Unwritten

I was born November 1, 1994, and was given to a beautiful family by my biological mother. My father loved my mother very much and wanted nothing more than to have a child with her. Maria and Ismael must have been so happy to have a child to call their own. They both had children who were already adults from previous relationships. My parents loved me so much, and I will always be grateful for that. But there was one person whose life I would change forever. We just didn’t know it yet. My sister Carmen was 16 when I was born. I don’t think she was too thrilled about it. She was the only girl; she was a teenager, she did not want a baby sister. However, I was told that the moment my sister laid eyes on me, she loved me in a way that wasn’t just that of a sibling; it was maternal. She didn’t want to let me go, and little did she know that her wish would become her reality.
When I was five years old, my mother decided to tell me I was adopted and introduced me to my biological mother. The latter, up to this point, I thought was my aunt. My cousins were my siblings, and I was so excited. I had more people to love, two mothers two fathers. How lucky was I? Unfortunately, my father was not happy about the decision. Actually, he yelled at me for telling people I had two sets of parents. So I never brought it up again. I hated seeing my dad so angry and so disappointed. My mother was diagnosed with Hepatitis C, so I guess the conversation needed to happen sooner rather than later. Besides that, I had an incredible childhood. My life in Puerto Rico was beautiful. I was close with my family, had a lot of friends, did extracurricular activities in school, and was honestly so blessed. If I knew then what I know now, I would have lived in the moment a lot more and truly cherished my time there. Because my life in Puerto Rico was a beautiful fantasy, my reality would be dark, sad, angry, and lonely for many years to come.
In first grade, my mother moved to the U.S to receive treatment. My sister and I stood behind in my childhood home to finish the school year. I had so much fun, and I honestly was excited for this new chapter in my life. I was fearless as a kid. I loved change, and I loved the unexpected. As an adult, I wish I could say the same. I said goodbye to my friends, family, and childhood home. I was sad to leave the beautiful little pink house my dad made me and my swing. I imagined how being a mother would be in that little house, and the swing made me feel like I could fly. My dad always told me If he could give me the moon and all the stars in the sky, he would. His love is unmatched; in a way, he gave me the moon and the stars.
It was early in the morning; my favorite aunt Mary dropped us off at the airport, and with tears in her and my sister’s eyes, we said goodbye. Boarded on a plane and headed to a place I’d never been. We arrived at Bradley airport, got our luggage, and there she was, our mother waiting for us. I’ve missed her so much, but the happiness only lasted until the car ride to my grandmother’s apartment. You would think that a grandmother would be kind, warm, and loving, right? Well, not mine; that woman simply disliked me. She called me awful things to my face like retarded and crazy. She was only ever happy when I did what she wanted, like going to church or giving her my rare baby boy doll that my godmother gifted me. It was one of the only pieces of my childhood I could bring with me beside the clothes on my back. My life went from being carefree and feeling so loved to constantly being surrounded by adults and feeling like I wasn’t good enough. My only relief was when I locked myself in the bathroom and played with my mother’s makeup.
My mother and sister must have noticed how sad and lonely I was not around any children. So we went to my niece and nephew’s home. I was already an aunt from the moment I was born, weird, huh? I was so excited to meet them again, but I didn’t speak the language; I only understood context clues. My niece was wildly popular in her neighborhood, so she had many friends. She was so beautiful, and I, unfortunately, was not. I had big curly frizzy hair, an overbite, freckles, and a significant gap in the middle of my teeth. I learned a very harsh truth that day, different was not beautiful. I never had any complexes because everyone in Puerto Rico was so kind, and looks weren’t important at all. I noticed the other girls constantly pulling Lizzy to the side, pointing and making remarks about my appearance. I knew at that moment that this was only the beginning of the worst. They refused to include me in any activities, so my niece left and decided to hang out with me. I felt awful; my self-esteem would never be the same again. I spent most weekends with them because they lived so close. Still, I felt like an idiot because I knew deep down she would rather be doing anything else than to be hanging out with me. My nephew sure did and had no problem expressing it. My sister and I lived with my grandmother for 3–4 months. My grandmother had a caregiver named Janet. I’m assuming my mother expressed her frustrations about how my grandmother treated us. My mom and grandma argued a lot. The last thing you want to see is people fighting as a child. So my mom stood behind with my grandma. My sister and I moved into Janet’s attic until we found a home for us.
It was hard once again to be away from my mother. Little did I know this was preparation for what was to come. I was as happy as I could be, Janet had a son named Pablo, who was a few years younger than me, so at least I had a friend. My sister tried to make this as normal as possible. But I knew none of this was normal. I started school in September, and I had the most beautiful teacher ever. She looked like a Caribbean Barbie, at least that’s what my mother used to say. The school was okay; I was in ESL, I made a few friends. Got a lot of attention because I was new and from Puerto Rico; how exotic! That attention didn’t last very long, and soon I was a distant memory. Kids teased me here and there, but nothing too crazy. The anger in my heart was growing. All I wanted was my life back. I was so tired of things being decided for me. Tired of feeling like I was nothing like I didn’t matter. My eighth birthday was not my favorite; I spent it at a place that wasn’t my home. But don’t worry, Ivelisse, soon your eighth birthday will not be so bad in comparison to what’s to come. So after 3 months we found a place and were reunited. Thank God we found a place to call our own.
