Sept of 1986-me blowing out a candle right before me and my family started our immigration journey-my aunt had a goodbye party for us
When I was little, I was often lost in daydreams about America It was beautiful and blue I pictured a celestial and warm ocean where the waves tenderly touch my toes I was taught it was a better existence than the one we were living in but no one told me that dreams sometimes don’t come true and the reality of America was filled with a hardness that even 35 years later I’m still processing indentured servitude, exploitation, depression, addiction,racism, mental illness were just a few side effects of going for the American dream
feeling my otherness feels like a full time job not belonging to here or there constantly in limbo wondering “where is my home? they hate me here, they hate me there I don’t belong anywhere but I remain here it’s the only home I’ve ever known America home of the free, home of the brave but never my HOME!
Feeling hopeless in a cesspool of a world That will never accept you -for your skin color -for your accent -for your nationality -for your religion or lack of one -for your independent thought Anything that doesn’t fit the image of white and Christian is blasphemous To be an “other” is to carry the weight of racism, discrimination, xenophobia All the phobias on your already burdened shoulders So they try to kill us with actual guns Or metaphorical ones of insults,rejections or looks of disgust.
rose gold cross ripped from her neck handcuffs cutting into her smalls wrists mami and papi can’t explain why they’re nowhere to be found she thought officers were supposed to be good people but they hurl insults at her and call her a criminal and at 10 she can hardly grasped the severity of the situation they tell her over and over again “we’re taking you back to where you came from” and it’s beyond her compression because her birth certificate says Illinois because America is the only home she’s ever known
Diseased hip evicted, shiny aluminum to replace it 6 inch scar needed to better my life 80 minutes of the Drs doing their magic Cutting into me and making me whole a recovery period of 6 weeks or so they say third time trying to fix my hip hopefully the third time is a charm all of this just for being born broken, Damaged and different
everyone admires my strength and resilience and all I dream about is one day not being defined by everything I’ve had to overcome, of ne day not being called resilient and being seen as more than the turmoil I’ve had to endure and over come
They’re typically blond and white and think they’re entitled to every fucking thing they always want to speak to the manager their names sound like Karen and Susan they’ll pretend to have loads of empathy when what they really have is tons of judgment they’ll hide behind a pseudo wokeness when underneath they’re racist as fuck they complain about the unfairness of their lives when their lives are the definition of privilege and luxury they’ll shove their higher education in your face when their ignorance shows in their actions they supposedly live, laugh, and love when they really hate, judge, and shame their names sound like karen and Susan
So I had planned on writing this blog post early this month around mid December for my blogging anniversary but life and depression got in the way along with the most chaotic holiday season. I remember last year, I had all of these big plans to rebrand myself into something that has to do less with my mental illness and more to do with who I am as a writer and storyteller but it didn’t happen and tbh, I don’t when and if it will. In fact, I didn’t know that the payment on this website was up for renewal until the morning it happened and oh, boy, was that a bit of a surprise to my bank account but I took it as a sign to keep going with this thing however I can. So for now, it will remain with the same name, same storytelling format and same brand of crazy. I hope to go back to more poetry reviews and more blog posts about mental health and writing but we’ll see. I am proud of myself for keeping this blog going and that I have done this for 14 years and I’ve done it consistently for the past 4 years. Here’s the update from last year.
