My Sister

by Selenis Leyva

  I don’t blame Papi or my brothers for not standing up for me in the same way they stood up for my sisters. All of us struggled, for so many years, to understand what it was that I was going through and who I was. As my sister has said: we didn’t have the language, we didn’t have the education. I can only hope that things will be different for my young trans brothers and sisters.

  My relationship with Josh helped me realize my worth. It helped me realize that I don’t need to put up with violence or abuse just so that I can fulfill someone else’s expectations of who I need to be. Family structures or romantic relationships in the LGBTQ+ community might not look like traditional ones, but we have the right to create relationships that are meaningful. We all deserve to be defended. We all deserve to be accepted and loved and cared for.

  Chapter 29

  SELENIS & MARIZOL

  Once I finally had enough stability to move out of that dark, stuffy home next door to my parents’ house, I looked for another apartment. It would be only my daughter, Alina, and me—my marriage was finally over, and I couldn’t wait to start my new life in my own space, paying my own bills, taking care of myself.

  This one building in particular had caught my eye for months. It was a new construction in Riverdale, and whenever I drove past it, I thought, This would be a great place to live. When I finally was able to begin my search, I went straight over. And they showed me a unit that I loved. It was a corner penthouse apartment with a huge terrace. There was so much sunlight streaming through the big, open windows, I never needed to turn on the lights. What a difference from all those years I’d lived in suffocating darkness.

  New Year’s was coming up, and I wanted to celebrate and say goodbye to my past life. I had the terrace, and a nice firepit, and I decided to throw a party with those I loved most, just Alina and me, Mami and Papi, my brothers and their families, Isa, Marizol, and my close friend Rosal and her parents. We were going to write, on little slips of paper, all that we wanted to leave behind. We were going to throw all these negative emotions and experiences into the fire and watch them burn.

  ON NEW Year’s Eve, Selenis invited me over to her place in Riverdale. I didn’t want to go. I wasn’t ready to face everyone after all that had happened. But she insisted. She had a plan for us all to burn all that we had been holding on to and wanted to get rid of in our lives.

  I had so much that I wanted to burn away. I was haunted by memories of my biological father, by my ex, and I had lost myself. I had entered a deep depression. I wasn’t taking care of myself. I had let myself go. It took a lot of effort to get myself together to attend that New Year’s Eve party. I tried as best I could, but I had gotten a cold, and I was feeling awful.

  “Oh my God,” Selenis said when I arrived. “Look at you! You have to take care of yourself.”

  She touched my forehead. I was burning up.

  “You have to go to the doctor!”

  My cough was bad. I was a mess.

  But when I walked inside, the energy in the apartment was fresh and bright. Everyone was excited to see me. My nieces and nephew were happy to be with me. I thought that burning away my demons could be a wake-up call for me to get out of the depression I was in and to leave everything behind that had happened over the past year.

  I REMEMBER LOOKING around at everyone, slips of paper in their hands, and thinking, This is a big moment for everyone here. I knew for Marizol that it was a big moment, though I didn’t know exactly what she was going through. For myself, I knew that this moment was huge. My career had completely turned around. I was in the second season of Orange Is the New Black and had recently learned that I was going to be a series regular in the upcoming season. But I still wanted to get rid of the fears and anxieties that had haunted me for years.

  A lackluster career. No money in the bank. Starving artist. A failed marriage. Guilt of not being in a marriage like my parents’. Those were the things I wrote down on my slip.

  I WROTE down all the reasons why I was depressed: My experience with my biological dad. My experience with my ex. Forgetting the Marizol I had fought so hard for.

  I wanted to have peace. To forgive those who hurt me and caused me pain. I was ready to move on.

  WE WERE GOING to leave all of that behind. And everyone took it so seriously, staring into the firepit, watching to make sure that their slips of paper and all they had been hanging on to turned to ash.

  “Bye, Felicia!” we all started to yell and cheer.

  It felt really good. I felt powerful. It was the first time in a long time I felt good about what was coming. It was almost as if it was all worth it, all those years of struggling, being unhappy. I wasn’t on antidepressants anymore, and it felt good to look around at my new place and think, I did this.

  Once all the celebrating calmed down and a silence took over, Rosal’s dad asked, “Who’s Felicia?”

  And we all burst into laughter.

  Chapter 30

  MARIZOL & SELENIS

  After the New Year’s celebration at my sister’s house, I was supposed to go out with my friend. But when I got to her house, I felt so sick, I went straight to bed. I spent the whole night, in the clothes I had been wearing, shivering under a sheet.

  I woke up the next morning soaked. My friend had come back home, and I was embarrassed for her to see me in such a way. She didn’t know about my depression either, and I felt vulnerable and exposed. She was really worried and encouraged me to go to the hospital. I didn’t want anyone else to see me that way, like my sister or my parents, so I called an ambulance and was taken to the ER by myself.

