Part Four:

A cousin once asked me to not tell anyone we were related. Peers kept their distance from me. I was often called “a baby” and “a sissy” for not standing up to kids who bullied me.

I didn’t know why those kids bullied me. I didn’t know the reasons behind so much in my life. I didn’t know who my mother was: was it the woman I thought was my mother or was it my sister? I didn’t know who my father was: was it the man I thought was my father? And if he was not, who was my father?

I spent more and more time in my room, retreating into daydreaming. I still blocked the door from the inside, with an open dresser drawer. I took  out books from the library and pretended I was a character in those books, someone else.

One day my sister told me that she was my mother, after all. I was upset because the woman I thought was my mother didn’t like my sister and sometimes didn’t allow her in the home. No one liked my sister, that is… no one liked my mother.

They all lied to me, for so long.

Just before I finished grade school, my grandmother, known before as my mother, died. I was devastated. I spent even more time alone, in my room.