my uncle’s death has awakened something in me and while I think he was mostly good and don’t judge him I’m sad he didn’t live his life authentically I’m sad he couldn’t bring himself to leave his loveless marriage I’m sad he hurt his second wife by cheating on her with the first I’m sad that for more than half a century he was deeply in love with a woman he could never have I wonder what would have happened if my uncle made it to therapy and tamed his demons I wonder if eventually he could’ve found some happiness and love in his life or perhaps I’m wrong and he was content with the mess he was inside
under a tequila sunrise in L.A,he breaks apart once again she committed the ultimate act of treason against him and he couldn’t forgive her again this time he couldn’t put a bandaid of his love to make it all better this time he had a son to think about this time his family would disown him if he stayed with her so he packed up her stuff, put the boxes and suitcases of her belongings outside changed the locks and filed for divorce even as he broke inside, he held all of his emotions in and even though he considered her the grand love of his life he had to cut all ties with her this time she hadn’t just broken law of not just decency and morality with her actions this time her horrid actions made her beyond redemption this time she had gone too far
the more I disconnected from motherhood and compartmentalize my life the more damage I did to myself and others taking accountability and bonding with my children is necessary for healing
a moment of serendipity happened when we ran into each other Christmas shopping You struck up a conversation and helped me with my bags and I told you about my plans for higher education and you said you wanted to help me and got my phone number we didn’t know at the time, one day we’d form a family get married and divorced within a span of twenty years isn’t life, so, so crazy? How ten minutes of conversation ended up leading to the beginning of one of my most important stories?
sometimes I wish you were here- so you could share your wisdom, so you could explain your truth I followed in your footsteps of being a teenage mom And it would have ripped me apart to have abandoned my son so I’m wondering how you did it- were you full of guilt or was it because of your lack of options how did you survive being away from your child and go on with your life as if he was an afterthought Perhaps I’m judging you harshly and I don’t understand the whole story I just want it to make sense
is it the gods of bpd and pmdd or the men in my life with 3 of swords energy making me extra hateful and moody today are my standards too high because I’m obsessed with conan gray, joji, and yung gravy and none of the men in my life seem to hold a flicker of a flame to the Gods of music I worship is is the gods of bpd and pmdd or my chronic pain making me a moody bitch today or is it me not being selective enough with who I’m allowing into my inner circle and allowing clowns to pollute my energy because lately my poetry isn’t hitting like it used to or maybe I just need to uninstall all of my social media apps, turn off my phone for a few days, and read books and listen to my vinyls to reset and recharge
And just when I think I have it all figured out– Everything falls apart again the universe has a funny way of humbling me just when I think I finally have it together When does it get easier? Am I being punished for not conforming to society’s expectations of me? Should I be sorry for not wanting to just be a wife and mother? Will I ever be free of society’s shackles thrusted upon me?
I tell my son I’m proud of you and he’s like why, because I’m alive I nervously laugh even though my heart aches over what he said Why does America like to play Russian roulette with its children Why can’t I have a normal conversation with my kid over too much screen time and reminding him to brush his teeth instead of conversation over what he should do in a mass shooting
me in September of 2022 before boarding a plane to Lima
my mother tells me to dress modestly no loud lipstick, short skirts,tight or revealing clothing I represent my family and currency in my country is prestige and social status- so I need to dress like the hija del ingeniero- it’s the remnants my parents hold on to from their former lives so I’ll put on my mask of señora de la sociedad pretend I care about trivial things mask my true identity of being a socialist, a feminist, and a crazy bitch It’s the least I can do for the people who sacrificed themselves for a better life for me
this prodigal daughter got accidental bangs in Lima
the prodigal daughter returns to a homeland that she barely remembers it’s been 32 years since she stepped foot on Peruvian soil and this feeling is unworldly-indescribable-unimaginable she was a child when she left never quite understanding the whys or hows of her family’s immigration journey in her adopted homeland, she suffered through hardships and failures but the ancestors always protected her from drowning in the immense waves of chaos and disasters, she ended up being tossed in and she’ll go to their graves and pay reverence to them for shielding her from danger the prodigal daughter returns, and she feels nostalgia rushing into her body and mind she is finally where she belongs
Mae West and Liz Taylor knew how to take up space in a man’s world and that was the problem with them it intimidated the fuck out of the men who worked with them, who loved them so they were ostracized, made to be cautionary tales the minute they got out of line so much beauty partnered with intelligence made them a target in a patriarchal society that like their women cute and mute like the marionettes they can pull strings on
these must be the new dark age of my life where I can’t find my life’s purpose, where I cry because I don’t think I’ll ever be loved where the sleeping pills in my drawers are tempting me to end my misery
with this new strain of COVID, all of my cell are mutating and regenerating and making be at a standstill where I have time to sit and think about what I really want, about whether or not I’m doing enough to live a life worth living or if I’m just existing in a routine of monotony that leads nowhere in a routine I’ve deluded myself into calling healthy but really it’s far from it
to see my american dream I just need to step into my backyard and look at my holy trinity who call me mom they’re the ones I try to better myself for they’re the one who make my immigrant existence worth living for they’re my american dream wrapped up in burps, dark humor and love
So I wrote this essay a couple of years ago as I was reflecting about the end of my marriage:
As my eight year marriage comes to its inevitable end, I’ve been rewatching the series Mad Men. When I first watched the series, I admired Joan and Peggy for being strong female characters in the show but I always thought there was something about Betty Draper that I could relate to. It’s strange to think about considering she’s a white upper class sixties housewife in New York and I’m a working class millennial immigrant Latina woman in Georgia. It’s hard to grasp that there would be any similarities between but there are many indeed.
