I was fourteen years old, when I realized that my life's purpose was to sit back in the sidelines as a bystander, and watch as every other girl my age was experiencing new things. My oldest sister, Caroline, had lost her virginity to an older man, even my younger sister, Beth, had spent most of her time with her very first crush.

Looking in the mirror, was a death wish for me. I was so ashamed, so ashamed of what I had become. As a young girl, I was relatively healthy, always on my pretty pink bicycle whenever I got the chance.

But after my oldest brother had gotten arrested, and was tossed into prison for nine years or so, I began to gain a large sum of weight.

My siblings were all blind to it—but I wasn't. I remember, one morning, I had been trying my absolute best to button myself into my favorite pair of dark blue jeans, and when spending thirty minutes or so trying to pull them up my thigh, I realized that they just weren't going to fit.

The pressures of freshman year, and my brother being arrested was too much. My mother was devastated everyday, my brother, Nick, never even left their used being shared bedroom.

And me, I couldn't stop eating.

I'd sit alone in my sister, Caroline, and I's shared bedroom, at the foot of my bed, pounds of snacks and previously frozen foods surrounding me, as I sat, and moped.

Whenever my clothes didn't fit, I began to stuff myself into more and more sweatpants and sweatshirts, careful not to let my massive weight gain become prominent to anyone else around me.

My mother took weeks to become aware of this, her not being able to fully notice until her devastation had deteriorated for the time being.

One Sunday morning, while me, and the rest of my family had been getting dressed, and getting ready for an annual Sunday morning. Which consisted of pancakes and orange juice for breakfast, made by Nick, and church, serviced by reverend Lake.

But as I was trying my best to stuff myself into one of my old Sunday church dresses, I took one look down at the size, and began to let out a small cry.

The label, on that baby blue, ruffled short-length dress, I had taken advantage of before, read size 4. I sobbed into my hand as I realized that as of that moment, I was nowhere near a size 4.

I remember hearing my mothers familiar footsteps neighbor my bedroom, as she must have heard my crying from a mile away—in other words, from the downstairs living space.

She sat herself on the foot of my bedding beside me, as she analyzed the small and tight dress that had once fit me so perfectly. She pulled me into her side, and gave me a soft kiss at my forehead, reaching out for my trembling fingertips.

"I'm so, so sorry I haven't been there for you, my love. It's just—with Matthew being arrested, and me trying to keep up with Cole's medication, and Nick's emotions. I kind of lost sight of my beautiful, little girl who has been so lovely throughout all of this." My mother's words sat just beneath my heart, where my previous thoughts lingered.

"And so," she continued on, "we can burn all of your old clothes in you want to, alright?" This part had made me laugh. Something that seemed so foreign, then.

"And after church, you and I will drop everyone off here at home, then we'll head over to the mall, and shop for some rather expensive clothes, that will fit you better, and make you feel better." She had caressed my cheek after this, while I cried softly, and was thankful that she didn't care how much I weighed or if I needed new clothes.

She was just there.

As was one of my very first boyfriends. Growing up, I had always been told to think with my head, not my heart—but while meeting Jorge Fuentes, all rational thoughts had left my mind, and body, it had seemed.

Jorge and I had done everything together, from taking long walks on the beech, to spending the night on the side of Melton rd., where I would eventually have my very first time, in the back of Jorge's pick-up truck.

By this time, I had already become content with my weight, and was convinced that no matter what I weighed, or what size pants I wore, I was beautiful, and Jorge was the one who had made me realize this.

We were happy. He was my first everything, and I think he had taken great pleasure in that, considering the fact that I was his first, too. We would tell each other that we would stay together forever. Until inevitably, his mother announced that they would be moving back to Yuma, Arizona, where Jorge was originally from.

As a sixteen-year-old girl, who had never been heart-broken before, I was devastated. Although, at the time, I hadn't realized what great things lied beyond the four walls of New York.

Jorge and I had said our goodbyes, outside of his mother's minivan, as she had told him in Spanish, to get into the car, because they were on a tight schedule. But truth be told, I don't think she ever liked me.

Maybe it had something to do with my race, or maybe it didn't. It just always seemed as though, no matter how happy I was with someone or somewhere, things seemed to fall apart one way or another.

