The Miseducation of an abused islander

I'm not a jealous person at all. I love when I see my friends doing well and I enjoy how good life is for myself in general. I understand that every path is a completely unique one. But I will not help that I must express some things that I have sorely regretted. I didn't get to choose my parents. No one does, it's all a matter of a universal dice roll that we get what we get when we get it. But seriously, did you have to give me the abusive non apparent father and a mother who joined Jehovah's witnesses and doesn't believe in holidays?

Was it necessary for me to be abused for my entire childhood and adolescence to make me reach this point? Was I supposed to never have met or knew my grandparents from either side to give me this strong sense of individual purpose? I'm not jealous of my friends at all. But when people complain to me about how "hard" life is, I reflect upon my journey and silently think to myself, that they have no idea just how hard life truly can be.

That wasn't them, that had a step father that sexually abused my middle sister, which led to her having severe trust issues with men. That wasn't them whom was used to traffic cocaine as an 8 year old across Florida and Georgia airports. That wasn't them who had to endure the endless onslaught of insults thrown at them just for the color of their skin.

I'm just going to come out and say it, God gave me a bad dice roll on birth. But it didn't stop me from creating something for myself. It didn't stop me, from graduating high school on my own. It didn't stop me from putting myself through the ARMY and getting my scholarship money. It never stopped me from learning how to be an artist. It never stopped me from learning that life is about the better things in it, rather than just status.

Maybe I am a walking pit of depression duct taped with a work uniform and crying while I welcome you to a retail store. Maybe I am the next great writer or creator of something the world is itching to have next. I honestly don't know. But I do know that I have survived far worse than many children, and I am still here to talk about it. Maybe I'll be able to get out of my pit of subconscious depression and do something for myself for a change.

Hopefully I can meet someone who is awesome for me. But it isn't for the sake of my friends. It is for the sake of my ever sinking, ever struggling heart. I have friends that are wonderful indeed. But how many of them can relate to what I have gone through? How many of them can actually sit down and stomach a conversation about coping with a hard life? I have another confession, I'm tired of repairing people who don't show gratitude. So I'll be on a bit of a break from that.

I should have listened to James' mother when she told me to focus on me. Why? Because all of those people have been left behind anyways.