re a foreigner, and your lack of confidence in the language makes you a target. What the bullies in school did not realize is that I come from New York, and so my idea of a challenge is leagues above what they were able to offer. None of them scared me, and it gave me something of a reputation. I’m not proud of it, but it was needed in order for me to survive high school. In a weird way, I miss my bravery and the confidence I had – even if it was brought by my untapped anger. At least we know I’m good in a fight.
I definitely cannot fight anyone right now. I struggled with my quilt a little while ago and that left me exhausted.
You always said I can make friends wherever I go; Puerto Rico was no different. I found kindred spirits; kids that came from the States, kids that came from New York. We bonded over that commonality, and I gained a small community, but I did not hang out with them outside of school. It wasn’t for the lack of wanting to as I wish I could have met up with them on the days that they asked. I avoided the complication in order not to be a bother to my aunt or uncle. It made it easier to get a yes from them on big events, so I was okay with my solitude while at home. We bought me a computer for the entertainment, and I spent the hours in Puerto Rico just typing up stories and making online friends. My dad brought me to gatherings, and to his home to spend time with family I’ve never seen before.
I miss the island.
I want to say that my ability to judge a person’s character has gotten better, but it didn’t. My heart has since been broken by a few more supposed friends, and the boyfriends I entertained wanted to change some aspect of me that didn’t make me ‘me’ anymore, so I wrote them off faster than we started dating. I’ll admit that there were times I wore the deep pain I struggled with on my sleeve. That left people with a sour opinion about me as my face wasn’t as warm or as inviting as it once was before your loss. I wasn’t aware of this as it was happening, however. I always assumed that my approach was warm, and that even though I sported a ‘resting b*tch face’ that the people I approached would understand that it was nothing more than a mask. I’ve always been a people pleaser, and so I know I wasn’t crass or confrontational with the people I met over the years, and yet that didn’t protect me from attracting some bad actors in my life. Jeff just so happened to be one of the first.
At least something good came out of my association with him. I can’t say the same for anyone else. Now, that’s a story for another day.
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