Reflections of a Survivor

(Zdzislaw Beksinski, 1973, Untitled)

There were so many times in my life that I should've died. So many times when I should've been lost. So many times when I shouldn't have made it. Maybe it's the fact that I'm nearly 40 when I never thought I would've lived to see 30. Maybe it's just the precarious state of the world and I'm feeling like I've never stopped fighting against all the terrible things destroying it. Maybe it's nothing but cobwebs in my ear and something even more ephemeral in my chest.

But here I am at my desk typing away past 2 AM. Memories coursing through me like haunting ghosts and flashbacks faster than bolts of lightning surging across tormented skies.

***

I was 1 year old in 1987, laying at the foot of the stairs I'd been knocked down, arm and leg broken, crying for help, but none came until my parents found me hours later almost unconscious while the babysitter was watching Saved By The Bell.

I was 2 years old and my mother was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. She underwent radiation, chemotherapy, and a double mastectomy with reconstructive surgery, plus a hysterectomy to boot. She would be fighting that cancer for the next 14 years.

I was 4 years old and I'm drowning in a pool because I skipped swim lessons until the final day they caught me and chucked me into the deep end of the pool. They grabbed me out and a lady lifeguard performed CPR. Somehow, I'd lost my shorts, leading to an awkward awakening as all the kids pointed and laughed.

I was 4 years old and I'm running across the street from a friend's house back home. A car speeding down the residential block hits me. I land on my stomach on the curb, busting my guts and breaking my wrist. The car doesn't stop. They drive away. Someone, a neighbor, gets my mom. She comes out, yelling, crying, and smacking me in the head for crossing the street without looking. I go to the hospital for major surgery.

I was 4 years old and one day my dad yells at me so much for wetting the bed that I start wetting my pants at school for the next month.

I was 5 years old and I start to learn what antisemitism means when kids keep calling me slurs, making Holocaust jokes, and beating me up for being Jewish.

I was 6 years old and my parents get divorced after my father cheated on my cancer-riddled mother with another, younger woman, who we never knew was a high-functioning, gold-digging, crackhead. My family breaks up and I have no idea what's happening.

I was 6 years old and I'm diagnosed with ADHD, loaded up with more Ritalin than my tiny body knows what to do with. My parents apparently have no idea why I could be acting out this way. So I was changed into a zombie.

I was 6 years old and I run away from home for the first time. I make it about a block before my youngest older brother tattles and my parents pick me up.

I was 7 years old and I run away from home for the second time. I eventually come back the next day because I'm cold and hungry.

I was 7 years old and my youngest older brother duct-tapes me into a box because I touched his toys. I think this is a great idea as he rolls me down the stairs. My mom comes home to find me with a concussion. She hits both of us over the head.

I was 8 years old and I'm holding a butcher knife to my chest at 4 AM on the kitchen floor. I sit, teetering between life and death, not even sure what's happening to me. My mother finds me around sunrise, gently pulling the knife from my hand, and then slapping me full in the face with a look of pure anger. We never say a word about this, ever.

I was 8 years old and I'm hanging out at the park near my home. A strange man approaches me, being very friendly, and tries to get me to leave with him with offers of toys and candy. I decide to go with him but a local off-duty detective and his wife see what's happening and stop him. I find out later that he had murdered a few other young boys. Their bodies were buried in his backyard.

I was 8 years old and my sister-in-law dies. She'd been abused by my oldest older brother for years. They both were addicted to drugs. She overdosed on Tylenol. My oldest niece moves away and decides to get emancipated soon. My young nephew moves in with family friends. My other niece moves in with me.

I was 9 years old and my friend invites me to hang out. Instead, his parents take us to their church. They try to baptize me against my will. My friend whines that we can go play and get ice cream later. I refuse. I scream for my mom. Eventually, I find a payphone to call her. She picks me up and takes me home. I don't know what happens after that.

