I probably just got done crying right before this pic was taken
In my car-I scream, sing, write, and cry I dissociate to my radio-blasting out Conan Gray I can be as crazy I as want to be- without the fear of being judged or talked about the seat is molded to my petite frame perfect for meditation or for allowing myself to fall into my insanity makes videos about how beautiful life is- or how I no longer want to participate in it my car used to feed into my deepest fears and insecurities but now I worship it if it wasn’t for this sacred space away from my office and home I don’t know how I would cope when the intensity of my thoughts knock on my mind’s door
our love dream has turned into a nightmare of stagnancy and routine I walk carefully on eggshells to not disturb your peace so you don’t leave- Is this how love is supposed to be? More questions than answers, more confusion than clarity More tears than laughter- I want to stay for the sake of our family but I’m starting to burn with resentment and anger
fragments of who I was weave in and out of my prose and poetry- I keep trying to honor the old me when she comes back with my insecurities and reminds me of how I constantly screw up anything resembling love I no longer shame her or call her the worst version of me- she was just trying to navigate life not understanding she was an undiagnosed hurricane of emotions- that couldn’t control or manage She didn’t go to therapy or know about DBT And she’s still full of grief for the life she couldn’t live- so she keeps on showing up trying to shake up my newfound confidence and power it’s her version of jealousy, and I walk with her for a while Console her, and let her know how because of her I did the work, and now she can feel happiness and joy through me I will forever be grateful to her and pay tribute to her when I tell her story
my transformation and rebirth meant giving voice to my shadow who’s vindictive, petty, and mean I’ve never really allowed her to breathe much less be seen and now she’s almost everywhere- taking space in uncomfortable spaces learning she’s not bad- she just needed attention and to feel valued I’ve finally accepted she’s an important part of me who needs to be seen
me and the evil Christmas Tree invading my writing space
As I sit here squished in my writing space because the damn Christmas tree is taking up the other side of the room, I still feel incredibly blessed and fortunate that I’m writing this post about how the 11th year of blogging was. To still be here telling my story though this platform with the most incredible followers is a true blessing. To the many people who have been supportive of me as I vomit out some of the cringiest and craziest shit, y’all are the real MVPs. I feel so encouraged and loved by every like or comment. I would say that it was a low key year because I didn’t experiment as much as I wanted to. What I did do is tell my story from January of 2022 through December of 2022 with my poetry along with my translated poems from my early writing days. I’ve translated a total of 215 pages of poetry from 1997 to 2004. It’s been a challenge for sure but it was important for me to take on this project because it allows me to reconnect with my first language in a creative way. Also, my main purpose for taking on this project is because I’d love for my parents and other Spanish speaking relatives in Peru to be able to read my poetry. I’d even started putting some of these poems on tik tok which has been somewhat of an interesting experiment considering I don’t know what I’m doing and still figuring out the best way to create content there. I guess one could say that I’m passionate about telling my story. Here’s my tiktok handle if y’all want to check it out: https://www.tiktok.com/@lagringachola81
Another new thing I did this year is start using my real name on this blog and across all of my social media. After my divorce, aka, my liberation day, I was finally able to let go of my pseudonym Eliza Dalton and use my real name Patty Tacuri. So, hi everyone, my name is Patty and I have issues. I love to use that opening line at open mic. Lol.
hi, it’s me Patty, your little piece of heaven or hell—lol
I’ve also been going to open mic at my local pub and it’s helped me connect with other poets which has helped me grow as a writer and poet. Being up there on that stage sharing the most vulnerable parts of myself has felt incredibly empowering and healing. I’m grateful to the Athens Word of Mouth community who’s been so open and receptive to whatever trauma laden or angry poem I decide to read that night.
me at open mic on December 6,2023 -photo from Athens Word of Mouth
As to what kind of blog content I have planned for 2024, I plan to leave the format as it is in telling my story of 2023 and including the translated pieces in between those poems. I hope that I can do more collaborations and review some more poetry books. I don’t have much more planned than that but who knows, sometimes my crazy mind comes up with the most off the wall ideas and an unexpected playlist or an essay about some kind of trauma happens. I know that in 2024, I want to be more open and vulnerable in telling my story and how my recovery journey has been going. We’ll see what happens. I can tell you that this blog is my happy place and something that keeps me going when my depression wants to get the better of me. Planning blog content this year has kept me grounded more times than I can count this year especially with some of the big emotions that have come up with the major life events I’ve had. It’s become part of my recovery process from mental illness and a safe space for me to be honest and vulnerable. Also, since I’m such a main character now, haha, I decided to give y’all a preview about what’s to come next year in telling my story. I’m calling it the twelve days of Patty starting on December 20th. Again, I want to thank everyone who takes the time to read my crazy and sometimes cringe poetry. To my fellow bloggers, poets,and storytellers-my message for you is to keep going! Your art and stories are important!
