Galatians 6:2 Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.

Greetings, everyone.

I need to tell my story, because I don't think I can keep holding all of this alone. If you believe in God, I'd be grateful for your prayers too.

I'm Dominican, and I grew up in a poor family that was already broken in ways I didn't understand as a child. Some of those wounds never really closed.

Even in school, I always felt like the last one picked. Whenever we split into groups, I was the one left standing. It sank into how I saw myself, and for years I felt like there was no place I really belonged.

Home wasn't easier. It was my father, my mother, my three younger sisters, and me. Some days there just wasn't enough food to go around. My father worked two jobs to keep us afloat, and I started going with him to work when I was still young, doing whatever I could to help.

My mother wasn't the mother I needed. She smoked, and she wasn't faithful to my father. When I was around seven, I walked in on her with one of our neighbors. I never told my father. I was a kid, and I didn't know what you're supposed to do with something like that, so I just carried it.

It happened again when I was twelve, this time with a man who was supposed to be my father's best friend someone who came to our house, helped him find work, even lent him money when things were tight.

Eventually people found out: relatives, neighbors, everyone. One morning my father came home with tears on his face and told me to lock every door. I remember knowing something was wrong, but I did what he said and went outside to a neighbor's house to play, the way a kid does when he doesn't want to know.

Then I heard dishes breaking, and my little sister crying. When I went back in, my mother was on the floor, badly hurt, and my father was already gone. The ambulance came too late. She didn't make it.

That morning split my life into before and after.

For years I blamed myself, because some part of me had known something bad was coming, and I hadn't done anything. I know I was just a child. I know that. But the guilt stayed anyway.

My father went to prison after that. My sisters were adopted. I wasn't. Nobody in the family stepped up for me, and I drifted away from most of them.

By sixteen I was smoking marijuana and drinking, working the streets, and most of what I made went straight into those habits. Then at seventeen I gave my life to Christ. I walked away from all of it, went back to school, and slowly things got better.

During the pandemic I started university and worked as a cook to pay for it. I let some coworkers pull me in a direction I shouldn't have gone. I dropped out and started drinking again for a while.

Even then, something in me stayed empty.

Eventually I went back to church, determined to rebuild again. Around that time I took out a few loans to start a business selling Arabian perfumes. I thought it would be my way forward. Instead I made mistake after mistake, lost most of what I'd put in, and ended up in debt I still haven't climbed out of.

Right now I don't have a job. My debts have gone to collections, and I get calls every single day. Some days I can't make myself pick up the phone. I made it worse by borrowing to cover other loans the way people do when they're drowning and just trying to stay above water one more day.

I left my hometown looking for something better. Somehow I ended up further behind than before.

I won't pretend otherwise: there have been moments when I've thought about ending it.

What keeps me going is my girlfriend. Through all of this, she hasn't left. She's kind, and steady, and she loves me in a way I don't always feel like I deserve. She's the reason I keep fighting, the reason I still believe I'll get through this season and build the family I've always wanted.

Some days it's still too much. Work is scarce here, wages are low, and I don't even have a way to get around. If I could afford a motorcycle, I think it would open up real opportunities a real shot at getting back on my feet.

I'm two months behind on rent now, and my landlord has told me plainly: pay soon, or leave. I feel it pressing on me at night. Sleep doesn't come easy.

If you read all the way to here, thank you. Truly.

I know how hard it is to ask for help. I'm asking anyway, because I need it. Any bit of support would go toward rent, toward food, while I keep looking for work. It's hard to think straight when you're hungry, and right now my fridge is empty.

I don't have anyone left here to turn to. I've run out of places to look.

Whatever you can offer money, or just keeping me in your prayers I'll carry the gratitude with me.

God bless you, and thank you for reading.