I think one reason, I keep this thing going is because this blog and writing in general grounds me in a way nothing can when the world feels beyond chaotic and I feel like the earth is going to swallow me whole that makes me want to give up. This year has been good in many ways and I’ll get to that part in a bit but I have to be honest for a bit about how bad my mental health got. It got to a rock bottom that I haven’t been in years. There were many factors that contributed to this and just extenuating life circumstances and kept dog piling on and on until my brain broke for a bit . Let’s also take into account that I am working class Latina immigrant living in America who’s constantly living in a state of hypervigilance worried for my family’s safety. Also, as the main provider of my household, I feel all of the pressure on top of me to mask, mask, mask even as I’m breaking. Like my mom would say, “a mal rato, buena cara” which translates to “put on a brave face for a bad time” or something like that. I try my best to do this mostly for other people’s benefit because duh, no one wants to be around a depressed bitch cause it’s just such a buzzkill. And while, yes, I could seek out help such as therapy or get better meds;however, lack of financial resources and time prevents me from doing this. Also, lately, I question whether that’s needed since I feel like I’ve even been able to dig myself out of my rock bottoms of depression with the coping skills already acquired. As of now, I’m okay for the most part, my life isn’t bad; it just that my brain chemistry is a little fucked at times. I just wanted to write a bit about my great depression of 2025 because I’ve always been honest and candid about my mental health in this blog. It’s part of my story this year that can’t be ignored especially when I plan blog content for November and December of this year. Below is a video of me looking ugly and depressed in November talking about how I got comfort from couch rotting while watching Mexican Classic Movies as I planned blog content for April:
Now, that we’ve talked about the hard part of this year; let’s move on the good and joyous things that have happened in my life. I got hip surgery in late January of last year and it’s been life changing not to live with chronic hip and knee pain. My three kids are thriving and doing good. My parents moved closer to me and they’re now 10 minutes away which is a godsend. I decided to submit to Magazines and literary journals and I’ve been published more than a few times. Here’s a link to my publications :
This has been a part of my dream come true for me that’s filled me with a sense of accomplishment and contentment. I’ll add that I have encountered way more than my fair share of rejections and sometimes this is disheartening but I’m too stubborn a bitch to give up so I keep submitting. In June, I was the featured poet at Word of Mouth, a monthly poetry open mic event I’ve been going to since 2016. This is something I manifested last December in a virtual writing workshop. It’s still wild to me that it happened. Also ,I met someone in April through a dating app and I’ve been dating him. It’s been nice and a bit complicated at times because well, I’m still a bit of a hot mess when it comes to relationships. I won’t say much except that it has inspired all types of poetry. So, while, yes my mental health has been a dumpster fire at times; good things still happened to me this year .
me on 1/1/2026 with my ponytail in the wind
Anyways, here is where I thank my followers and anyone who has followed my brand of crazy for years. This is incredibly encouraging to me and I am beyond humbled anytime I get a like, a comment, and a new follower. When I started blogging consistently 4 years ago cause I was a sad, enraged, jealous, vindictive, heartbroken and insane bitch with a story to tell; I’d never imagine anyone would like my brand of crazy or resonate with it . I’d never imagined that something simple like this blog would mold me into the writer and woman I wanted to be and 4 years later, I’d sitting here tons better than where I started. I want to add that I’m also on other social media platforms and here’s my page for that and also, I’m always open to collaborations or featuring your poems, your stories, your articles on my blog :
I want to find my way to forgiveness instead I’m covered in hate I want to find my way to kindness instead of being stuck in this cage of anger and rage I want true radical acceptance instead of being a victim to my black and white thinking I want to be full of Zen Instead of being full of insecurity I want a stable sense of identity instead of this constant confusion about who I am I want to write about happiness and joy instead of filling up my pages with petty pouts
I had fallen in love with brown and hazel eyes Before the disaster with blue eyes walked into my life Those blue eyes would make me believe in love again Those blue eyes would be the first to make me want to die of shame and guilt and cause more trauma than he ever intended Then again, I was only twenty and there were a dozen years between us he should have known better than to fuck with a girl who was barely a woman but carnal desire ruled both him and I And we were tricked thinking it was love but we were completely wrong and he got to walk away without any consequences While I was slut shamed and had to endure the trauma
I wish I could forgive everyone who did me harm- but something in me won’t allow me too maybe it’s unprocessed trauma that still wants to speak- about every single atrocity I’ve experienced at the hands of those who said they care for me and love me I really wish I was better than this- constantly holding onto these old grudges but something in me still needs to heal so I can stop obsessing about revenge
outgrowing old patterns is like I’m shedding my skin And new healthy skin is replacing it at times I want to scream and feel like I’m dying and other times I’m fine Am I finally close to recovery from BPD?
Life on the BPD 