I was 9 years old and I'm living with my aunt and uncle in LA while my mom undergoes another round of cancer treatment. Bone marrow replacement this time. My uncle decides to take my cousin, Adam, and I for a drive to go paint over some gang graffiti. It's his hobby. The local gangs see us and start shooting. Bullets buzz past us as we run back to the van. My uncle forces us to swear we won't tell anyone what happened.

I was 9 years old and I'm still living with my aunt and uncle in LA. My uncle doesn't like how long I'm taking to get up for school one day. So he dumps me out of my sleeping bag onto the floor. I land on my neck and fall unconscious. I wake up about ten minutes later. They decide I still need to go to school.

I was 9 years old and I'm back at my home school again. I start to get angry at the teacher and run away from class. Some of the other teachers find me hiding on campus and try to bring me to the principal's office. I fight back against four or five grown adults who are wrestling with me until my parents arrive. 

I was 10 years old and I'm riding my bike at the beach when local neo-Nazis start harassing me in public. They beat me so badly that I'm afraid they would've killed me if I hadn't managed to get away on my bike. Nobody asks why I have so many bruises and I never tell anyone.

I was 10 years old and I've gotten kicked out of nearly every school in our district. My parents decide to send me to a special school as a last stop before some kind of juvenile hall. My first week, some of the kids throw rocks at me because they find out I'm Jewish. Another time, some of the kids try to stab me with switchblades hidden in their sleeves. I eventually stop talking to any of the other kids.

I was 11 years old and I'm still at this special school. One kid calls me an antisemitic slur and so I call him a different slur back. We fight and the teacher calls in one of the physical counselors to handle us. They lock us both inside a dark gym room, tied to chairs, and left alone for several hours.

I was 11 years old and the medication I'm being forced to take has become too much. I decide to try taking all of them at once. It doesn't work. I vomit everything up.

I was 11 years old and my dad is beating my behind with the metal side of his belt because I forgot to remind him about returning a Super Nintendo game we rented from Blockbuster during one of his visitation days. I start bleeding. He tells me to go to my room.

I was 11 years old and my dad punches my brother in the face during visitation pick up one day. He leaves before my older brothers get home. My mom calls the police.

I was 11 years old and my extended family is visit for Hanukkah. My mom got me a new video game and I'm playing it in my room while my grandmother and niece are watching. My uncle comes into the room and starts teasing me. I call him a curse word. He snaps and starts choking me. I can't breathe. My neck feels like its breaking. My grandmother is yelling for him to stop. My niece is crying. Eventually, someone hears the commotion. My mom hustles people out of the house before my older brothers find out and decide to start a fight. I speak with a rasp for over a week. We tell people I'm feeling sick.

I was 12 years old and I'm at Summer camp with my Boy Scout troop. I'm bunking with some antisemitic kid named James. One night, a bear comes into our tent and almost kills both of us if not for me. Because James left a bag of half-eaten Doritos on the floor instead of putting them in the bear box outside. I eventually quit Boy Scouts.

I was 12 years old and I find out that my cousin, Adam, has died. He drowned in a lake during a school field trip. My niece cries next to me.

I was 12 years old and my youngest older brother and I have been fighting nonstop. My mom can't take it anymore. She decides he has to go live with my dad instead.

I was 13 years old and I don't see my dad for a whole year. No phone call. No letters. Nothing. I have no idea what happened or if I did something wrong. I decide my dad is an asshole.

I was 13 years old and I'm riding my bike down a hill in my town with no hands. Someone drives by and throws eggs at me. I then hit a rock. I fall off my bike and roll down the hill, cutting open my back near the spine. I'm bleeding everywhere and have to limp another few miles home. Nobody says anything, so I clean myself up. I still have the scars to this day.

I was 13 years old and someone almost burns down my synagogue. The Torah scrolls are left all over the place, defaced with shit. The walls are covered with antisemitic slurs and symbols. The cops laugh while taking down reports. They never do anything to catch the perpetrators. 