Betty and Don at Fancy Event
(Me and Hubs at my brother’s wedding reception)
Betty feels trapped in her suburban idyllic existence and often times feels frustrated; I’ve also felt this way throughout the past fifteen years. Betty wonders if there is more to life than what she is living which is rearing children and being a good wife; I’ve constantly wondered the same thing except that I have the added burden of working.
Don, Betty’s husband acts like she should be happy with her life and gets mad at her when she shows real emotion, kind of accuses her of being crazy and sends her to a psychiatrist that he secretly talks to about her sessions without her consent and knowledge. My husband never went so far but for most our relationship he did accuse me of over reacting and/or accuse me of being crazy if I got “emotional” about something and/or brought up needs that weren’t being met in our relationship. It always felt that I was expecting too much out of our relationship for wanting normal things in a relationship. My husband has also acted like I should settle for what the little he can give me in terms of companionship and be happy with that since he was. For a long time, I felt that maybe I could and should settle for this but settling made me miserable for several years.
Don also kind of stopped investing time and energy into his marriage. He took Betty for granted because they were married with two children and hid behind his work and his many dalliances. My husband was never one to make time for us or continue to woo me in any sense after we started living together. Instead, he hid behind the raising of our children and the fact that he was always tired. He could never spontaneously compliment me and I was always either too fat or almost too skinny for him. Betty overlooked Don’s lack of affection for several years in the same way I overlooked my husband’s. I feel that this had to do with how women are conditioned to be polite and swallow their emotions because again–we’ll be accused of being crazy and/or hysterical.
The beginning of the end of Betty and Don’s marriage started when Betty eventually gets fed up after having one of Don’s affairs rub in her face and throws Don out but later they get back together because she finds out she’s pregnant with their third child. Don does try to be a somewhat better husband but eventually goes back to his philandering ways. There have been a few times throughout our relationship that I did try to break up with my husband but because he always apologized and said he would change, I always took him at his word and wanted to believe he would change. We even planned our third child and got married shortly after getting pregnant. I think I subconsciously did this because I thought a baby and a marriage would be the band aids that would fix “us”.
Betty eventually gets tired of Don’s lack of effort and also his lies and eventually asks for a divorce, she tells him something like, “I don’t feel anything when I kiss you”; it seems that this was when she knew that it was over for her and Don. For me, it took me a couple of years to be firm in my decision to divorce my husband. I think that I finally realized that there was no way I could continue the façade of our marriage when I realized that I no longer cared that he didn’t notice me or felt anything remotely like romantic love when I kissed him. It took him a while to understand why I wanted a divorce since he was happy with “us” and his main concerns were, “what about the taxes?” or “what about the kids?”. But like Don, he eventually agreed to it and said that he wouldn’t fight me about it. It’s kind of eerie that women like myself can still relate to a sixties housewife when it comes to relationships, marriages, and the stigma of divorce. I’m sure that people wonder why I would stay in a stagnant and awful relationship/marriage; that’s simple; I loved my husband. I thought that loving him meant that I had to settle for a marriage devoid of any real affection. I thought that the love I felt for him would be enough to change him one day.
Life on the BPD 