DP #1: What Creates Authenticity?

Venus on their first birthday (top left); Venus around age 1 with their father (top right); Venus around age 3 writing (bottom left); Venus around age 4 with their cat Payton (bottom right)

I am a caretaker. Or so, I have been conditioned to believe. My single mother was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis when I was 2 years old. Her disease began to increase rapidly and she quickly lost the energy to be a mother, or quite frankly, be herself. My mother also struggles with bipolar, OCD, and PTSD. From a strikingly young age, I had to learn how to not only take care of myself, but take care of her as well. 

I am reminded of memories when my mom would get off of work, come through the door, and pass out in bed. I was left to take care of myself. I learned to cook, clean, and entertain myself. I had no other choice. My mom wouldn’t let me go outside to play with the kids in the neighborhood because she was too exhausted to watch me. This made me feel very alone as a child because I was unable to socialize and I was already being bullied at home and in school. I questioned my place in the world. What six year old child needs to worry about that? I was so paranoid because I had to practically fend for myself. I felt like everywhere I turned for help, there was no escape. 

Shortly after, my mom’s disease began to intensify and she became very abusive towards me. Once she started, she never stopped. As she was abusing me, I was still obligated to take care of her. She manipulated me into thinking I owed this to her. I gave up everything that made me a person. I felt like I had no say in anything and that I had to do whatever she said. She made me think that a child/parent relationship was meant to be the way it was. It was always held over my head. She made me completely dependent and independent of her. I was dependent on not being able to do anything without her approval in which her ways were always right. I was completely independent as well because she had nothing to do with how I lived and who I wanted to be. I was the one taking care of her so why would she need to consider me or my feelings? 

She had the greatest effect on my self esteem. I was so depressed and I hated myself. I became suicidal as I grew up more. I remember being diagnosed with PTSD at the age of 5. I got diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Major Depression Disorder during 8th grade. It got so bad for me that in 4th grade I started ripping my eyebrows out and I was cutting myself. I was so blinded that I thought these coping mechanisms were healthy. I hated myself so bad; I thought no one liked me, and I had to prove myself to everyone. I was so misguided. I didn’t think I would live past 18.

Once I was a teenager and I started trying to find myself, the abuse was the worst. I started trying to rebel because I was forming my own thoughts. I started realizing that the treatment I was facing wasn’t right. Although I had social anxiety, I became more connected with my peers and I found some close friends to talk to about my issues. Also, I got myself started in therapy which was really eye opening for me. They taught me how to be myself more. After this, I began talking back to my mother which made her meaner to me. All she did was play victim,  and she used her disability against me. This seriously hurt my feelings because I felt bad that she was disabled, but she was also abusing me. I was made to feel that the abuse canceled out because she was disabled. Even when she hit me, she told me that it was my fault that she had to hit me and that I was indirectly hurting her. This made me feel like I was a bad person. 

I became so tired of this, I attempted suicide. This was the most transformative part of my journey because afterwards I found so much meaning in living. I met some of the most wonderful people I’ve ever known. This made me realize that my past does not define me. I stayed focused on my academics because I knew I was gifted in learning and it would help me get out of my situation.

Towards the end of my stay, me and my mom argued more often. I stood up for myself and spoke my truth. I realized that speaking back was not disrespectful in an abusive situation. Speaking back in my situation is called perseverance. It’s called self-respect. I ended up moving out of my household at 17 and moved in with my grandmother. I finally felt what a household is supposed to feel like. I didn’t have to walk around on eggshells. I didn’t have to listen to footsteps to know if my mother was coming near me. I didn’t have to hide how I felt. 

Now that I live alone, I feel as free as ever. I can thrive in the environment I’ve created for myself. I’m creating the version of myself that I want to be. My past does not define me. I feel like it has actually strengthened me. I am set in what morals and beliefs I have, they are not someone else’s beliefs. I am myself. But I am also an accumulation of my experiences, which I’m proud to say that I’m not ashamed of anymore. If I allowed my mindset through the abuse to define me, then I would not be where I am today. I see myself relating more to the people I surround myself with, and I connect through that. I’ve also realized that more people share similar experiences to me than what I currently believed. We are all just humans trying to find connection in this world. Because of my trauma, I find genuine connection because I’m a genuine person. I am no longer defined as a caretaker of others, but also of myself. 

Venus with their cat Earl                                                              Venus with their dear friend Kai at their 18th birthday party