Family Matters

When I was growing up, I knew I had a screwed up family. I knew things weren't perfect in the world even when televisions show depicted an American family to be perfect. For some reason or another, the cynical side of of me had already manifested.

I grew up with a disabled, single mother who was always sick. Disability and her trying to work in my grandparent's restaurant was our support system financially. It was hard seeing my mother in bed all of the time and moaning in pain. It kind of scars a kid, ya know? She was a clean freak and her medications would always give her mood swings worse than a adolescent. I remember moments that certain pain meds even made her feel suicidal and go crazy. She used to yell and scream for us to clean. She had it rough, raising three kids. I can't even imagine.

When I was growing up, we never had a nice, brand new car. My grandparents bought our house for us. They were were amazing people. Caring for whomever they could, selfless generosity. We always had secondhand furniture. And our house looked rundown after a few years. We couldn't afford to pay it. I was only a child.

My brother Bryan is ten years older than me and after he hit high school, he was never around. He was always out with his fellow team members from the football and wrestling teams. We did things together, but he always bullied me. It's the older-younger brother thing, I guess. He was always going against my mom and fighting, but we still made every game he played in or every wrestling match. I remember one time, it was sooo cold that I could feel the cold in my toes driving to see him wrestle. I used to make friends with all the older kids at his games and matches because I was so outgoing, energetic, and bound to gay.

I can recall, perfectly, the day Bryan left for college. It was July 7th, 1997. He had the UHAUL truck packed up. I sat outside the bathroom with the door open as he was shaving his face, crying because you always look up to your older brother as a kid. We went to my grandparent's restaurant for breakfast before he had to hit the road. In the UHAUL it was just Bryan and me. Savage Garden "I Want You" was playing and was really popular at the time and we made my mom and sister wait outside the truck while we sang the rest of the song together. When he hit the road I didn't know I would oly see him a handful of times up until this point in my life.

Pittsburg was such a bad place for my brother the first couple of years. Artist School Dropout. He started getting lazy and caught up in drugs. He dated this girl from a club that he worked at. We never met her. Then he met his present day wife. When I first met her, she was gorgeous and so much fun! She was so cool at first, then she went a little crazy. My brother loved her, so whatever bullshit we went through with her, we had to deal with. They got married in the Mormon church, meanwhile, we are Roman Catholics. My mom and grandmother were so upset. I was the only grandkid to actually get my First Holy Communion AND Confirmation. It was my choice.

My sister was always a shy girl, but big sweetheart. She looked for the best in people, but they would judge her for her size. She was and is a larger girl. I remember people saying things to or about her, around her and getting so upset. What did she ever do to them? NOTHING! She would boss me around all of the time, and I hated that, but at least I got to play with her Barbies with her. Her and a friend dressed me in drag at a very young age and my mom came upstairs and I hid, I was so scared she'd be mad. She was upset, but not pissed.

I came out at the young age of 11 to my family. They were open and accepting and caring. The thing was, they didn't get how much it was going to affect me, and trust me, it did. My sister was there for me more than anyone. School got harder, but my sister was always there to talk to when I got home from school or dance and we would talk and she hated homophobic assholes more than I did. She was always helping me out for dance lessons and things that I needed. I was spoiled. But whenever she always bossed me around, it really got to me.

When my mom married my stepfather in 2006, I was happy for her, but sad for my Jessica and me. My stepfather, Donnie, hated us kids because it took my mom's attention from him. He could never get along with both of us at once. I remember hearing things I shouldn't ever have heard. I heard them having sex, fighting, and it got to the point where he would beat my mom. As a teenage kid, kicking down my mom's bedroom door to make sure she was OKAY. What he was doing was never right. There were times I had to stay with my friend Becky for a week at a time and I didn't talk to my mom in school (she was a substitute teacher) and just walk passed her and I felt cold toward her. Donnie, as much of an asshole as he was, could be a cool guy... but he was homophobic, too!

My cousin Sera was getting married and the day of her wedding, a fight broke out in our house... the neighbors had to hate us. My mom broke me that day with what she said to my sister and I as we were waiting to go to the wedding... She didn't want to sit with us at the ceremony because, "I love Donnie more..." I can still feel the rage boiling over top of my head and my fist was through the wall. I was screaming an anger from deep within my being that was so passionate and real and raw, I thought I could kill someone. I started calling her by her first name for a while, Theresa... There were so many instances during their relationship that I can never forgive my mother for... The day of my grandmother's funeral, we got home and Donnie fought with Jessica and kicked her out of the house.

I left for a year to live with my cousins in Chatham, NJ. Things were much more stable there, family wise. They are great people. I loved living there, but I wasn't ready for something like that and I messed it up, but I learned from it. There was drama in this time from my ex boyfriend and controversy over my grandparent's restaurant. Either my mom, and her brother and sisters had to get along or they were gonna lose it. Guess what? They lost it. I gave up dance for the year I lived in Jersey. I didn't need it as much because I had the family support there.

When I moved back home to dreery Norwich, I got into many fights with Donnie and my mother about moving back in and such. I found work right away. Things were going to be good. I was dancing at the studio, which was my only other escape from work and my family. I didn't have school. I danced my butt off and no one really got why i was so selfish all of the time. I had to be. I struck everyone as an angry prick because I would constantly be mad at someone. How could I not be? Look at what hand was dealt to me.

After being home for a year, I decided that I needed to pursue something more than my hometown, so I packed up my stuff and I moved to NYC. Now, my family was "supportive" yet everyone expected me to fail after 3 months. They didn't realize how deep my love for the Big Apple grew and how my roots were being transplanted to new soil. I did everything to make myself stay. I wasn't going anywhere.

For my 21st Birthday, which I had planned for months... My family came to the city that never sleeps and were tiring me out from drama. When you go on a trip. Don't you look up directions and prices, etc...? They expected me to do all of the work. I wasn't there for that. I even remember telling my sister that she cold stay in her hotel room and mope about because I wasn't putting up with her dramatic shit. This was about me. My best friend in the world, Liz even was on my side about it... She was so much fun. She is like a sister to me. I love her. BACK TO THE BIRTHDAY... Finally, my sister caved in and they showed up and came to eat, drink etc... they were coming out to bars, etc... Then my sister wasn't feeling well, so they went to the hotel and left the next day as I headed out to Fire Island.

In December of the same year... just over five months later, I found myself in the hospital. On December 14th at 3:30am I attempted suicide and landed my pretty self in a psych ward at Beth Israel for a about six days. My family headed down from upstate to be "supportive." The only one that cried was my sister. My mom and I weren't on good terms anyway. My brother called and told my mom, "He's like a butterfly and when he hatches he's gonna fly whichever direction the wind is blowing." WHAT? I think he belonged in the hospital wayyyy more. I didn't talk to him for a very long time. I didn't want anything to do with him. He wasn't my brother. I couldn't care if he got hit by an industrial eighteen-wheeler. I expressed that to him from the pit of my stomach through emails. I think he got the point when I told him not to respond, but to just read and learn. I even went as far as putting my very dear friend, Robert as my emergency contact.

Even up until today, my family still sketches me out. They are all Mormons now, and self-righteous cult-heads that have no perception of reality. I can't escape thoughts of them being so hurtful, and that's why I guard myself from them and I try being so close with my friends other than real family. I am a little scarred from it. I can only be a good person from how I have learned to be from my own experiences. I am living and learning each day... I will prove to everyone, especially my family, what I can do with my life... But more importantly, I will prove it to myself.

That's All!