I was seven years old at the time, being one of eight other people being compressed into a small apartment with the permanent stench of heavy cigarette addictions and cockroach poison weaved within its walls and welcome mats. My older cousin, brother and I always had a routine we stuck by each and every day of the summer; consisting of normal activities outside, eating with our overcrowded family, and finishing our day with watching television shows that had their main demographic aimed at adults with immature humor. We were stuffing ourselves with the rest of our family before scurrying to the floor to be hypnotized by the dull television. Before reaching the end credits of our show, my eyelids were the equivalent to bricks, and I dozed off on top of the scratchy carpet. Suddenly I was awoken by a cold sensation with a wave of adrenaline, my vision was reduced to a bright white blanket of nothingness, as if I was looking into the sun, I felt god-like arms caress my body up into the air and muffled screams of panic in the distance, this would truly be a dream i would always remember. 

This was not a dream, the screams were very much real, the god-like arms belonged to none other than my mothers; I had not realized this at the time, but I had experienced my first heart attack. It had seemed that every living soul in that apartment had spiraled into a frenzy, everyone except myself. Although I had spewed my dinner onto myself and was still somehow trembling while being unconscious, I was still lifted up, regardless of my condition and rushed into my aunt's car where I would repeatedly zone in and out of reality until we reached our destination; the hospital. Upon arrival, I was immediately thrown into the emergency room and was repeatedly told the phrase, “don’t go to sleep”. Those four simple words echoed inside my plain fragile mind, imagining to myself that those words could have been my final words my brain would process before entering eternal slumber. My mothers distraught behavior was cut like rope, as the news had been informed to her that I had an abnormal heart murmur and would need open-heart surgery otherwise I wouldn't be able to part take in any physical activity, had a high chance of death, and wouldn't be able to have a children without dying during birth. Hesitant at first, she uttered the words of permission to commence the surgery. 

Days went by, the energy of the small apartment diminished into nothing more than cold dead silence. My brother and cousin were no longer teasing one another, my aunts once cheerful aura had evaporated to greyness, my mother would hallucinate from lack of sleep while staying with me until the color in my cheeks returned. Nearly a week went by and I was finally recovering; one month to everyone else felt like two days to me due to me only waking up twice and being fed by a tube. With the help and support from therapy and family, my strength had skyrocketed from what it was before and I was able to see my home again. The following week I was able to return to school, whenever a person had gained interest in what happened, I didn't know how to explain to anyone without having my throat close up and my face turn bright red. For that reason, I lost motivation in speaking and dissociated from my brother and cousins. I felt like in a way, the scar left behind from my surgery had branded me with my biggest insecurity. Leading into my seventh grade year, the realization had stuck me, my mother was pregnant with my soon to be little sister; I realized that I was being selfish, by taking away not only my own childhood away, but also my cousin and brothers, I couldn't bare to do the same to my little sister before she was even born. I needed to be a role model for her, someone she would be able to have fun with. I began to ignore my scar, and focus more on the other joys of life, once she was born I focused my energy into her and my family. As my grades went up and was able to make myself useful, the more my self-esteem flourished alongside it. 

I cant literally show my heart out to others, but the least I can do is pour my heart out to others and hope to not leak. Even if I don't know the full amount of emotional pain my family went through, I will forever be thankful and wish I could experience with them. I learned that even with my abnormal traits, I could still make a difference in other people's lives, which could influence my own changes. I learned that I don't need to compare myself to others as if your appearance was like picking a flower, better to embrace your flaws rather than conceal them from the outside world.