My Life (not easy to talk about, but I owe you this and for revenge... it's huge)

My name is Vanessa Rodrigues, I’m 19 years old and I live in Amadora with my mother, my brothers and my stepfather.

My parents got divorced when I was 11 years old, after years of problems I had never noticed. My father was an alcoholic (still is, unfortunately) and he used to physically abuse my mother. I had no idea that was happening, because I had never seen it. I always saw them holding each other, saying “I love you” all the time, watching TV cuddled on the couch. How could I have guessed that while I was sleeping in my bedroom, my parents were fighting in the living room or in their bedroom? How could I have guessed that my father was drinking so much and hitting my mother? The first time I saw it, it was after I had a nightmare. I went to the living room, because I heard voices there and stepped right into a nightmare far worse than the one I was having in my sleep. My mother was on the floor, crying, and my father was looming over her, threatening her.

After that, I guess my father lost his shame. He stopped caring about who was watching. He’d hit my mother in front of us (my big brother and I) with no care about the trauma he was inflicting on us.

I’d like to point out again that my father was an alcoholic. People do a lot of things while drunk that they wouldn’t do when sober. I know that. I saw that. The man that hit my mother in front of us was not my father. It was some other man, influenced by alcohol. My father is a good person. And to prove that, one day, when my brother an I told our father how much it hurt to watch what he was doing and asked him to leave, he did. My mom had told him to leave several times, but he never did. However, seeing the pain he had inflicted on his children, he left. If he wasn’t a good man, he wouldn’t do that.

After a while, my mother met a new guy (my stepfather) and they decided to leave our hometown and live in a village in Castelo Branco. I was thrilled. I wanted so much to leave that place and leave all the bad memories behind. My brother wasn’t so happy. He didn’t want to leave his family and friends. So, the day we left, my brother ran away. My mother went after him and tried to convince him to come with us, but he didn’t want to. So, he stayed with our grandmother and we left. What was supposed to be a happy day was tainted by that turn of events. I knew I was going to miss my brother (although he was very annoying at the time).

For a while we lived in my stepfather's parent’s house. They seemed like good people. I especially liked his father. He asked to call him grandfather, but I never did, because it just didn’t feel right. I had had grandfathers and I thought that I’d be disrespecting their memories by calling someone else grandfather. Looking back now I’m glad I never did what he asked. Grandfathers don’t do what he did. Grandfathers don’t touch their granddaughters the way he touched me when nobody was looking. Grandfathers don’t get inside their granddaughters' bedroom to “watch them sleep” the way he did. Grandfathers don’t molest their granddaughters the way he did. For six months I was molested by him in silence. I was afraid of telling anyone. I didn’t tell my mother, because I was afraid of what she’d do and I didn’t want to lose her. I didn’t tell my stepfather because I was afraid that he wouldn’t believe me and would send me and my mother packing. I didn’t tell my stepfather’s mother because I had a feeling she already knew and didn’t care. I was all alone.

One day we came back to Amadora on vacation, to be with my brother. While I was talking with my mother, she asked me why I was being so mean to my stepfather’s father. “He’s such a great guy”, she said. “He obviously cares about you”. I couldn’t handle it. I started crying. I felt like my world was crumbling. I told my mother everything. It was just too much. After months going through what I had, listening to her telling me what a great guy he was was just too much. When my mother heard what I had to say, she wanted to kill that man. That’s what I was afraid of.

She told my stepfather what I told her and they decided to come back to Amadora. We didn’t press charges against him because we had no proof of what had happened and I was already traumatized enough. Looking back now, I regret that choice.

I really thought all my troubles had ended. Well, my parents still couldn’t talk with each other without a screaming match, but as long as they were away from each other, everything was fine.

One day, while I was at school, I felt a terrible headache. I couldn’t even move. I went to the hospital, had an X-ray and they told me that everything was ok. The headache was probably due to stress. Well, they were wrong.

My headaches kept getting worse, the time I couldn’t move a muscle kept getting longer, until one day, when I was 16 years old, three years after my first headache, I woke up, got out of the bed and fell down. I couldn’t feel my right foot. I though I had just done something to it while I was sleeping (bad position or something) and when I got back the feeling in my foot, I felt even more certain that nothing was going on and I just needed to learn how to sleep without hurting my limbs.

Unfortunately, I was wrong. As time went by I started having more and more problems. The headaches I used to have became even worse (I didn’t think that was possible), sometimes while writing something at school my hand would stuck, I started losing my balance, I started losing my memory (I always had a good memory, but not anymore) One day I even fell down the stairs while going down with my little brother, because I lost the strength in my legs (my little brother got hurt, which was the worst thing that could have happened). And still the doctors said there was nothing to worry about and just gave me medication and more medication for headaches and for the muscles… I was so sick of pills.

One day I passed out and woke up at the hospital. I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed. It was the scariest moment of my life (and I don’t say this lightly). I had an MRI (something they didn’t remember to do before, go figure) and that’s when they saw it. I had a back problem. My first two vertebrae were stuck together (too much bone) and the first one was burying into my brain. As I grew taller, the vertebrae sank in more. I had emergency surgery in Egas Moniz and after some physical therapy I started moving again. My legs wouldn’t cooperate for a while, but with more therapy I managed to walk again.

One good thing that came from this? My parents started talking again and became friends. They’re still friends today and my father even visits every now and then.

I’m crazy. Just thought I’d let you know. I am. Really. I’m crazy enough to still want to go to school even while this was happening. As soon as I managed to move and use the wheelchair I told my mother I wanted to go back. I wanted to try to pass. I had just missed half the first term and half the second term. I could still do it. The truth is, I didn’t. I failed. But I only failed three disciplines. Portuguese, History and Philosophy. Lets face it, those are hard disciplines to pass, even for the ones who didn’t have health issues. The other ones… well, lets just say I’m very proud of myself. And my mother was too. My History teacher told my mother that I should have worked harder. Work harder? How many people did she see walking out of the hospital in a wheelchair and go straight to school, when they could stay home? How many people did she see doing their tests while crying with pain? How many people did she see pass six out of nine disciplines, while recovering from major surgery and getting back on their feet after almost dying (because yes, I was at risk)? And I needed to work harder? No one worked as hard as I did! And I was the one who failed, when there were plenty of colleagues that didn’t do anything besides dating, playing volleyball and going to the movies and passed. I was very disappointed.

Next year, when I repeated those three disciplines I honestly didn’t do anything. I didn’t do what I did the year before. Before, if I had a headache I’d go to school anyway. I didn’t anymore. I started thinking more about my health than about my studies. And I passed. But when I passed I didn’t feel good. I didn’t feel proud. I hated the feeling I had. I promised myself I’d never do that again. If I pass, it has to be because of my effort, not because the teachers feel sorry for me.

I knew I wanted to be a translator since I was 10 years old, which was when I fell in love with the English language and found out I could make a living with the passion for languages and for literature (I love reading, ever since I learned how to read). Everything I’ve done in my life, I did it with that goal in mind. I’m still trying to reach that goal. To me, there’s nothing better than to get up in the morning (even if I’m sleepy) and go to college, because I know I’m following my dream. It’s an amazing feeling.

I know that no matter what happens, no matter what life throws at me, I’ll keep working until I reach my goal and beyond. I’ve proved to myself time and again that I can survive everything that comes my way, as long as I’m strong.

If you ask me what I look forward to, my answer will always be the same: I look forward to the rest of my life.

So, this is me. This is who I am. This is my life.