Madeline.

The first name I was ever given

A symbol of my mother’s overbearing need to go her way or no way

Her way had no meaning

It was simply a name she thought was pretty

And pretty was more important than memorializing my dad’s time in the Army

It was always pretty insignificant to me

Other kids had names built from centuries of family history

Syllables carved out of their ancestors’ tongues

But I was just

Pretty.

Madeline was a girl who had been carved to perfection

Out of all her family’s imperfections

Who was built on a history of failure

And told she had no choice but to succeed

As the curses of her ancestors’ tongues tickled her feet

Madeline died at 11

When her older sister decided Earth wasn’t meant for her

And wanted to try out Heaven

Madeline then realized that there was no such thing as pretty

No way to carve happiness out of tragedies 

The name Madeline means tower

And boy, do towers make a big mess when they finally crumble

So at 13, she decided to start going by

Victoria

The second name I was ever given

It represented one of my dad’s many attempts to create a legacy

He could be proud of

He wanted to name me after the V Corps.

An Army corps of which he was pretty high up in

That he was proud to serve

That was higher up on his list of things to protect

Than his first biological kid

I guess I was another corpse he left behind

Another civilian casualty in his War on Parenting

Another plane of the desert he left distraught and broken

Took all I had in the name of the United States

And called it a victory

My mother was another one of his five marital conquests

And I was his first victory

His first legacy

His first biological child

And when he felt like this war was getting boring

Too easy to win battles when his opponent was a child’s feelings

He placed biological warfare in my tear ducts

And basked in the glory of abandoning broken homes

All in the name of patriotism 

I learned very quickly this name was not for me

There’s no pleasure in being on the other side of a US Victory

So I turned fifteen, I began to go by 

Vic

Three letters were all I needed to get my point across

It was short just like me

And that one syllable word lets people know that 

I have things to do and places to be

Vic was a name given to me when I found my chosen family

When I finally chose who I wanted to be

It was the first time I was something more than my parents’ failed legacies

I was me.

Carved out of trauma through years of therapy

My therapist put on her helmet and took a war on depression

Bombing me with meds to balance the chemicals my brain couldn’t handle

She lashed out on my ancestors’ tongues

Whipping them away from the person I was meant to be.

Vic means conqueror.

And boy, am I conquering

Took the rubble from all my broken buildings

And made my own damn legacy

I am not my mother’s sketchy history

Nor am I one of my dad’s victories

I am the book of promises my ancestors hid decades hoping none of my rotten family members would find it

I am the new horizon my nieces and nephews will too when their present is getting too dark

I am the conqueror of my family’s bad luck

I am Vic.

And that’s enough.