1,021 words, 5 min read time.

Early Childhood: Shaping My World

I only wore purple.
My earliest memories are a blend of fear and charm, dream-like and fragmented. I recall sitting alone in an empty room with a large blue rubber ball, sunlight streaming in through sharp mini blinds. I wore a white Easter outfit and bonnet, spending hours arranging things “just perfect,” living in an imaginary world of talking teddy bears and worms. Music played softly on my record player as I escaped into my fantasy.

But another memory stands out: I was on a plane with my father, who would soon pass away. I read to him, hyperlexic at the age of four, so proud to make him smile. But by then, I had a rule: I must wear purple socks, purple underwear, purple on top and bottom. My world, otherwise, would painfully crash into pieces.

Religion and Spirituality: Seeking Control in a Chaotic World

My granny believed I needed Jesus.
She came from the old country, where traditions like tossing salt and speaking of the energy in water were common. But for her, it wasn’t enough. She insisted that I needed Jesus. Often, she’d pull me into her lap, teaching me the rosary, but I would interrupt her: “But it’s a bead!” I’d explain. This frustrated her, and I could feel it, but I longed to escape. When my father passed out on the couch, I wandered the neighborhood, drawing colors around people and seeing things others dismissed as fantasy. At that time, the edges of reality and imagination hadn’t fully formed in my mind.

“You’re a Caserta, and that’s something to be proud of,” I was often told. Yet, I felt disconnected and cut off from that pride.

Childhood Struggles: The Devil’s Costume and the Search for Perfection

I was the devil for Halloween one year.
Everyone thought it was funny. I adored the handmade hood with stuffed glow-in-the-dark devil horns, red turtleneck, pants, and a plastic pitchfork. The smell of the plastic still lingers in my mind. Despite the fun of the costume, I had fierce tantrums and a strong will. The nuns at school didn’t find it amusing, though. I often found myself in trouble, trying to teach others, kneeling on rice as punishment.

Looking back, I realize the devil wasn’t just a costume—it represents today the guilt and shame I carried, an ongoing symbol of an internal struggle. The devil chased me for years, shadowing my every step, until I finally escaped.

The Conflict of Identity: Sexuality and Shame

I was lost in fascination.
The first time I saw two girls kissing, touching, and making out, I was flooded with confusion, excitement, and wonder. I already knew too much about sex for my age but had never imagined something like this. I understood it as something demonic, a sin that might take control of me and possess my mortal soul. I was overwhelmed with powerful feelings, torn between curiosity and fear. Desperate, I asked if I to join them, only to receive looks of disgust.

That moment haunted me for so long. I believed I was possessed by a “demon spirit of homosexuality,” and that I was broken and wrong. The shame was unbearable, and it was a secret I carried in silence.

Gender and Family: Confusion and Understanding

The Kellett’s were a contrast I didn’t fully understand.
Sara and Jessica Kellett’s home in Colorado was a place of kindness, but also confusion. The differences between the two sisters fascinated me—Jessica, the more feminine one, and Sara, with her mullet and basketball shorts, whose masculinity intrigued me. I asked my mother why Sara dressed this way, and she explained that some women just “come out” that way—a simple variety of womanhood.

I approached Sara about it one day, but my innocent curiosity offended her. It was the last time I stayed at their house. I had witnessed something deeper at the Kelletts’, something I couldn’t yet articulate, but it was as if I was beginning to see the complexity of gender and identity. But I was still unsure of where I fit in that world.

The Search for Truth: Religion, Sin, and Self-Worth

There were so many classes.
Bible study was compulsory, yet I was proud to have obtained my first concordance to study the scriptures. We spoke in tongues. Once woman was praised for prophesying and interpereting the word of God, after speaking in tongues, in perfect French, claiming to have never learned it. When I was told this was a miracle, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of disbelief—something in me resisted. I struggled with the idea that I was both innocent and full of original sin, that Jesus had died for me, yet it never felt like enough.

The shame and confusion deepened as I grew older, especially with the messages I received about my sexuality and worth. My long hair, “given to me by God,” was both a blessing and a curse, a symbol of something that I could never fully control or understand.

Breaking Point: The Struggles and Healing

As I grew, the world became harder to navigate.
The breakdowns, the periods of homelessness, and the feeling of being “disabled” for the first time were overwhelming. I did my best to “soldier through,” pushing myself until I couldn’t. After one of these breakdowns, I experienced an overdose. I “died” for a few seconds, and the nurses dismissed me. But I knew something inside me was broken.

Eventually, after years of navigating life with new challenges, I began to heal. I found a stable place to live, started therapy, and learned to manage my mental health. Today, I continue to work in digital media and marketing, but with a renewed sense of self.

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Reflection and Healing

Looking back, it feels like everything that happened was experienced by different versions of myself at different times. But through it all, I’ve learned to reconcile my struggles with my identity and my past. The healing is still ongoing, but I am no longer defined by the shame and fear that once consumed me.