From Shadows to Sanctuary | The Resilient Journey of "Priscilla 'God's Lil Chica' Angel"

I stood on the edge of a bridge, the chilling wind whispering doubts into my ear, contemplating the unthinkable. The abyss below felt like a dark promise of relief, a way to escape the crushing weight of despair that had become my constant companion. But just as I teetered on the brink of that final decision, my children's faces flashed before me—innocent, trusting, and full of love. Their smiles pierced through the darkness, reminding me of the unbearable pain of a motherless childhood that I had endured.

My name is Priscilla Ruiz, but you can call me Gods_Lil_Chica. My story begins in the heart of Kansas City, Kansas, where the early years of my life were a turbulent storm, marked by the chaos of foster care. My mother, caught in the whirlwind of a fast life, was barely a shadow in my world. All I had was my sister, Serrina. Together, we were a fierce duo, navigating a world that seemed determined to tear us apart. When I was just four and she was five, the state threatened to split us up. But my Mimi and Papa, our steadfast guardians, rose to the occasion, deciding to adopt us and becoming my heroes in a time of darkness.

Life improved under their care, yet my mother’s struggles loomed large, keeping her distant from us. It wasn't until we were 11 and 12 that we began to see her more often. She was trying to mend her life, and as long as she was sober, we were allowed to reconnect. But just as hope began to bloom, tragedy struck.

At the age of 13, our world shattered when we received the harrowing news: my mother, Vicky Lynn Ernst, had been found murdered in her home. That moment marked the beginning of my descent into darkness.  At 17, I became pregnant and gave birth to my son at 18. The relationship with his father was a toxic whirlwind, and by 20, I had welcomed my daughter, only to give birth to another girl at 22. The cycle of abuse tightened its grip, and life became a terrifying abyss. I often thought of ending it all, haunted by the memory of growing up without a mother.

In 2009, I reached my breaking point. After years of enduring abuse, I finally called the police, hoping for freedom. But soon after, in a moment of reckless abandon, I drove under the influence, leading to a crash that injured my son. I was arrested, and my children were placed with their paternal grandparents. Alone and imprisoned by despair, I stood on the edge of a bridge, contemplating suicide. But every time I considered taking that step, my children's faces flashed in my mind, reminding me of the pain of a motherless childhood.

To numb the sorrow that cut so deep, I turned to methamphetamine. In 2015, while lost in a haze at a dope house, an unexpected call shattered my world once more. The cold case of my mother's murder had finally broken wide open. Anger towards God consumed me, but I prayed for answers, desperate for any sign of hope. It came unexpectedly when I was arrested for jaywalking, leading me to solitary confinement. The only book I was given was a Bible. In a moment of desperation, I begged God for a sign, and when I opened the book, I landed on 2 Corinthians 13. The words spoke directly to my soul, igniting a flicker of hope in my heart.

After my release on a signature bond, I found myself adrift in a harsh reality—homeless and vulnerable, I returned to a dope house that loomed like a dark specter from my past. Overwhelmed by fear and paranoia, I felt like a ghost wandering through a world filled with shadows, each corner whispering reminders of the chaos and pain I desperately wanted to escape. Life had become a relentless cycle of despair, and the grip of addiction tugged at me, threatening to pull me under once more.

But in 2018, a spark ignited within me. I reached a critical breaking point and declared, "Enough is enough." With a fierce determination, I sought help and discovered Hope City, a sanctuary where the possibility of healing began to take root. Surrounded by a supportive community, I slowly began to reclaim the pieces of my shattered life. It was here that I met Melissa Smith, a radiant soul whose friendship became my lifeline. She stood by me as I navigated the murky waters of my legal troubles, providing unwavering support and guidance when I needed it most.

Then came the news that shattered my world once again in 2020: my beloved sister, Serrina, was found unresponsive. The loss hit me like a thunderclap, leaving me utterly broken and alone. She was not just my sister; she was a mother of five, and her absence felt like an insurmountable void in my heart. In the aftermath of her death, I knew I had to escape the confines of the city—a desperate search for clarity amidst the storm of grief. But I was resolute; I would not relapse.

After a brief time away, I returned, determined to honor Serrina's memory by building a better life for her children and myself. Within a week, I found a new home—one that promised safety and stability. It was a sanctuary where I could create a loving environment for my children, breaking the cycle of pain that had haunted our family for far too long. With each step forward, I embraced the journey of healing, not just for myself, but for Serrina's children, who deserved a future filled with hope and love.

Poetry and music had always been our shared passion, but after Serrina's death, I stopped writing entirely, convinced my love for it had died with her. That was until my friend Rachel reignited the spark within me. We decided to transform my poetry into music. My first single, a heartfelt tribute to my sister titled "I Will Never Forget You," was released on September 13, 2024, and is now available on all streaming platforms. I’m currently working on two more songs, "Angels" and "Joy."

This journey has been anything but easy, but I’ve learned that it’s never too late to dream big. Through the pain, the loss, and the struggle, I’ve found my voice, and I’m ready to share my story with the world.

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