My parents should’ve never been together in the first place and I felt like I would never live to see eighteen. Like I was cursed. It made me hate the world. It made me hate myself. It made me bitter. I was like a time bomb waiting to explode.
My dad was never around; my mom was on her own thing. She said things no mother should ever say to her children. Things that can’t be erased. The kind of things that leave scars for years to come.
Sometimes I got so mad that I could taste blood in my mouth. But other times I felt so depressed that I just wanted to die. Even before the age of ten, I fantasized about killing myself nearly every day. I always had a bit of a temper problem too. I got kicked out of so many pre-schools that they started calling me a pre-school dropout.
I became what I swore I never would. A violent, aggressive, cold-hearted, criminal-minded, statistic. I was no scarface, I was a corner hustler. I worked blocks; I was selling one rock at a time. I had to fight my own wars.
And oh, how I felt the world owed me. I never asked to come here. I didn’t ask for the parents I got. I didn’t ask for a dad who beat me, but never spent time with me. I didn’t ask for a mom who was too busy in the clubs. I also didn’t ask for those I should and did look up to, to teach me how to hustle.
But thankfully, I learned that even the worst possible hand you can be dealt could win the game, if you make the right choices. It all came down to choices in the end. And one choice changed everything.