It wasn't the summer of my dreams. It wasn't the year of a lifetime. It was the catalyst to a slew of mental health issues I didn't deserve. Issues that have haunted me all my life, only recently to be given a name.
To get to that summer however, we have to start at the beginning. Basic story really. Daddy moved out and daughter was heartbroken. Weeks before Christmas as my brother was entering this world, my dad was leaving ours. Of course I cried-for a very long time. Still to this day certain songs will still make me tear up and I can loose myself in the sadness like quicksand. Growing up and well into adulthood, I really thought, whole heartedly that "my problem" was just because my dad left right? Maybe. It definitely set the ball in motion. I remember only a year, maybe two, being in my bedroom. I had a set of wood bunk beds, a dresser and toys. Whenever I got upset over anything my favorite go to coping skill was mass destruction. That bed would loose the mattresses, the bunks would be heaped over all the toys and pulled out dresser drawers. I would throw anything within reach. Rage would consume me at such a young age that my mother, whom shall be known as Vicky from here on out, gave me away to my grandmother only a short 2 years after my father left. At this time its the beginning of the second grade. I met my soul sister that first day of school. She's always been a point of peace an anchor to my childhood. You'll get to learn about her as well.
I don't remember much of my childhood. Several key points stick out. I'm told that's pretty standard by casual passerby's in life. Although the psych doc says its a result of trauma....
A letter to his wife
"The Girl I Was, The Woman I’m Becoming"
I met him when I was small,
He wore the mask of family,
“Uncle,” they called him—safe and kind,
But safety was a fantasy.
At twelve, I trusted what I knew,
Not knowing he was twenty-four.
They let me go; no warning signs—
No one saw the closing door.
He crept into my sleeping world,
And shattered something pure and still.
I froze in place, I played awake,
And silence wrapped around my will.
I told the truth, I said his name,
But justice never made a sound.
The world moved on, ignored my pain,
While shame became my battleground.
And still he came, was welcomed in,
To rooms where I was forced to smile.
But fear was clawing in my chest,
Each step beside him took a mile.
I shielded others, stayed alert,
Made sure my sister wasn’t near.
A child protecting like a mother—
While no one held my trembling fear.
They said I was the problem one,
Too angry, lazy, wild, or loud.
But all I ever tried to be
Was safe inside a hurting crowd.
Grief grew up inside my bones,
And diagnoses gave it names:
cPTSD, depression deep,
And panic dancing in my veins.
But now I see—it wasn’t me.
The fault was never mine to bear.
My body walked, my soul was gone—
Survivors live; I wasn’t there.
Yet still, I long for what could be:
A smile that isn’t painted on,
A breath that isn’t choked by dread,
A peace that lasts beyond the dawn.
I grieve the child I couldn’t save,
The girl they called too much, too cold.
But now I speak, I write, I roar—
No longer silenced. No more sold.
This isn’t rage, it isn’t hate,
It’s truth that sets my spirit free.
I’m not the girl you tried to break—
I’m the woman she’ll grow up to be.
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