I was 14 years old and I'm riding my scooter to school at 5 AM for water polo practice. I run into a coyote crawling near a rural stretch of the road. It's nearly as big as I am. I freeze, then creep by, and then starting scooting very fast. It rushes me, almost bites my face off, and I beat it away with the scooter before it leaves. I never go to the doctor to get checked for rabies.

I was 14 years old and my mom is on her fourth round of cancer. One night at some point around 3 AM, she yells for me to help her to the bathroom because my oldest older brother is drugged out on our couch from stealing her meds. I find my mother has fallen on the floor, having failed to get to the toilet in time. She's covered in shit, piss, and blood. I pick her up, slipping multiple times, and getting covered in everything. Eventually, I get her cleaned up and back into bed. I spend the next few hours cleaning up the bathroom. Then I go to school and pretend like nothing happened.

I was 15 years old and I get into a fight at school. I win the fight, but the guy's friends promise to get me back. I skip school for several days until my oldest older brother catches me. The principal expels the other guy. His friends keep trying to catch me outside for weeks, but I keep running away until they find someone else to torment.

I was 16 years old and my dad shows up at my high school during an event for our AVID class. He has some random woman with him that I don't recognize. He tells me my mother has died. He doesn't hug me or console me. I ride my bike home alone.

I was 17 years old and I'm living with my dad now. He keeps threatening to kick me out onto the street whenever we argue. Meanwhile, I can hear him sleeping with different women every week, some as young as my youngest older brother, who is still in college.

I was 17 years old and I decide to skip school, reading books on a park bench nearby. I intercept calls from truancy. I lie to my father and brother. No one catches me for 6 months until the house cleaner stays late to finish work and sees me sneaking back in.

I was 18 and years old and some girl I'm dating threatens to kill me if I break up with her. This doesn't work, but she stalks me for the next few months. I even have to go to the police for help. Eventually, she leaves me alone after finding someone new to date.

I was 19 years old and taking my first solo road trip to visit a friend in Tacoma, Washington. I'm driving through the Cascade Mountains late at night in the snow, barely able to follow the road behind big rigs. I see a ghost in my car. I eventually pull over but it disappears and I'm overcome with the urge to sleep. I wake up several hours later, turn on the radio, and learn that there was an avalanche some miles ahead where I would have been driving.

I was 20 years old and my grandmother has died. She had dementia and couldn't even remember that my mother - her daughter - had died over three years earlier.

I was 21 years old and I'm lost in Paris. I walked around playing saxophone for hours and almost ended up in the suburbs. I don't know what to do and no one is helping me. I eventually see the Eiffel Tower in the sky and follow it until I get to the River Seine. I take that back to my hotel. I'm freezing, starving, and my legs are giving out. I survive.

I was 21 years old and I'm dating people while in college in San Francisco. One night I go home with an older woman, only to find out she was actually married. Her husband tries to kill me as I escape their home down a pole outside.

I was 21 years old and I'm visiting home from college. My friends and I go for a hike to the top of a local mountain. Two of my friends can't finish and go back. My other friend and I make it to the top. We misjudged the climb back though. We stumble back in the dark, dodging nearby residents who mistake us for poachers and shoot at us with shotguns. We eventually hitch a ride back with actual poachers -- they were all Hispanic and didn't speak English.

I was 22 years old and I'm doing an ethnography with a photographer friend at a place called Slab City, near the Salton Sea, in the southern Mojave desert. We get my car stuck in a wash and have to walk back at night one time, chased by dogs, and almost shot by Border Patrol before getting back to our motel. We recover my car the next day, but that night as we're driving back from a local party, we get attacked with a wakizashi sword by a pregnant woman high on meth. The cops take our statement and transport her back from her home in Calexico, apparently.

I was 23 years old and I get badly catfished by a teenager online pretending to be a different woman my age. I spent thousands of dollars in pursuit of her and chased away everyone who questioned the relationship. When I found out I had been tricked, I drove back to San Francisco, went to the Golden Gate Bridge, and almost threw myself into the water. Instead, I dropped a ring worth thousands of dollars that I had bought for her.

