The Damaged - Ignition

The Ignition If you’d handed me a looking glass when I was a child, maybe I would’ve seen the future coming—seen how the fractures in my life would widen until they swallowed me whole. But childhood doesn’t offer that kind of clarity. I grew up inside a familiar dysfunction, a predictable chaos. It sounds strange, I know, but there was comfort in the consistency. I always knew who would hurt me and how. There were no surprises—just a practiced cycle of harm followed by an eerie calm, as if nothing had ever happened. No one wondered what the blows, the insults, the dismissals did to my spirit. No one paused to think about how their brokenness was poisoning mine. That was life inside the gates of normalized chaos. And now here I am—sitting in a gray, sterile room on the fifth floor of Balboa Naval Hospital, surrounded by people the Navy has labelled “severely damaged.” This wasn’t the future I dreamed of. I wanted to serve my country, to be the first woman in my family to wear the uniform with pride. I wanted honor. Purpose. A chance to prove myself. Instead, I’m here—broken, ashamed, stripped of the identity I worked so hard to build. And seven months pregnant on top of it.