in first grade, I learned to be ashamed and embarrassed of who I was, and where I came from maybe the nuns were ignorant of the damage they were doing and since that time I’ve had identity issues for years, i gave up my language and my heritage in order to fit in- to have proximity to being an American but all it did was fuck up my identity and while I have forgiven the nuns for the damage done I have a hard time finding compassion for myself I have a hard time letting go the guilt For the pain I caused my family I have a hard time understanding I was just a kid desperately trying to fit in, to belong, to be accepted to conform of the standards of being American society fed me
The scared and anxious little girl and the insecure and clingy woman tug at me- I try to avoid them and lock them up in a box, but it never happens that way They refuse to go away when a trigger of trauma visits me And once again, I am lost in the alter ego I made up to protect myself the one who shows up in confidence and screams through her poetry but if I want to reach integration I need to allow the little girl and the insecure woman space to reside within me and honor them with powerful words of praise because they, too, were part of my strength and resilience through the many traumas It may feel painful at times-but for me to get to become a whole person and reach emotional maturity – I need to walk hand in hand with the ones who made me the powerful and confident woman I currently am
I’ll still joke while I’m miserable-I’m a whole different kind of vibe
When I start to lose myself, death calls out to me like a potential lover it whispers my name and invades my thoughts it shows me the many ways to chase it Drive as fast as you can and lose control(no one has to know) Accidentally take too many of your prescription meds (they’ll say you weren’t feeling well that day) or go for a dramatic effect and cut your wrists with your razor from work (oops you mistook your skin for a box) Death tries to tempt me in many ways and I count to 10 and scream this time you won’t win
I’d love to ride a motorcycle for the first time in Oxapampa, Peru. It’s something that used to seem so scary to me but when I saw whole families riding motorcycles in Oxapampa in April on this year, I thought I want to do that. I’m sure I can make this happen on my next trip there.
I no longer believe in always and forever because everyone I’ve loved has always left Or I’ve stopped loving them always and forever is a fairytale programmed into me when I was a young girl It made me believe in the impossible dreams of true love and soul mates the only thing love has ever brought me has been anger, sorrow, and self destruction so my dreams of always and forever have burned to ashes I bury in my poetry
Me and my teenage son fight and I regret it the next day I’ve watched too many people mourn their sons this year I’ve felt the screams of those close to me asking God why he took their babies too young Young men who will never be fathers, Young men who will never see their children grow up into rebellious and sassy teens and while I understand conflicts happens between parent and child I also know we’re both on borrowed time and I don’t want our angry words to be the last exchange between us if its his or my last day today
Maybe it’s lack of sex or lack of sleep but I must declare- Christopher Columbus is a piece of shit Maybe it’s my own insecurities or maybe it’s a projection but I must say you can get away with murder if you’re a white male Maybe it’s the BPD and the depression But I must scream FUCK WHITE SUPREMACY
cierro los ojos y un maremoto de nostalgia viene hacia mi y corro y corro y corro pero me alcanza que me ahogo y parte de mi quisiera regresar a mi pasado contigo cuando era feliz y casi, casi te mando un mensaje preguntándote Como estas? Si todavÃa sigues con ella? Si, por fin encontraste la felicidad que tanto anhelabas? pero, mi abuela interviene y me sacude, abro mis ojos y regreso a mi presente y encuentro mi razón y susurro al universo que te deseo lo mejor pero acepto que lo nuestro cuento de amor es algo definitivamente acabado como los cuentos de hadas que papi me contaba cuando era niña
the nostalgia of Lima sets in and I ache for the sights, sounds, and warmth of my homeland- even though it’s been a few days I want to go back already I don’t feel myself fully in American my body’s here but my spirit was left in lima maybe because the few memories I have of Lima are happy and mostly pure from trauma whereas in America it’s been tragedy after tragedy disappointment after disappointment and while I’ve planted my roots here with my children my spirit now resides somewhere in Lima
running in the sun warms my body, warms my thoughts it invokes my need to worship it like my ancestors before the colonizers declared it wrong and pagan but they couldn’t erase my blood and my DNA and my deep connection to the Sun, my ancestral GOD Always bringing me to the surface of gratitude and love
It’s been 2 years since my BPD diagnosis and some things have changed, some things have remained the same. I still have the same two jobs and still adhere to my strict routine of consistency and routine with exercise, writing, and therapy. I’m still on the same meds for my anxiety and depression. All of that has helped with my continued progress and growth. And I still continue to suffer from major depressive episodes but it’s not as bad as it used to be and here’s a blog I wrote about it recently:
What has changed overall has been me. I remember last year writing about how I was living an authentic life and while that was mostly true, there was still something I had to take care of to make this true, my divorce and telling my youngest son about it. I went back to therapy to navigate these big feelings in actually starting the process and following through and telling my youngest son about it. I’m glad to report, I filed for divorce a couple of months ago and told my son who took it better than I expected. After this, I felt like this major burden of guilt and grief has been lifted off from me. It was hard, really hard to have lied about this part of my life for the past four years to my son and to other family members. Three of those years, I felt like I was leading a double life as I had to be careful not to let one part of my life bleed into the other. It was awful and reflecting back on this, I think this was a major trigger for my mental health breakdown in the summer of 2021. Feeling guilt and shame with the immensity of emotions that comes with BPD is horrible and something I would never wish on my worst enemy.
me and my youngest son on his birthday
Another major thing that happened in year 2 is that I took two trips to my homeland, Peru. The first one was in September of 2022 and the second one was in March of this year. Both times I went, it was amazing and the first trip helped me reconnect with my roots and find a sense of identity I had been searching for all of this time. I hadn’t been back since I was 9 so it had been 32 years since I had been home. It was strange, glorious, amazing and overwhelming at the same time. It felt like I finally found a piece within me that had been missing all of this time.
Finally home after 32 years -September of 2022
The second trip was even better because I took my oldest son who hadn’t been on a plane since he was an infant and we got to visit my dad’s hometown of Oxapampa. I think I’m still processing that trip because it was so special and meaningful to take my son to Peru and show him his and my roots. I’m honestly still processing both trips and I’ll write about both of them later. What I can say is that both trips helped in my healing and recovery process from my BPD symptoms. Before, I was still floundering when it came to trying to establish a stable identity. That changed radically after I came back from my first trip.
me and my oldest son in Oxapampa, Peru in April of this year-the beer in Oxapampa is the BEST EVER-anything else is MID
