This long read is Dark that might affect a lot of my family but its part of  the  process of healing. The point of it isn’t to hurt but to heal and write down with the eyes of that young child. Not the view of my brothers or trying to rationalize my parent’s behavior. I need to heal the hurting young kid that still weeps. Growing up I never talk to anyone about my childhood and teen years, my good friend Nikka and Marquita who I knew since kindergarten never met my mother nor my father. I put on a fake smile and denied everything. Living in a fantasy of false and pretend fairytale that was really a dark hole that consists of blood baths, fear, homelessness, molestation, drugs and selling my body. My goal is to go back and save that young kid with a beautiful smile and those big rounded brown eyes. This is my childhood from k-5, the memories are a bit jumbled and hard to remember the exact timeline but the events are real and the pain is real. I love my parents but this words needs to be let out. It will be a two part child hood and teen years.

I was born on a rainy day on 11:11:85 in Palm Springs California, I was the first born on my father’s side and at the time my mother already had a child from a previous marriage. Growing up I always lived in fear. My parent’s energy was so hostile and vulgar. Since I could remember I was walking on eggs shells that had needles. If I even looked the wrong way I would get beaten to the pole. My parents were on drugs most of my life. Around 3years old I remember living with my two brothers and my birth parents. They would get into these fights that would scare me to the core so bad that even when we were having a good time I was so scared of them fighting. I am extremely sensitive. I remember staying up most nights, with my ear to the their bedroom door listening. Waiting for the fight. When I heard peace I felt comfort so I would head to bed for few hours than my anxiety would kick in and so my ear was back at the door. I remember one day my parents were on the couch watching TV and I kept running from my bed to the end of the hallway so I can see if they were fighting. Eventually they notice and instead of comforting me a 3 year old they screamed and threaten to beat me. So I would run and hide. I don’t understand how parents can be that way to their own child. They are the cause of the uneasy feelings. I would always be afraid when my father would come home from work. At my age I couldn’t process fear so I acted out with anxiety and when I did they would beat me for it. I remember my father was trying to sleep and I had a cough, he didn’t want to hear me so he threw me out in rain in the middle of the night and locked the door of course I was screaming my head off. This pain I carry is deep its in every cell of my body and bone marrow. I don’t remember much from the time when my parents were together, just a blur. If I were to sum up that time it would consist of fights, extreme Fear, a lot of spanking, yelling, walking in on my parents having sex.

 Eventually my parent split. I had a babysitter that would come over; he lived across the street from the house. He was a family friend at the time and was a teenager I believe. When he would watch me he would show me his private part and have me touch him and do stuff to him. I am not sure if I seen my parents do it to each other and I wanted to act it out, somehow I knew mommy and daddy did those things, I had to be around 3 years old. I never told anyone this before and it feels good to speak out about it. We did not always have a babysitter. I remember Waking up and my mother would be gone so I would run around the house scared screaming and crying. Again fear! I kind of hate her right now as I am writing this because fear plays a huge role in my life now. When I look at the very few pictures I have of me as a child I just want to give myself a big hug, I really don’t remember hugs or kisses at all. I was such a cute kid that was very sensitive. The day after my father left a guy name Bert moved in and my mom said this is my new father and I have to call him dad. My mother must have been cheating on my father since the move in came quickly. My mom left my older brother father for my father quick too, not sure if I am even my father son. I don’t remember any family members really stepping in or even noticing. My older brother ran away to his father leaving my younger brother and I. From the outside my brother and I looked put together but the reality is it was noticeable that we were being abuse and I have forgiven my other family members for not stepping in, it took some time but I will never forget.

 My mother always depended on men for everything security, money, and happiness. My father was the same way with women. Bert my new father was a stoner who never worked, he would blow weed smoke in my brothers face and I all the time. He never kept a job, I think when my mother met him he was working for the city and got fired for buying booze with his work shirt on. After that he did odd jobs to get by and my mother never worked. Since no one kept a job we moved around a lot. When I started kindergarten my parents didn’t or couldn’t have my brother and I so they dropped us off with my great grandma. She was such a wonderful human that I am grateful for, Anita was her name and she made the best homemade tortilla with beans. She would get me ready in the morning. My mother eventually came back for us. My first grade memory that sticks to me was my mom calling me inside because she said, my grandma was on the phone, and she was lying. I ran inside, my mom was behind the door with a high heal behind her as I ran in from excitement she pounds my forehead with her heal blood everywhere my scream echoed. It still does till this day. My younger brother behind me getting that same heal across his head covered in my blood. Me and my brother got moved around all over, we moved to La Quinta and my mother did not want to enroll me in school so I walked myself to the local elementary school and gave them the packets the first day of school and again know one thought of calling social services.

 School was never important to my mother, my brother started kindergarten at 7 years old. The next year when I went to enroll again they said I never was a student. Eventually we were kick out of my aunts house. So from k-5 I was in 4 different schools been kick out of every home because my mother and Bert never paid their rent. We would lose everything in storages. I have nothing from my childhood except a few photos. I only had Trash bags of clothes. In 4 and 5^th grade, we were really poor and went to bed hungry often. That’s when stealing really became a family habit. I was put in doggy doors so I can steal food for the family. We squatted in the home for a while didn’t pay rent and the owners couldn’t get us out.

 We never felt Secure. My mom was so abusive, neglect full and wouldn’t really feed us. So between moving all around there was pretty horrible blood baths even at one point living in what now seems like a crack house with a gun put to are heads. I wish I could have saved my brother. My mother had me lie to my teachers and birth father about my bruises and knots. So lying, fear, lack of security, hurt and anger was instilled in me at a very young age and became the foundation of me. I am so grateful I had my brother to lean on and to help pass time. My brother and I became animals stealing food from stores, sneaking food in the middle of the night to are room like rodents. When we had roofs over are head it never was a home. At times we did not have Electricity so are house will get dark really quick. Are fridge would be an igloo cooler and showers would be in the dark. At a young age I lived in my mind the whole time make believe was my best friend.

 There is so much more I can write down but these are the ones that stick out at the moment maybe ill save in for my bio. So now I go and weep for that hurting 3 year old who lives in fear from people hurting him, going to hold his hand and kiss his forehead while he weeps. Going to sit next to him and ease his anxiety with a sweet lullaby. I want to carry him from that past of profound misfortunate and into the moment of endless possibility. So he can see the beauty in life. Sober is the New Black

Stay connect with love, Adolfo