The plight of the Pseudo hood rat

Growing up in my house there were two things you were guaranteed: fast food and unsatisfactory conversations. I thought I was an adult at the age of 7, because I wanted to be. I never felt as if I was in danger of becoming another hood-rat, under-educated, mixed kid because I didn’t think it was a bad thing. I thought those stereotypes fit. I grew up in the 2000s listening to Slim Shady and Green Day. I was sure I had it all figured out. I never knew my father well enough to care for his absence and my mom and grandmother did the best they could in raising me and dealing with several other low-income disparities. I went to high school and I never studied, I did poorly and thought it was cool to be dumb. I was mixed and too ashamed to tell anyone who I really was. I painted in my free time and barely had enough self-esteem to show myself. I was fucked up and my teachers knew it. But honestly no one was able to help me because I couldn’t stop hating myself for being overweight and lazy. Kendrick Lamar said it best “What’s love gotta do with it when you don’t love yourself”. I couldn’t find happiness in my relationships with other people because I couldn’t find happiness in myself. Luckily I received a $40,000 scholarship due to being privileged enough to grow up listening to gun shots, and watching family members suffer from emotional violence, and drug addition. I used that money “I didn’t earn” to go to college in Boston, 45 minutes away from home and decades ahead of the life I left in Worcester.

I gained a sense of humor that didn’t degrade me as a human, I had eating habits I could maintain, I survived because of the love I surrounded myself with, and because of my mother and grandmothers encouragement and insistence that I graduate from college. I succeeded because I knew it wasn’t possible in the beginning, and I succeeded because I struggled to see light at the end of the tunnel because it wasn’t until I created the light that it existed.

I still have issues, I should probably see a social worker, I could use better eating habits, but I guess I am okay. I’m competent. And there is nothing but sky from here on…



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