This is me.

*TRIGGER WARNING**drugs & alcohol abuse, childhood trauma, violence, sexuality, infidelity, suicide, mental health.*

This is me. I was born into a lower middle class family. My mother was a homemaker. My father was a drug addict.
In grade school, they relentlessly teased me for having big ears. “Dumbo!” they’d scream and laugh. “Can you fly?” they’d giggle. If I could fly, I would have flown away and never looked back.
As a child, I physically and emotionally tormented my little sister. I did not, and will never, deserve her forgiveness.
I lost my virginity at 11, to my 16-year-old neighbor who was angry with her boyfriend.
At 12, I started hanging with the wrong crowd, looking for a place to fit in.Still out of place, I lost my friend to a bullet meant for someone else. This is me.
In junior high, the popular girls wouldn’t look in my direction, but on summer vacation, dating me couldn’t ruin their reputation.
As a freshman in high school, I felt the stir of depression taking root inside my brain. Sophomore year, I started drinking excessively to silence the sadness inside.
At 16, I became depressed and suicidal. Before my 17th birthday, I made two unsuccessful attempts to end the pain.
Soon, alcohol became my crutch. I drank to forget. I drank, hoping to black out and never wake up.
At 18, I got engaged to my high school girlfriend, with no intention of marrying her.
For the next four years, I cheated on her with any woman who showed interest. This is me.
At 22, I met someone new. I broke off my engagement over the phone. My fiancé was in London.
I got married at 24, to a broken woman I was hoping I could fix. She was an addict, and I was slipping into darkness.
Alcohol and narcotic pain medication hijacked my life from age 25 to 27.
At 28, with a two-year-old son and a wife on drugs, I hit rock bottom. Her addiction and my depression were too much for a young marriage to survive.
Three months after my 30th birthday, my daughter was born into a broken home, to parents who hated the sight of each other.
At 31, I was a divorced father of two, living alone, with a depression that was reaching a boiling point.
Lying in a closet, with no phone, no light, and no food or water, I felt myself giving in to the misery.
At hour 52, I realized I wouldn’t be missed.
Handcuffed, and chained to the inside of an ambulance, I would spend the next 4 days in a psychiatric ward, “a danger to myself and others.”
My mother was there at my discharge. She drove me to my apartment, packed my stuff, and took me 900 miles east.
My babies came to live with me 4 months later, until my ex filed for custody...for only our daughter.
At 33, a judge decided to separate my children. She “felt a daughter needs her mother, and a son his father.” The depression and pain of losing my daughter mixed into a dangerous cocktail.
Anger became the easiest emotion to express. Combined with whiskey, I became a nightmare.
Friends left. Family kept their distance. Self sabotage was my favorite pastime. This is me.
Now, I’m 41. I take 6 medications twice a day to keep the depression at bay.
I no longer feel the weight of sadness, but neither can I feel the warmth of pure joy.
I use humor to camouflage the sadness of each new day.
I hide my insecurities behind a false bravado. Low self esteem behind an inflated ego.
I’ve been broken, the pieces scattered, some lost forever.
Everything I’ve been through has led me here, to this moment.
Some days are easier than others, but my scars run deep.
​I am far from perfect, but I will not be ashamed, because…
This.
This is me.