Who am I?

How it started. I was a chubby little kid who hated my name. I have explained this to many. Francisca is a relatively uncommon name. It was doubtful that you would find any pens, pencils, keychains, stickers, or mugs with my name on them. My trips to souvenir shops felt like the universe was once again confirming the ongoing feeling I constantly had. I came from the Island of Misfits. I was a square peg. I was a Francisca in a world filled with Jennifers, Erics, and Lisas.

When I was eleven years old, I fell in love with the movie “Goonies.” I wanted to be Andy. However, I was clearly a Chunk. I was the chubby little kid, always getting picked on and teased. I sported my crazy outfits. That was always paired with a groovy set of graphic Vans. My unique style was only matched by my relentless imagination as well as my sense of adventure. I went wherever the wind and my pink, huffy bike took me. If bikes could talk, that little pink badass would have some stories to tell.

My sense of adventure stemmed from the undeniable need to escape from my family and home life. My mother had her own life that was filled and fueled by ongoing trauma. She had zero self-awareness. Nor did she have the ability to recognize the toxic people and patterns she was not only exposing herself to but also exposing her children to.

There was also this undeniable Boomer trait. The percentage of Boomers who were parents to Gen Xers paid very little attention to what their children were up to. Most of us raised ourselves. As a kid, my closest relationships were with my friends. They were my family, my wolfpack. We all provided each other with some much-needed escapism.

My mother, sister, and I moved into my grandparent's home after my mom left my stepfather. I was now surrounded by family members, and they were not the kind that one should be encircled with. My grandparents owned two houses on a lot. They lived in the front house. They rented the backhouse to my aunt and uncle. Who also happened to be my godparents.

They had three sons and one daughter. Who also resided in the house with them. Their youngest son, who is my cousin, began sexually abusing me when I was eight years old. His older brother started following in his footsteps when I was eleven. My mother knew about it. My aunt and uncle also knew about it.

My mom decided to put me in therapy. Until the therapist let my mother know that she was required by law to report the incidents to Child Protective Services. It was then that my mother decided to pull me out of therapy. The therapist went on to do what she was legally bound to do. My mother was presented with the option of whether or not she wanted to press charges against my cousin. She and my uncle, her brother, decided not to go that route. This is not at all surprising, given the fact that her brother sexually abused her when she was a little girl. And so the cycle continued.

I was just a little kid when this all began happening to me. I was only capable of processing the trauma in a way that only my eight-year-old self allowed me to. My mind told me I needed to reformat my thinking to match the chaos that had taken over my very existence. I understood and had to accept that no one was going to protect me from what was happening. I began living in my own little world of fear, with only my OCD to shield me and direct my thoughts. Numbers became magical to me. In my mind, they now had the power to change the outcome of anything and everything.

Only even numbers had the power to do this. Why is that? You ask. It is because I did all my everyday activities and tasks simply once before all this had transpired. Things like brushing my teeth or my hair, getting in and out of bed. Keep in mind one is an odd number. All odd numbers were now considered bad luck. It always amazes and intrigues me how the human mind works. The thought patterns it is capable of creating. All in an attempt to protect us from the fear and trauma that has now taken control of our very existence. It will become a part of who we are. How we function in the world. How we perceive life. As well as how we perceive others.

We will spend many, many years trying to process all of it. While simultaneously running away from it and trying to block it all out. I wish that I could tell you that the sexual abuse was the only thing that I was contending with. My grandfather was a full-blown alcoholic, and he was a mean drunk. He and my grandmother fought every single day. My grandmother was an extremely bitter woman. Her words were like a sword she stabbed you with. While she continued to twist the sword inside of you. The horrible things she would say not only to me but to everyone she encountered. She did a massive number on my self-esteem.

Then, there was the constant alcohol and drug abuse that surrounded me on a daily.

Sometimes, the police would show up at the house, and they would have to arrest someone who was strung out on whatever street drugs they had overconsumed that day. I hated my home and my home life. I was embarrassed by who I was and where I came from. It was an utter shit show. I never knew what life-changing event was around the corner that was just waiting to disrupt any tiny bit of sanity that I may have been clinging to.

By the time I was 16, my OCD had taken on a whole life of its own. The nonstop ritual of repeating every action in what felt like a never-ending series of even numbers consumed my everyday life. My younger sister had been hospitalized for a suicide attempt. My mother and I were asked by my sister's therapist if we would participate in a family therapy session. It was in that session that the floodgates had opened.

I opened up about everything. No one knew about my OCD until that moment. I had been able to conceal it from everyone. I also decided to share the fact with my mother that my other cousin had been sexually abusing me. Before that moment, I never felt the need to say anything to her. I knew she would not have done anything to stop it. Needless to say, I, too, was admitted to the hospital that evening. My sister and I were in the adolescent unit. It was a private hospital. The place had a very Club Med vibe to it.

There were a lot of other teenagers in the unit with us. We both grew very comfortable with our surroundings. For the very first time ever, I felt safe. Little did I know that it was there that I would meet the person who would later become my husband. Which one of you saw that one coming?

To Be Continued..