The Gift Of Life And How Long It Takes To Cherish it.

I came kicking and screaming into this world on Friday, December 29th, 1995 at precisely 3:15 am in morning. My mom summarizes that great battle as simply as this “ you should have been a c-section” I weighed 10 pounds on the dot and most of that weight came from my legs. For an infant, I had long legs that my grandma described as looking like they were chiseled out of marble. Though my height as of writing is only five foot nine inches, most of that height comes from those aforementioned legs.
You may have noticed that Dad wasn’t mentioned in the previous paragraph, well he wasn’t in the picture either. I wasn’t exactly a consensual conception, a detail that was kept from me until I was 21. Never the less my mother chose to bear the sin of a man to allow me the gift of life. Very messianic of her, God is a woman.
My mom truly did her best. She put herself through school, bought a house, worked five jobs, and always made sure I was put first. Not that I was ever put in first, she always raised me so I understood that I was not special and that I didn’t deserve anything but that I could work for anything. It was just the two of us until I was in sixth grade when she married my stepfather. He later adopted me, so for future reference when I say “Dad” I’m not referring to the sperm donor.
My Dad did his best, I was the equivalent of a wild animal trapped within a human frame. We got into a lot of verbal fights mainly instigated by me, I was not kind to the man but never the less he loved me through it.
Right around age 16 was I had first my run-in with depression, a guest who introduced themselves and still to this day refuses to leave. Brought on by an event that happened the summer of freshman year, I was going to carry this weight for a while.
Depression for me is interesting, it is prevalent and always there. For me there aren’t really good days, there are just days that are not as bad as the deep lows I fall into. These lows can get pretty deep, when I was 17 I attempted to take my life by consuming 20 of my Ritalin tablets. I survived or else you wouldn’t be reading this.
I’ve gotten to similar lows, but haven’t made any further attempts to end my life. I rather do anything but live at times, but I can’t forsake my mother’s sacrifice and I have to achieve things and make something of myself.
At 25, I’ve only just started to recently appreciate life for the gift that it is. I’ve gained perspective and have realized that life can be what I chose to make of it, I started going back to school this past year and I’m having some success with that. I feel fulfilled, and while this might be my origin story I know that it is not my whole story. There’s a lot of pages left to be filled in.