21 is here and I’m not talking about age. 

It’s been 21 years since I graduated High School. 

I went to see my cousin graduate last Monday. Pomp and Circumstance took me down memory lane.  It feels like just yesterday I was on that football field myself.  

It was 2003. Samba Pa Ti by Santana played as it concluded.  All I saw were endless possibilities.  And magic. 

Finally, this big, special life I’ve envisioned can begin.
Fast forward to 05’.  

My 5th grade crush, Leslie—the first gal I ever liked—became my 1st girlfriend at 19.  The idea of playing house with my 5th grade crush in San Diego was so exciting.  

The reality on the other hand, not so much.  We were struggling.  I worked a full-time job in a city I couldn’t afford while pursuing my degree.  

Leslie’s schedule wasn't as full. 

She was fired from her night job at Target because she wouldn’t show up.  I became the sole provider while going to school full time. Let's just say Leslie's sense of urgency didn't match mine.

Immaturity and carelessness aside, Leslie was dealing with some things.   She had just come out to her family a year prior and what followed was an embarrassing shit show.  They blacklisted her because religion told them the most loving thing they could do was disown her; or so they said.

Religion told them she needed to be homeless in a town where summer days were 120+ degrees.  By the way, I'm not shitting on religion. I'm shitting on the act of being cruel to your child and blaming it on religion.

They threw her out like trash.  To help her snap out of “it.”   I had never seen a love like that.  I guess there’s a first time for everything. 

So there we were, hitting the reset button in San Diego…or trying to.  We were hoping for a fresh new start; emphasis on “fresh.”  The excitement of the newness quickly faded once the honeymoon stage ended. 

Yet here we were, in this new city with brand new struggles.  The problem was, my fun gig at the porn shop wasn't meant to support two.  In this very expensive town, you need two of those jobs just to make ends meet.  Eventually, I got stuck in the recurring loop that is taking out payday loans a week before payday, borrowing $300 that cost me $75. 

When the $300 costs $75, you begin the month $375 short.

A few of these loans later, the cycle becomes bigger than you AND your next paycheck. 

Payday loans are dangerous, I know.  Thing is, I had already borrowed from mom and dad a few times.  Leslie told me she asked different family members of hers and they said no. 

Years later, when we finally broke up, she was proud to tell me that she never asked anyone.  She pretended to so I could carry that burden myself and take from my own family. 

Mind you, my family took her in when hers disowned her.  Mom gave her shelter, food, compassion, and understanding. I guess she was too caught up in her own pain to see.

Let’s just say this relationship became a flaming red flag and I ignored it for a while.  I didn’t respect myself enough to leave her.  Our dysfunction mirrored my dysfunction.  

The way she disrespected and shamed me…
These are things I was already doing to myself.

There was nothing unfair about what was going on.  That relationship was me. 

Then one day 09’ arrived.  FINALLY. 
I’m getting that fucking degree…  

Btw, I’m not shitting on degrees.  

I’m shitting on my decision to do that for someone else, not for me. That’s just where I was at the time.  

I wanted to make mom & dad proud.  
Dad taught us that getting a degree was important.

When I came out to my parents after high school, dad’s reaction was a nightmare.  He made me feel like I was ruining my life; like I was failing.  Except here I was, winning at shedding one of my pretend layers.

It felt like dad stopped seeing me.  Suddenly, I was more determined than ever to prove him wrong AND make him proud.

Anyway, here we are: a month away from graduation and I get a call.  Dad’s being flown to a hospital via helicopter because he couldn’t breathe.  What awaited us at the hospital was a pulmonary embolism and pneumonia. He couldn't breathe on his own anymore so they put him on life support.  

All of this was happening as I was getting through finals at school.  You know, the really important tests that determine whether you get to graduate.  I have no idea how I did it. I kept waiting for the call.  We thought he was going to die. 

So it’s the day before graduation; my bff and her buddy Jessica drive into town to celebrate before the big day.  By celebrate, I mean get plastered.  It was my intention, at least.  We booked a room for the occasion and immediately jumped right into shots.  

It’s like we were in a race.
They were trying to keep up with my pace.  

My bff eventually exercised self-control and slowed down, unlike Jessica and I. Jessica was dealing with some dark stuff at home.  
The man whom she loved was married.
He promised to leave his wife but he never did; not even after they got pregnant. 

And me; I wanted to drown in alcohol.  To numb.

I wanted to do damage. 
I succeeded, and so did Jessica.
The poor chick got alcohol poisoning.

From one moment to another she was sitting on the carpet with her back against the bed looking super dead. I hardly remember anything from that night post shots.

Her dead-looking body, on the other hand? Unforgettable.

She was pale, unresponsive and drenched in water.  I'm pretty sure we thought shoving water down her throat would help.  Drunk us thought we’d sober her up and she’d wake up like,

Omg… I almost died lol!

That’s not how it played out. 

My bff—the most sober one in the room—ended up having to carry all the weight of that scary moment, including calling 911.

Jessica still wasn’t released by graduation time the next morning so they couldn't be there.  I felt horrible that morning during graduation.  Shit doesn’t begin to describe it.  My inebriation was so loud I missed everything.  A zombie sat on that field. 

My family thought I partied too hard but no. Making dad proud is something I still needed to do.  I really wanted to prove to him that I wasn’t failing or making a mistake.  

So the day is here…

To make dad proud..

But he’s in a coma. 

It was the beginning of an important life lesson on what happens when I do something for someone else, instead of for myself.

My 5-year dysfunctional 1st relationship also made it to the lessons list.  What ensued after the breakup is a whole other story (blog post 4). Grab the popcorn.

Needless to say, the first chapter of life after High School was colorful…full of lessons, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and struggle.  It's not what I envisioned when I sat on that field back in 03'. 

Endless possibilities and magic… 

I guess sometimes it doesn’t look like we intended it. Some of us need darkness, hardship, sadness, and tragedy to drag us there.  Some of us need for things to get really bad first. 

Maybe it was a gift of sorts.

Resilience and grit emerged from those hardships. Seeds of growth were planted, and roots of resilience took hold. Underneath the shit show was progress and lessons.

But knowledge isn’t power. The lessons weren't a solution, but rather, an invitation. We can choose to be great today, and completely self-destruct tomorrow.

I guess this is what makes life interesting.

- KARLA