  My cold had turned into pneumonia, and one of my lungs wasn’t functioning properly. The doctors hooked me up to a breathing machine and admitted me to intensive care. I was so scared; I couldn’t believe that I had let myself get so low. I couldn’t believe how numb I had been to all of it. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and I started to panic. That’s when I had to call Seli, and she came rushing with my parents.

  It was then that I had to sign a form saying that, if I was unconscious and could no longer speak, Seli would be the one to make decisions about my care. How could I have let this happen? I was afraid that I was literally going to lose my life.

  On my second day in the hospital, Seli said that she wanted to go by my apartment to pick up a few things.

  “No,” I said. “You can’t.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “It’s kinda messy.”

  “Girl, I don’t care!”

  “No. I don’t think you should.”

  I couldn’t let her go there. My apartment was trashed. And when I say “trashed,” I mean it. Piles of trash everywhere. There were roaches, mice. You had to climb over it all to move down the kitchen, to get to the bathroom. I had fallen into such a dark place that I didn’t even care.

  “Well,” Seli said, “someone has to go.”

  Finally, I agreed that Seli’s ex-husband and Papi would be the ones to go, but I was so embarrassed.

  And that’s when the floodgates opened. I told Seli about everything that had happened. I told her about the abuse in my relationship, about how worthless I felt. I told her how I thought that no one would love me. And, like always, she was there for me, listening.

  Everything in my apartment had to be thrown out. My former brother-in-law told Seli that it looked like the apartment of someone who had given up. It looked like the apartment of someone who had decided they didn’t care if they went on living.

  IN THE HOSPITAL, Marizol opened up to me about what she’d been going through. It wasn’t until years later, however, when we began writing this book, that she finally divulged what had happened to her when she was just a small child.

  When she finally told me, I couldn’t help but think of two particular moments. One was the day she called me, almost in a panic, asking if I had Jose Sr.’s number. Something in her voice, something startling, made me feel immediately sick, but I couldn’t put it into
words.

  The other moment was years before, when she was just a teenager. I had asked her if anyone had ever hurt her or touched her or violated her in any way. You might be wondering: What prompted me to ask such a question, seemingly out of the blue? And the answer is because I have always had a connection with my sister. I know when something is wrong—like that day I couldn’t get in touch with her, only to find her and her apartment in shambles. It’s like an alarm goes off in my soul.

  When I asked her this question, I think that part of me knew the answer, but I never could have imagined that it happened when she was so young, so innocent. Maybe because I was too young then myself to understand that people are capable of acting in such a foul way. Maybe because, in a million years, I never would have thought that someone could do that to a baby, let alone to their own baby. I had assumed, during the time Marizol was taken away from us, that her biological parents had spanked her, that they were mean, that they were unloving. But nothing more. Nothing like the nightmare that had really taken place. And I know my parents never could have imagined it either.

  I hate that we didn’t know. I hate that man for doing what he did. At times, I also hate Ruth for being unable to protect her child. But my anger really lies with the foster care agency and with the broken system that handed over a young, innocent child to addicts it was unable to supervise. Not once did the agency follow up to look after her. I doubt that they ever really knew where she was or with whom.

  For years, Marizol had lived with us, and it wasn’t through the system. It was because Ruth’s mother had called us and begged us to take her home.

  I WAS in the hospital for nearly a week, but I made a full recovery. Most people don’t get out of that kind of situation, and I felt so grateful, so lucky to have been given a second chance. I thought, God must have something in store for me. There must be a reason why I am still living. For the first time in a very long time, I had hope.

  For a few weeks, I stayed with Mami and Papi while my apartment was exterminated and repainted. When I finally returned to my place, now clean and empty, I felt like I had a fresh start on life. I remembered what it was like to be homeless, and I was so thankful that I still had a place to call my own. I got new furniture, hung pictures on the walls. I wanted to reclaim this space for my own, to have it reflect me. And I began to come to terms with all the pain I had suffered; I started to learn how to cope with it.

  It wasn’t easy. The next few years were a struggle. I had my good days, but the memories and feelings would always come back. Sometimes, the smallest thing would trigger me, threatening to push me back into that awful depression. Sometimes, all I wanted was to go hit that blunt just so I could forget. It was a challenge not to. I’d go from hurt to angry to sad, and then the cycle would start all over again. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

  My sister and the rest of my family helped me get back on my feet. I started cooking again. I came out of my depression. I started to work through my past through therapy. And I, once again, started to live my life for me—for Marizol. What kept me going was reflecting upon all that I’d been through—being bullied at school, taking the money, transitioning, moving into Ali Forney, falling into an abusive relationship—and how it almost ended my life. I knew I could never end up back in that depressive state again. I knew that I didn’t want my parents, my sister, my siblings, my nieces and nephew to have to bury me. And I knew that I didn’t want my trans brothers and sisters to fall into the same situations that I had.

