I Guess It All Started When I Was Born

November 6, 1995 at 11:21 AM, a beautiful baby girl was handed to her loving mother. She was given a name, given a purpose and given a life to live.

I was that baby girl. I was a brat, and I'm not exaggerating. I aged slightly, and by the age of two I believed the world was mine and only mine. I also believed the world consisted of puppies, The Lion King and my Barbies. I didn't speak, not until I was about five and a half—not because I couldn't, but because I felt like nobody deserved my words. I would talk to.my Barbies all the time. I was entitled, not because I was raised that way, but because I felt like I should be. I was yelling and screaming demands. I was bossing people around.

It all stopped one day. I was a happy little girl, I woke up everyday with a smile on my face, and I faced the world like it was mine and only mine to conquer. I went to school, read my books and excelled in most things. I made friends and grew up. I grew up. Every year I aged. Every year my smile dwindled away. Every year, distance came between me and someone that I cared for.

The year that ruined me? That's was the year of 2016. The year I had been in my first real relationship, or so I thought. The year I uprooted my city life and began my small town adventure—the adventure I believed my boyfriend would accompany me on. I found out I was expecting shortly after my move. The day I thought would be a happy day for me turned out to be the worst day ever. The day I told him I was expecting was the day he told me he cheated on me with a child, an actual child, age 14, and he was in love with her. My heart broke. I could feel it as it broke.

Less then two weeks later, I lost my baby girl, my little Scorpio baby. I fell apart. I stopped eating and I stopped socializing. My small town life became a secluded small room life. I never told my family. I let them believe the depression of us breaking up was the problem. They have no idea there was a little me in the making, because it was my pain to be felt. I didn't want to share it with anyone.

Then, one November night, I received a text, "Hey, you have an interview in the morning at nine. See you at work," from my sister-in-law. I showed up, because why not. It's been eight months, it's time to get up. I nailed the interview and started a damn well-paying job. Three months later, he walked into my life. Well, actually, I walked into the produce department of his store. I was smelling the butt of a pineapple and he laughed at me, trying to tell me you can't tell when a pineapple was ripe, and, well, I like to argue—and of course I was right, you smell the butt. "What's your number?" Slipped out under his laugh. Red in the cheeks and blushing, I gave him my number.

It's been 10 months of a very strong and trusting relationship. I threw him his first birthday party. He vibes with me and my family so well. We took a vacation to the happiest place on earth. We're currently searching for our own apartment. We're happy. I'm happy. What brought this on? A picture of me at the age of 10, smiling because I put cake on my cousin's nose. I was smiling like I do today, pure joy and happiness in my eyes, untouched by depression and loneliness. When did I become so happy? Well, I guess it all started when I was born.