I am sitting here in my home office, and it just sort of hit me, some of the fears I have had throughout the years, you know things that we as adults look back at and think what. As you know from some of my posts, I came from a single-parent family. Now I did have an adopted brother growing up, but when he hit 13, he started on a different path which meant he was never around and a huge headache for my mom. Up until maybe first grade, I lived in Merida Yucatan and Acapulco. My mom came from a wealthy family, but she was brand an outcast because she married my dad. This is a summary of how it happened. My mom traveled a lot when she was young and single, and in one of her trips, she met my dad, and well they had a one-night stand which led to my mom getting pregnant with me. He headed back to the states, and my mom stated in Mexico. Around the 5th month into her pregnancy, my mom was traveling in San Salvador, while there she fell and I was born prematurely. I lived in Merida Yucatan for about two years and then moved to Acapulco for three years or so. We had a beautiful house, with a servant and cook, like I said my mom came from a wealthy family. Unfortunately, my mom decided to follow my dad back to the states. She drove with me and my brother over 2000 miles in a car called “The Thing” – cool little green car. The thing is when we got to the states my dad abandoned us, we were left on the street. I think this is when I remember my first fear, one that hit close to my heart and still to this day cannot believe what had happened. I was a kid, I did not know what was going on, all I knew was that it was cold that night – the fear of not having a roof over my head, a place to call home.
I remember one night my mom and I were in the back of a Safeway, looking at what had been thrown out in the dumpsters, we would find bread, some tomatoes, lettuce, a few bent cans; the thing is that back then there were no Food Banks or charities established yet, so families had to fend for themselves – the fear of feeling hungry, not having anything to eat, eating two or three times a week.
When I was in middle school, I remember someone breaking into our house, they broke the door down, beat my mom right in front of me, then they stole some things and my bike. A few weeks later the two individuals were beating to an inch of their lives – the fear of not being safe or living in fear.
A year after the break-in incident, I remember getting a knock at the door, and when I answered it was two police officers. They asked my name, and then told me that my mother had been arrested for Driving Under the Influence, she was given 3 years, but was released after 18 months. I was 13 years old and all alone. My meals consisted of food from school, in the mornings sometimes a muffin with some milk, and for lunch a slice of pizza with a bag of chips, but never dinner – the fear of being hungry and alone.
I remember my first real girlfriend, you know the kind you hold hands and walk around the school together, only to be dumped because I was too nice. She went for a “bad boy” which he ended up getting his way with her, telling the school, cheating on her, and then dumping her and I was dumped for being too nice – the fear of never being loved or understood.
I remember sleeping on the floor and waking up to see my mom’s face looking down at me. She had a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She told me that I looked like an angel sleeping and that she loved me so much. You see my mom had cancer in the bones, not her lungs, and she was on heavy chemotherapy, not like today, but back then she had a machine strapped to her, and once a week a nurse and police officer would stop by the house to bring her the medication, which I helped her with every day. Those last 18 months we connected to the deepest level two humans could connect to – the fear of not having those you dearly love close to you.
I remember getting the call that my mom had passed, it was about a month from my 19th birthday, and I was in my second year in college. I was lost, I did not know what to do or who to turn to. I had no idea what was next – the fear of the unknown.
I remember waking up a December 26th; you see I never drank alcohol or did any type of drugs, but one day on December 23rd with my first roommate, I drank so much that I probably should have died, but instead I slept for three days. My roommate left the 24th not thinking much of it, he said when he came back on the 26th I was sleeping, the thing is he did not know that I never woke up until that night on the 26th – the fear of dying alone and no one remembering you.
I have a ton of fears, things I remember, that I could share with you, but as I look at them, they scare me even today. I guess somehow, they made me the kind of man I am today. I am not sure what kind of man I turned out to be, but I know that I still struggle with a lot of these fears. Even though I have kids, a job, a roof over my head, food on the table, a safe neighborhood I cannot get those images out of my mind. I think they somehow hold me back, just enough to where I cannot move forward in certain situations. Sometimes I ask myself which one of the twins am I; you see I was born as an identical twin, he came first and was born lifeless, then I followed and was barely alive. Doctors told my mom that I would not last a month. So, I wonder what if he was around, or which twin am I, the good one or the bad one – just kidding. I know I am not the only one that had a tough life or is having a tough life. I know that many have made it back from the depths of hell, and made something with their lives. I wonder what is that secret, what is it that makes a human reach deep into their soul and push beyond all adversity. Do we need to lose everything, lose a loved one, have something drastic happen to us to make a change, or get past those fears? I have experienced so much, and even now I am experiencing a lot of stress, worrisome, anxiety, turmoil and there are days that the smallest things chip away at the last of my life source. I know what I need to do, but every time I believe I have it, something knocks me right back down. I do get right back up, but as I age, the bumps and bruises begin to wear me down and I am noticing that it is becoming more difficult for me to get back up. There are days that I just don’t care, but somehow, I push throw – barely. I think these fears among other things are keeping me from starting that side hustle.
Well once again I take this moment in my writing to thank you for stopping by and leave you with a thought, “There is so much information out there, that might just help for whatever reason one may need. It is a matter of searching, reading, listening, reflecting, and understanding what is it that one really needs to get past those fears – stay positive”.