I was 26 years old and I become a traveling disability advocate.  I represent ordinary folks, families, and even children. I represent criminals and child molesters. I represent the daughter of a Nazi who fled to Argentina and then reloacted to Salt Lake City in her case. She tells me the story of her daughter's suicide from a ceiling fan that she couldn't stop because of carpal tunnel syndrome. I represent a young boy whose back was broken from a school resource officer who attacked them.

I was 27 years old and I'm taking my Birthright trip to Israel. I meet up with long-lost family members. I ride a camel. I see old ruins. I camp in the desert. I learn about the Palestinians. I learn about the wars. I learn about the Jewish people. I visit Yad Vashem and see the remains of my ancestors who died in the Holocaust. There's a terrorist attack nearby and I'm forced to shelter in place with other members of our tour group.

I was 27 years old and I'm still traveling disability advocate. I drive across New Mexico for a series of hearings. I see things I still can't explain to this day, aliens, animals, or something else. I get caught in a storm in Oklahoma and am almost crushed by a big-rig truck. I nearly die driving on black ice in Montana. A few different clients with severe mental illness and major antisemitism try to kill me. I have to talk them down before they get shot by the local Social Security office guards. I still represent them afterwards.

I was 28 years old and I'm still a traveling disability advocate. I'm in a town called Harrison, Arkansas for a hearing for a former Air Force captain who was gangraped during their service and still suffers from PTSD as well as physical injuries. The night before the hearing, I'm trying to find a place to get some fast food and there's a car ahead of me. The road I'm on doesn't lead where I thought it would. The driver of the car eventually stops, gets out, and starts yelling at me. He shoots at my rental car. I manage to peel off. The police decide there's nothing to report.

I was 29 years old and I get badly sick while still working as a traveling disability advocate. It's some kind of serious dysentery. It lasts for months and months. I lose the ability to control my own bowels and bladder. I can't work. I can't talk to anyone. I start to have major depression and panic attacks. Meanwhile, my wife is pregnant with our first child. I eventually get myself into treatment. I spend the next several years learning how to control my bodily functions and heal from the mental trauma. Even now, I still feel the effects and suffer from lasting impacts.

I was 36 years old and my heart is starting to get worse. I always had episodes of palpitations. Now they are happening too often. My body can't take it. I'm scared I'll have a heart attack. I struggle to get proper medical treatment. I force myself into serious debt, spending tens of thousands on tests and approvals. We find out that I have a rare heart defect that has been present since I was born. It finally gets fixed with surgery. The debilitating palpitations are gone.

***

I'm now 38 years old. Almost 39. Next year, I'll be 40. I have a wife and 2 kids. My life is so much different than what I ever thought it would be, so much better than I could have ever dreamed. But I still have the scars, both visible and invisible, of the suffering I endured, of the struggles I survived. I have no idea why. I have no idea how. I can't even say if I should be proud of myself for it. Because it might as well just be dumb fucking luck.

I've spent most of my life fighting for my life. And when I wasn't, I was fighting for other people. I was fighting against injustice. Against oppression. Against bigotry. Against all the terrible things I've seen this world can do if we let it. But in all that time of politics, advocacy, activism, and organizing, I forgot to tell people about myself. I think it's time that I start telling my stories. I think it's time that I focus on what brings me joy, what heals my soul, and what fulfills the purpose driving my life. I've spent a lifetime in service to other people. I need to spend the rest of my lifetime in service to myself and my family.

It's time I start focusing on what's really important and leave all of the rest to the side. Because I'm beyond burnt-out, worn down, and tired. I need a rejuvenation that actually cures me. No more self-sacrifice like a martyr. No more carrying the weight of a world on my shoulders. No more bearing the brunt of everything and everyone hurting. No more trying to save people who refuse to even save themselves.

This is my time. It's all the time I have left and all the time I'm gonna get. So I'm taking it.

Take note and take care.