it’s the wild wild west inside my head it’s where my demons decide to come out to play they dance with traumatic memories making my fears and insecurities come out to the surface it’s the wild wild west inside my head being insane becomes my personality and aesthetic scaring away any potential love candidates it’s been a long time since I held someone’s hand much less been in someone’s bed It’s the wild wild went inside my head And I wonder when will the demons get tired and leave so maybe one day I’m not so jaded so maybe one day I give someone the chance to take me out on a date
In bridging the gaps of my story that have remained unresolved every story, every poem leads to pieces of healing and closure I’ve been desperately search for since I can remember Whatever my child self , my teenage self couldn’t voice back then My middle age self brings to the surface and while at times it’s difficult and terrifying it’s needed in the process of healing and evolving
take slow breaths and wash your hands you’re fine, you’re okay in fact you’re more than okay you’re fucking wonderful darling this moment of intense grief and anxiety reminds you that you’re human and you can’t always play the role of strong and resilient Queen in front of the world sometimes you have to pause, calm down, breathe and let everything out be vulnerable, be soft this is how you start to feel integrated and whole
Happy 13 years of blogging to ME! This blog is now as old as my youngest child. And just like him, it’s had some growing pains as well. So, just to recap, here’s how it started:
In year 12, I kept the same format and kept telling my story through poetry and so far it’s still working. Year 12 has been somewhat tricky and challenging given some extenuating personal circumstances so I didn’t experiment with the blog the way I had wanted to. However, I will say that I am glad I’m still here telling my story my way. At times when things have looked bleaked for me and I just about wanted to throw in the towel and kind of give up, creating content for this blog has kept me grounded and kept me going through my darkest of days . I also did add a couple of more playlists this year which captures my life the last couple of years:
I’m so very thankful for my followers and anyone who reads my little blog. It means the world to me that a lot of you are all still here following my chaotic storytelling with one day posting about wanting to be a “yung gravy’s groupie” and then a few days later posting about “contemplating life at the convent”. I feel so loved by an online community who finds me entertaining and accepts me for the often chaotic mess that I can be. I’m very grateful for y’all and so humbled by your support. If I wasn’t so medicated, I’d cry tears of gratitude.
Here’s one of my most favorite poems I wrote this year:
With all that being said, I’m not sure what the future looks like for the blog. I know that in 2025, I wanted to rebrand and rename it because I feel like I’ve outgrown the whole “I have BPD, and that’s the most interesting thing about me” storyline. I was going to do it this year, but well, life happened, and I just didn’t have time. With all that being said, I am going to give y’all a peek into what 2024 looked like for me with the 12 days of Patty: Poetry Edition starting on the 20th of this month. Here’s hoping that I continue with this little passion project of mine that’s saved me more times than I can count from falling into the abyss. Here’s manifesting a year of growth and love for the blog, for me, and for anyone who’s reading this post. Also, if y’all have any suggestions for a new name for the blog, let me know. And as always, I am open to collaborations with any content creators out there who feel like my blog would be a good fit for them. Speaking of collaborations, I was most fortunate to be interviewed by my friend J.R Barner for his newsletter and here’s a link to his newsletter for y’all to sign up for it:https://www.jrbarner.com/
and read his newsletter that I highly recommend. So to end this blog post, I’ll leave you with a link to one of my more hopeful poems about why I continue to tell my story.
the future of me is not written yet I have to understand that all I can do is write for her who will still question her existence or why things happened the way they did or what the fuck happened to her I know myself too well it doesn’t matter how far I’m in my self discovery journey I’ll always have questions Its my insatiable curiosity I can only hope that the future me has leaned into self love More than ever before and still understands she and her kids are her top priorities Anyone else is expendable in her little universe of love
It’s time to say goodbye to the notion of love I know I’ve said this more times than I can count but this time, I really mean it lately, I prefer my life of solitude the one where I’m my own hero, my own savior And I don’t wait for anyone to validate my worth it’s so calm, it’s so peaceful it’s actually bullshit the romantic girl in me can’t be cured
I listen to the universe without a hint of defiance I listen carefully and with intention to understand my next blessing and the message is, continue to be vulnerable with the world you’re leaving a blueprint for the next one keep leaning into your craziest and most authentic self there’s someone somewhere who’s paying attention and may be falling in love with you one poem at a time but too scared to make a confession
my family is quiet about their sorrows they put up a mask of strength and resilience its not that they hide their tragedies they talk about it openly but heal with energy from the trees, with their busy and monotonous routines on their farm with the understanding that terrible things happen in their lives and finding resilience in the most extenuating of tragedies in order to move forward
me and my ex drive towards the moon in silence accepting we were always meant to be friends no longer harboring resentment about our failed story of romance Focusing on the long road ahead of us Divorced and raising kids in a world full of oxymorons, in a world that will try to make them fit into unrealistic expectations of what it means to be human me and my ex drive towards the moon in silence putting away our differences and any conflicts And putting our childrens’ best interest first understanding they’re the best thing to come out of the failure of us
my culture is not up for appropriation, my culture is not up for colonizers to profit off from it I can hear my ancestors cursing in their graves haunting white people in their dreams over the atrocity they’re committing it’s blasphemous to use their most sacred ceremony for the business of “healing” why must white people in 2023 continue to steal from the indigenous community? it’s the same white people who forced assimilation on us the same white people who made us give up our religion and traditions the same white people who shamed us for our indigenous traits and the reason I don’t know how to speak quechua today why can’t the white man stay in his lane instead of trying to profit from our culture and the insecurities of others how is it possible that in this day and age these so called enlightened and elitist whites are still fucking over the indigenous community?
silence is no longer an option if I continue to do so, I’d be suffocating the part of me who needs to be heard in order to heal I’d be failing myself, my ancestors, and future generations silence is no longer an option to do so is an act of violence against the writer and poet in me whose purpose is tell my story, my truth
in my island of solitude, I drift further and further away from romantic love when I’ve tried to invite others to my island they always left, and it drove me into hysterics making a catastrophic emotional mess of me so now I float alone on my island of solitude and have erected walls of strength and confidence around it I will not allow another soul to break them down only to later leave on a whim, leaving me in pieces once again
I never asked to be born, much less to be a mosaic of trauma, insanity, and creativity I prayed many times to be normal-to be someone else but the day came when I had to embrace the masterpiece of duality and insanity that I am to understand not everyone will understand me to do the best I am with the deck of cards I’ve been handed
abuela Gaby sends me hints that she wants her story to be told but I can barely remember her she tells me to still try with the bits I have I ask her for patience I want to get it right, I want to do her story justice she tells me, “hemos vivido vidas paralelas” las palabras te vendrán fácilmente pronto” and adds, “es como vas a sanar, es como empiezas a entenderte” and I don’t understand what it means, I don’t understand her interest in me now and how I became a messenger of her story, “ni siquiera pensé que me querías Abuela, you always pulled my hair” and she replies, “es que era duro ver nacer y crecer a alguien que se parecía tanto a mi, me traía demasiados sentimientos encontrados, porque sabía que tu espiritu seria difícil de dominar” and while I try my best to comprehend what she tells me – it’s hard to wrap my head around her message and all of the conflicting stories about her from my family so I’m going to make it a point to find out her story through her letters and pictures- abuela, I want to do your story justice I can’t rush through this yours is one of the most important stories I’ll share in my lifetime
Life on the BPD 