Personal Narrative: My Life As A Young Latina Girl

I was in fifth grade and ten, on the verge of transitioning into a young woman when I stumbled and fell into a darkness. I like to call this period of darkness my “Purgatory Years.” California is my sunny home state where the sun shines almost the entire year, but literal darkness is what I began to see around every corner that I turned. I felt sad a lot and for reasons that were never really clear to me until I entered into middle school. As I grew older, the darkness only grew with immensity. One extremely hot day, I walked home from school a couple of blocks down my street. I went straight to my room and let big, heavy tears fall into my old pillows for hours. That was the moment that I realized that I was depressed and I knew why. When I was a young girl, a close, trusted family member took advantage of my innocence to abuse me sexually. Of course I didn’t know that the things they did were wrong at the time, but when I was mature enough to understand them, they hit me like darts on a felt board. For a long time, I felt trapped in my darkness.
I remember my mama telling me once that I was disgusting when she saw gently carved scars as evidence of my self-loathing. My family wasn’t ever a support system for my depression. That’s where my friends come in. On a hot summer night, circa 2013, four of us were playing an innocent game of truth or dare on my front porch. I stumbled on my words and took it back, but my friends insisted that I tell the truth. The truth was told, tears were shed, hugs were given, bricks fell from my shoulders, and my darkness was just fog simply obscuring my vision. It has been the best decision of my life. My friends were my lifeline and to this day are there to understand me and pull me out when I’m stuck in the