As I close my eyes, I’m picturing a little curly-haired boy with skin the color of coffee after putting four creamers and four sugars. Smile wide with baby gaps in his teeth. Dimples deep enough that it made the top of his cheeks puff out like a balloon. I don’t know the age, but I know that when I see this version of myself, I’m undeniably, and happily, ignorant of whatever is happening outside of my little world. 

There are so many stories that have been said and paths that were taken, without your permission. You trusted and believed in those who brought you to each landmark you now remember as formative moments in your life. Some moments you don’t know why, but you’ll remember for a lifetime. 

The dances you were doing on the stairs of the auditorium, while your sister was cheerleading on the mat with her squad. When your uncle said, “Drink this, it’s orange juice,” only to find out later that it was actually beer. It was funny in the moment, but only to them it was, and I remember going back for another sip. The little pink casita behind Grandma’s house, and the steps you took on each stepping stone toward a scene of confusion, anger, and anguish, a picture that someone gives you of your tía. You hold it and go to your grandma’s bedroom to hear your older cousin weeping, saying, “I never got to give her her mother’s day gift.” You don’t know what’s happening until someone tells you that she’s gone. Your tia is gone. 

I open my eyes, and now I’m reminded of the time you asked your step mom for permission to call her mom. She has and still will be. Basketball games and Christmases. Finding out at the age of eight that Santa was never real, because you found the Scooby-Doo DVD in your parents’ car – by accident – but it was wrapped on Christmas from Jolly Old Saint Nick. They won’t know until now that you knew all along. Your childhood is a blur, but you were exposed to things that you probably shouldn’t have been. 

The hurt that was done to you, you didn’t know, you had no idea, that you were hurting those around you. Until you were old enough to understand. You lied so that people wouldn’t leave you or treat you differently, or worse than before. I know this now, but you did not know then. Growing up, you wanted to escape reality, so you found solace in books and friendships. You built a garden with writing and singing. You always knew you were different, and instead of being told ‘it’s okay to be different, I love you anyway, ’ the journals you wrote in were found and then trashed. Singing made you this way, so no more, let’s take that away too.

Yes, you wanted to escape, so you tried to run away; you even made hidden Myspace and Facebook accounts, where you talked about the cute guy in your class. You spoke to your friends, and you all objectified the men, because that’s what all the girls were doing at your age. But you couldn’t, because you are a guy. Well, that’s what you were told. No wonder you thought at a young age how much better life would be for others if you were just gone. If you were away. If… if… if…

Sick and perverted. Addicted and twisted. Liar and manipulator. You were the cause of the pain and the distortion. You stole the time of those who loved you and the energy from those who cared. You took advantage of those who loved you and of those who only wanted to help bring you back to life, until you left. You left the town that was tearing you up into a million little pieces. You gained a family, one that is now, you finally learn, is the definition of dysfunctional. You lost people that you said you would never lie to or hurt. People say that if they had known then what they have come to realize now, they would make some changes. 

But I close my eyes again, and I see a little boy smiling so wide that his eyes are closed, and his hair is a mess. If I could hold this little boy, I would hold him tight and tell him he’s perfect and beautiful. I would say to him that he is not a liar, or an addict, or an abuser. No matter what is done or said to him. I would tell him that he has a voice and encourage him not to let anyone take it from him. I would say to him that he his not his parents’ mistakes or the mistakes of those that were done to him. 

I would hold him and tell him he belongs here on this earth, and he may not know why, but whenever he feels like he doesn’t want to be here, someone will come around and show him that he does.

I love you, little me.