  SHORTLY AFTER MARIZOL was back in her apartment and working on healing emotionally, the Stonewall Foundation contacted me. They wanted to present Marizol and me with a Vision Award. I was so excited to share the news with my sister.

  “They want to honor us both,” I told her.

  “But why me?” Marizol asked.

  “Why you?! Because it takes courage to live your truth!”

  Upon hearing this, her face lit up. I was thrilled to see, after all we’d been through, her big, beautiful, infectious smile.

  “OH MY GOD, SIS!” she giggled. “This is crazy!”

  I smiled but shook my head. “No, it’s not crazy—you deserve this!”

  Finally, it was a moment of light and celebration.

  I’D ALWAYS thought that activists were people who protested or went to rallies. People who lobbied Congress for change. It wasn’t until I was at the awards ceremony with my parents that I realized what telling my story to others could do. By speaking out about my experiences, maybe others who’d been through similar struggles wouldn’t feel so alone. I’m so inspired by the work of other activists who tell their stories boldly and proudly, who take a stand against discrimination and hate. I wanted to continue to make progress in this tradition, not only for the trans community and the LGBTQ+ community but also for all of humanity. I knew how valuable it was to have my family supporting me, and I wanted to help others feel supported, too. And because my sister already had a platform, I felt like I had to take advantage of that privilege. There was no way I could not.

  So, I became vocal about my experience as a trans woman of color, educating and informing others, being a supportive voice for the next generation of trans men and women. I spoke about my story to magazines like Cosmo Latina and People en Español. Selenis and I were recognized at the 2016 Anti-Violence Project Courage Awards. For Pride Week, I had a cooking segment on Telemundo’s Adictivo TV. And I was invited, by myself, to speak about bullying and domestic violence at an event organized by the Office of the Bronx Borough President. With each event, I was sure to bring Mami and Papi with me. It was important to have them there because they knew all that I had been through. Having them there made me feel like I was accomplishing something, like I was finally doing something with my life that would make them proud.

  I was making myself proud, too. Despite all that had happened to me, I was moving in the right direction. I was living my truth. After years of hiding, of losing myself, I was finally being validated and seen.

  And I realized I could find my strength by helping others—so that they could be validated and seen, too.

  EPILOGUE

  Dear Readers,

  To say it’s been hard to write this book doesn’t describe the half of it—but I also know that it’s been the most important thing I’ve ever done. I never would have thought I would be writing a book with my sister! I am so honored and humbled to have had this opportunity to share our story together.

  In many ways, writing our story has been a form of therapy. It has made me realize so much about myself, and I feel like I have grown as a woman because of it. Writing this book has helped me to stop running from my problems and to confront them head-on. I have been able to finally begin the process of healing because of it.

  But healing is not pretty.

  Whenever you begin to heal, you need to know that it’s going to be hard. Sometimes, you need to first tear open your wounds to remove whatever is causing you pain. It’s been a roller coaster, and I’ve had my moments. And not just me but my sister, too. Together, we’ve had to directly face the past and all that has happened to us on this journey. I feel so close to my sister, and so grateful for her love and support throughout these years. I’m proud to stand next to her as an activist, as a friend, as a sister.

  We wrote this book because we wanted to heal but also because we knew that so many people go through experiences like ours. We know that so many people feel like they have to suffer on their own, like I once did. We hope our story proves otherwise. We hope that it shows the world that, regardless of how we identify, we are all humans. That we all go through trauma and hurt. We don’t need to suffer alone.

  Furthermore, as a member of the LGBTQ+ community, I think it is my responsibility to lift others up and show support. And I hope this book inspires others to do the same. We already take so much shit from society—we shouldn’t be putting each other down. Let’s be proud of who we are. Let’s show up for each other,
be each other’s community. Let’s show the world that we all can overcome. That we all can rise.

  I’ve made many mistakes. And I hope that by reading my story you never have to feel like you need to make the same mistakes I made. I’m not saying you shouldn’t make any mistakes—we all need to mess up from time to time to learn and grow. My experiences and mistakes have led me to the place where I am today, and I feel stronger and more resilient because of them.

  Still, at times I wish I could speak to my younger self. Tell her that she is worth it. That she is loved. That she should make better choices. That she should be confident, believe in herself and her abilities, and just go for it, whatever “it” may be. I wish I could tell my younger self, “It was never your fault.”

  Sometimes, life deals you a hand that forces you to make a choice: you can either fight for survival, or you can let yourself weep life away. I choose to fight. As much pain and hurt as I’ve experienced and as weak as I’ve been, I’ve somehow always managed to get back on my feet and fight back. I never wanted to end up like my biological mother. I never wanted to become a statistic. I never wanted to become a victim. I wanted to make my family proud, to have them look at me and think, Wow, she’s become something.