Part 3 – Escaping Me

Part 3 – Escaping Me

You would think that after what happened to me, the last thing I’d do is drink or party. But no—that made it worse. That’s all I wanted to do. I didn’t want to be me. I didn’t want to face anything. I wanted to become someone else. Someone loud, fun, confident. Someone who seemed like they had it all together, even if inside I was falling apart.

So I drank. A lot.

And when I was drunk, I felt bold.

I thought that being the life of the party meant I was strong.

I thought that acting wild made people think I knew what I was doing.

Truth was—I had no idea who I was, where I was going, or even what I wanted out of life.

Being in the military was actually perfect for where I was mentally. They gave me food, a bed, a uniform to wear. I didn’t have to make decisions. I lived in the barracks, got paid, was told when to wake up, when to show up, what to do. I followed orders and went through the motions like a robot. It was easier than facing myself.

Behind the scenes, I was spiraling. I became promiscuous.

I thought that having sex meant love.

I thought it meant someone might actually care.

But all it did was make me feel emptier and more lost.

I got pregnant twice—and had two abortions.

I didn’t even feel real anymore. I was just existing.

I was supposed to return to Puerto Rico and serve in the Reserves, but I was so ashamed—so scared to face my family and what I had become—that I didn’t show up. I went AWOL. I vanished. I was a mess.

Eventually, I reenlisted in the military. Why? Because it was all I knew.

Structure. Rules. A false sense of stability.

And just like that, I met someone who said they loved me.

I believed them.

I married them.

I got pregnant.

And I got out of the military—because they wanted me to stay home, be a wife and a mother.

But it didn’t last.

The relationship fell apart.

Their family saw I wasn’t stable and took my child.

I didn’t fight it. I didn’t know how.

That divorce, and losing my first child—

That was it.

That was the breaking point.

That was when I went completely off the edge.

I dove headfirst into drugs and alcohol—not for fun, but to numb myself, to run, to disappear from the pain that was too heavy to carry. From 1995 to 2022, my life was a blur. I worked, yes—but I never stayed in one place. I couldn’t keep a job. I couldn’t keep anything.

My life was chaos.

And I’ll leave it there.

Because Part 4 is when everything crashes—when I hit rock bottom and enter an abusive relationship that nearly broke me beyond repair.

But not quite.