I finished the school year and was told I would start at a new school in September; oh boy, more choices were made. My summer was okay, not too eventful. I started school, and I was nervous. Being the new girl again was not what I wanted. But what choice did I have? You would think that going to a school with minorities like myself would be better, right? FUCK NO! Those kids were ruthless. I was constantly teased and excluded from EVERYTHING! My mom decided to get me diagnosed to see if I was okay. Turns out I have ADHD, and I’m depressed, shocker! So I was prescribed medications and was forced to see a therapist, yay, just what every eight-year-old dreams of. I couldn’t talk to her because I frankly didn’t understand what I was feeling. My 9th birthday came, and this was the last birthday party my mom could attend. And she really went out of her way to make sure it was as great as possible. My niece and nephew were there, and it was honestly a lot of fun. She gifted me a carebear; I still have her. After that, I can honestly say I don’t remember a lot. I was bullied. I only had neighborhood friends purely for their convenience. My only true friends were my books, dolls, stuffed animals, and imagination. So let’s just fast forward to when my mom’s health deteriorated right before my eyes.
My mom was constantly in and out of the hospital; I had become numb to this. Plus, with the medication, I was barely a person. I felt like a drone, with no feeling, no ambitions, no appetite. In fact, I was so skinny I was also heavily bullied for it. The girls in school were already developing bodies. I looked like Jack skeleton with a mullet; yeah, my mom decided to give me a mullet! All I wanted was for this nightmare to end, but unfortunately, things only got worse. So one day, my mom was delirious because of the medications she was prescribed; it was honestly so bizarre and heartbreaking. She was slurring her words; she couldn’t even go to the bathroom and went on herself. My sister was trying to remain calm. But just imagine seeing your mother in that state and having to shelter your little sister from it. She called 911, and this was the last time she was home. While other kids went home to their mom or dad or parents, had diner, and talked about their day, I went straight to the hospital. I basically lived in the hospital. I was so angry with life and so angry with God. So mad at my mom because slowly but surely, she forgot who I was. And I decided that I no longer cared. I was frustrated with my home life; yes, even at home, I was bullied. My brother constantly called me ugly annoying; even told me that our mother isn’t my mother and to go back to my biological one. I was so annoyed with my school life; all I wanted was friends and to be treated like everyone else. I wished I was dead every single day. I couldn’t understand why God decided this was okay?
So I stopped seeing her; I stood in the waiting room doing my homework, trying to forget that this was my life. However, one day something told me I needed to see her; at this point, she was in ICU. She wasn’t even a person; she was just skin and bones kept alive by a machine. She was only an hour and a half away from home, but it felt like she was miles and miles away from my heart. She was just tubes; that was her essence now. My sister didn’t want me to see her. So badly I wish she wouldn’t have because the memory of my mother barely alive, purple, and having not even a shred of humanity haunts me till this day. The beautiful woman I remember no longer existed. That was the last time I saw her alive.
A few weeks later, my sister asked my mom what she wanted, and with possibly her last breath, she said, “I want to be with God.” So on October 27, my sister went to visit our mother one last time, and she died 30 minutes before she arrived. I can’t even imagine the amount of pain my sister endured throughout the years. The weight of the world on her shoulders. And the faith of my life in her hands. She made decisions that I didn’t even want to think about, let alone could do. Putting my needs and those of my mothers first. Working odd jobs, giving up school, and dedicating her life to make mine better! I’m so sorry I wasn’t a better sister to you.
My sister came to me with tears in her eyes, and I knew my mother had died. I didn’t feel anything because she’s been dead for a long time to me. She tells me she has worse news. What can possibly be worse than losing our mother? With sadness in her eyes, she tells me, “Ivelisse, unfortunately, the only days available for the funeral and burial were Halloween [which was my favorite holiday) and your birthday.” Are you fucking kidding me? I was so angry, so sad, I really wished it was me who died instead of her. My life was never my own again; I just wanted to be happy, but how the fuck could I be? My two favorite days will always feel unimportant. The guilt and sadness years to follow. So I didn’t cry; I just was, I just existed. The funeral came, and honestly, I didn’t care because, at this point, I was beyond numb. I just wished I was anywhere else but there. Seeing people cry on my favorite day broke me. Feeling guilty because I didn’t share the same pain. Nothing was ever the same.
My 12th birthday arrived, and there I was preparing for a burial. I looked around at sad faces and a closed casket. A casket that held a body of a person I honestly didn’t know. Questions that I will never get answers for. No tears in my eyes, just an empty feeling. Disconnected from myself and everyone else. I watched people cry at their loss and throw roses. I felt cold; I felt like I had died at that moment. I felt like my life was just a mistake. Why would Evelyn do this to me? Give me up to someone who wasn’t going to be around to see my accomplishments. Why? Why was I even born? Ivelisse was gone and in her place was a person who just wanted everyone to suffer the way she was. I made my sister cry so much; I was so awful to her. People at school made me feel worse. The bullying didn’t stop until high school. But the damage was already done. I started saying awful things about myself just to beat everyone to it. In the years and through tears, I’ve tried to end my life. I didn’t deserve to live. I didn’t want to.
Once I turned 17, I was okay and on the road to being myself, whoever she was. But when I became an adult, the grief started again. This time I understood my feelings, and it was a lot worse than before. I had to live with the terrible choices I’ve made and the choices that were made for me. There was a point that I wished I didn’t have a reflection because a reflection was a reminder of how little I truly loved myself. Looking at myself in the mirror, all I saw was a broken person. The words of my tormentors echoed in my mind. The family members’ conversations said I was a terrible person and debated who my parents were. Nothing but tears filled my eyes when I took a look. Pain, isolation, and a deep hatred I wouldn’t wish on anyone. A constant reminder that who I was, was just a mistake. I still feel like a terrible daughter and a horrible sister. I have so much regret and wish I could do EVERYTHING all over again. However, the rest of my story is still unwritten, and as the author, I can’t wait to see what I do with the story of my life.