And breaking up with Jorge, due to distance, was one of the very first examples of this.

After I had graduated high school, those same demons never left, so, I had learned to cope with them. While living in a dorm room, with someone who had been sleeping with the entire student body, it seemed like, I had found more things to do outside of myself.

One night, while I had been venturing downtown for a coffee house or a rather quiet bar, I came across a vacant-seeming building with a sign out front labeled, Ralph's, Open 24 hrs—we have Wi-Fi.

I had smiled to myself, hiked up my sweater a bit more, so that nobody, or rather, no attractive men, would see any of my love handles, or stretch marks, whenever I sat.

As I pushed the door open, into that same bar, that still to this day, brings back so many memories, I hadn't even known that would have been created. I had looked around for a while, and sighed to myself, thinking that it was too good to be true, whenever not seeing anyone.

That was, until, a head had popped up from behind the counter, that held what seemed like tons and tons of liquor that I had never seen before, let alone tried.

The man that had popped out from behind the counter, analyzed me for a few seconds, before, a sarcastic smirk made its way onto his lips, that I would later fall in love with, along with his horrible personality, that had a tendency to make me weak in the knees.

As I took a seat at the stool before him, on the opposite side of the counter, he had chuckled into his hand, and set aside the rag he had been cleaning the counter with.

I had been rather offended at him thinking that me, sitting in the stool before him, in his bar, was seemingly hilarious. "Excuse me? Is something funny?"

Ralph had smirked even wider, and shook his head slightly. "No, sorry, you just seem a little too—vanilla, for a bar, don't you think?"

I had looked down at my sweater, that had a built in collar at the neck, and an off-white coloring all around the primes of it. Then, to the buttons at my chest, up to my neck, that had been buttoned all the way up.

"Um, no. I am just a regular freshman at NYU, who would like two shots of tequila, please." My words had been bitter, but not as bitter as the liquor that was to come.

After that night, I had become a regular at Ralph's bar, and every night, I'd back in an even more vanilla outfit, than any of the previous nights. And every time I would walk in, Ralph would round himself over to me, and hand me a custom bottle of water.

While it was nearing the summer before my sophomore year at NYU, I had been surprised by a kiss and that was the ultimate start of the very first and only love that I'd have—that consumed all of my being. And made it nearly impossible to breath whenever around him.

Our nights at the bar had been alike dates, until we finally agreed to have dinner somewhere. Ralph had convinced me, that it would be someplace nice, until I had found out that we would having dinner at his apartment, which was all the way in Williamsburg.

The duration of our dinner was where I would find out where he was born, if he was only child, and if he wanted to get married someday.

He had only smiled at the last question. "I'm from North Dakota, but moved here when I was twenty-three, to open up the bar. I have two older sisters who still live in North Dakota. And yes, I want to get married someday."

After that date, my feelings for Ralph had intensified and soon, I was bringing him home to meet my mother, and every single one of my siblings.

Ralph had been surprised, to say the least, while meeting all of my siblings, but while meeting Cole, it was safe to say that they began brewing an intense bromance since that faithful day.

I was a senior, at NYU, when Ralph had proposed to me, in that same spot that we had met. I had cried tears of joy, and was reminded why I even fell in love with Ralph in the first place.

He was rough around the edges, and sometimes hard to get through to, but I had found a way in, and he had made it prominent to me, that he wasn't letting me back out.

We didn't marry until I graduated from NYU, with a degree in education, and a job waiting for me in Albany. The ceremony was small, yet graceful, as I walked down the aisle with my mother on my arm.

After a few months, of squatting in cheap apartments, saving up every free penny we had to buy a home that had caught our eye, in a good neighborhood, with a good school down the street.

After we had saved enough, the home was finally ours, and I had cried for probably the millionth time in one lifetime.

A week later, Ralph had found a hungry, and skinny German Shepherd on the side of the road, with no collar, and who seemed like he hadn't eaten anything in weeks.

So, we hauled him into Ralph's car, and labeled our very first baby. Even today, the thought is enough to make the both of laugh.

And sure, having kids was definitely on our bucket list, but for the time time being, I was completely content with it just being me, Ralph, and Spike.