Testimonio: The Night

In high school, I used to sleep during my lunch period instead of eating. I would find any time during the day to sleep. I skipped first period once with my best friend to sleep on the bathroom floor in the big stall. I was overworked, overwhelmed, and just plain over it. During my childhood, I morphed into a night owl and that habit has yet to subside. I realized these first few years of young adulthood that I found comfort in the solitude of the night. As a child, I was often on my own after my grandparent’s moved back to Puerto Rico. My mother would drink herself to sleep almost every night, Smirnoff is still her favorite. My brother would stay out late with his friends, eventually he moved out at 18. My sisters dated, for lack of a better word, gangeros back then and were never really home until now. Then there was me. I spent my nights doing anything I could to keep myself busy. I watched hours of YouTube videos, recorded myself dancing or doing backflips on the sofa. I played dress up games on the desktop, I drew and painted. I would make things for my barbie house and rearrange the sala. I would stay up dreading going to sleep because I didn’t know what the next day would bring. I didn’t know which mom I would get in the morning. I didn’t know if one of my sisters would come home with bruises again. I didn’t know if there was going to be another fight, screaming and crying. So, I stayed awake. As long as I could.

As I gained more independence as a teenager, I spent more time outside of my home. I slept over my friends’ houses more often than not. I found more things to do at night. More distractions. The high school I went to had the longest school day in the whole city. Eight to five-thirty. I would stay for open studios once a week that went until eight at night. Working on paintings, drawings, sculptures. I would stay late to photograph dance shows or plays for the school yearbook. If I wasn’t at school then I was with my friends. Going downtown, going to bookstores, cafes, thrift shops, abandoned buildings, or just walking around talking about how shitty the world is and what we were going to do to change it. I really believed back then that I was going to change the world. Despite the chaos at home, I stayed ambition and perseverant. Despite my nihilism, I couldn’t let myself give up. I couldn’t follow the same steps as my siblings or wait for someone to save me. And at that point, it wasn’t just for me. One of my sisters had three sons by the time she was 20, she has four now. I woke up every day for those boys. To show them that it was possible to live more than what we endured at home. I became a Titi when I was eight years old. And from that day forward, I promised myself that I would not let them grow up the way I did. I wanted them to have a childhood, to be allowed to be kids, to feel love and stability. Four nephews and a niece later, I realized that I could not protect them from everything. I could not prevent the chaos, I could not shield them from the pain. However, when they are with me, I make them feel loved and safe. I give them everything I ever wanted as a child to the best of my ability.

My mother was never really worried about what I was doing when I wasn’t home. I was a straight A student, a good kid that won awards and recognitions. I never wanted to create any trouble for her seeing how my siblings always stressed her out. So, I never did anything to worry her. At least, she never found out about the bad situations I would often find myself in. There were a few times I stayed in Indiana with my boyfriend at the time. I was literally in a whole different state with a boy who verbally and emotionally abused me. I was really good at hiding that part from everyone. I put up a good front. I was always good at playing the part, wearing a mask. Now, I find myself getting tired of pretending, putting up a front, wearing a mask. Not just to her, but to the people I see every day at work and school. Once the pandemic hit when I was a junior in high school, I realized how much I overworked myself. I never gave myself time to rest because I was terrified of being alone with my brain. I spiraled a lot. But once the world stopped five years ago, I found myself stuck at home again. I finally let go. I realized that I despised hustle culture and rest was necessary in order for myself to heal. I began spending my nights meditating, writing poetry, reading, drinking tea like a viejita. Nighttime was still my safe space. The house was quiet now, and it was just me again. I’m still recovering from a life of exhaustion. Mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion. It hasn’t gotten easier. Although the chaos isn’t violent anymore, it has become heavier. My mother is still an alcoholic and with the amount of chronic illnesses she has, her health has been plummeting. Her inability to seek help and take care of herself has been one of the hardest things to come to terms with. My brother is in debt, unmedicated, and has isolated himself from everyone. My sisters moved back home for the time being. One of them has taken reign over the sala where she sleeps with my two youngest nephews. The other one was diagnosed with breast cancer just three months ago. And then, there’s me again. I’m about to graduate college with a BFA at a rich ass art school that I managed to not have to pay a penny for with the help of multiple scholarships and financial aid.

You know, I never expected myself to make it this far or live as long as I have. Every single odd was against me. I spent many nights crying myself to sleep, asking the universe or god why I was the way that I was, why I went through all that I had went through. My therapist likes to remind me that everything I have gone through in life has made me the person I am today. That many people spend their entire lives not reaching the maturity level I have reached, not developing the compassion and strength I developed very early on. But I’ve always wondered, at what cost? I am proud of who I am and the type of person I have become. However, I would not wish anything that I have been through upon anyone else. Was it worth it? Going through the experiences I had no control over? Despite the childhood adversities, the trauma, the verbal, emotional, and sexual abuse, the violence, the loneliness, the uncertainty and instability of my life— despite all of it, I am still here. And no matter what life throws at me next, I can still find comfort in familiarity. I suppose it is slowly getting easier to let go, to sleep, to be alone with my brain. The night is still mine. It still comes to me day after day, it is still my sanctuary. The moon cradles me with open arms. And no matter what, I can always look forward to the night.