We’ve lost our beginner’s luck and now see who we really are two incompatible souls too stubborn to be alone and let go of our made up illusion of love and between our uncomfortable silences, your distant demeanor, and my growing resentment it’s better to close our chapter of love before I start to really hate you let’s end this while we can still walk away as friends
I’m tired of same repetitive compliments You’re so pretty, so sexy and if they’re really “trying” you’re BEAUTIFUL but never in my life have i been call a masterpiece, intelligent, or have I been told that I inspire poetry? and old lonely me would entertain these flimsy lust or love possibilities kept my standards low to keep my bed warm and to escape my chronic emptiness but after almost a year of solitude my standards have been raised to the ceiling and now I’m protective of my energy anyone who wants to get near me will have to make a solid effort write me poetry, take me out to steak dinners and buy me pretty dresses and notebooks
It wasn’t that I wouldn’t have done the work- I loved you more than enough to change, to accommodate to make compromises, to share my vulnerability with you but you weren’t ready to match my efforts and love only grows when two people are ready to evolve
I bet now months go by and he never thinks of me- maybe he does when he sees a crazy bitch on his feed he’ll remember me for a moment and think “damn, I dodged a bullet” and then he’ll scroll on to something else that’s way more interesting
It’s been 4 years since I took an oath to become an American citizen. I took an oath specifically to Trump which makes me nauseous typing BUT I also took an oath because of Trump. Before making the decision to become an American citizen, I had never really cared about politics but that was until Trump got elected. If you were a POC or immigrant or both, you felt the shift in the racial tension in the U.S right before the election but especially after the election. Racists overtly made their ignorant beliefs known that immigrants were not welcomed in this country. DACA was in the process of being repealed. DACAmented kids who should have been protected were being deported and there was a rise in deportation for undocumented immigrants as well or well the media made it seem like that. I felt that as an immigrant with LPR (legal permanent resident) status, I could possibly be next. In February of 2016, I sent my paperwork to USCIS to solidify my relationship with America. One could say that for better or worse, I finally decided to make a commitment to this country. Here is my blog post about the process:
What has changed in the past 4 years since becoming an American and what does being American mean to me now?
Well, I’ve voted in 2 elections since I’ve become an American including the national election in 2020 (yay, no more Trump). In October of this year, I applied for my passport and have received it. Now, I can take a trip out of the country without any worries or concerns. While it is an immense privilege to be an American citizen since I now have a whole new world of opportunities opened up and I can travel anywhere; I feel that I haven’t really changed on the inside. I still see myself and identify as an immigrant but now I also call myself an American. But to be honest, my idea of being an American has changed. I used to think I needed a piece of paper to say “Oh, I’m American” but for better or worse, America is and has been ingrained in me since that hot September day in 1986 when I set my foot on American soil at the age of 5.
I was an American when every morning at school I would say the Pledge of Allegiance in my broken and terrible English at the age of 6 and 7.
me in 1987
I was an American when I went back to Peru at age 9 to get my resident alien status solidified with my family.
me at age 9 in Peru during my trip with my family to get our LPR status
I was an American when I met my childhood best friends in Hawaii at age 11.
me with one of my childhood best friends from Hawaii
I was an American when I had my babies at ages 17, 24, and 30.
me with my three kids right after their births
I was American when I started working for the government at the age of 18.
me at the age of 18 in 1999 working for the government
I was an American when I got my college degree in 2009 from the University of Georgia .
me in 2009 with my parents at my graduation from college
I was an American in 2016 and early 2017 when I attended protests and marches for immigrant and women’s rights.
me in January of 2017 at the Women’s March in Washington D.C
And I was an American when people told me, “my english is good for being a Mexican” or I’ve been discriminated against or oppressed in this country by the people that don’t want “my kind” here.
I used to believe that I didn’t belong here because of the racism, prejudice, and ignorance I’ve encountered but that’s no longer the case. This year, I finally let go of those beliefs because I’ve embraced that I am America and America is me. My life may have been harder in many aspects because I wasn’t the average “American born” citizen but I will tell you that I wouldn’t trade my experience as an American to be average. I I feel that working harder than the “average American” for my success has made me appreciate my success so much more and for that I am thankful. My parents had no idea of the many hardships they would endure making the decision to immigrate to this country but I am glad they made that journey. It’s taken me 35 years to get here but today I can honestly say that I’m proud to be an American.
me in November of 2021 telling my crazy story about being an essential worker
I try my best to take delight in my life and enjoy everything good but fuck it, if I have to be honest with myself- sometimes the depression gets the best of me and I drink and write sad and pathetic things about how I want to cut my wrists and watch the blood leave my body maybe I’m just embracing the cliche of being a tortured artist or my darkness needs a place to fucking go- at least I’m now acknowledging it instead of suppressing it- and I almost spiral into a cycle of self loathing but instead say “fuck it- this is who I fucking am sometimes”- An emo girl caught up in her trauma and hormones- Wait-how did this poem turn into– Oh yeah-the prompt delight well whatever this is its the best drunk and depressed me has to give to my creativity tonight
for a long time I had given up on love- thinking why should I even try If I screw it up each and every time but lately I feel myself lighter, happier- and full of hope that even after my disastrous love history That’s still a world of romance left to experience and explore There’s still more muses to write poetry about- my love story didn’t end with an electronic pink slip or being blocked from my whatevership my love story will start over again with someone who’s brave and strong enough to handle me- and can’t imagine his life without me
my final step in returning to myself was returning to my homeland once I finally found my stable sense of identity I had desperately searched for since I could remember- I felt like Alice in Wonderland my eyes wide open, my mouth opened in awe- taking in the glorious sights and sounds of my birthplace the 32 years away from it didn’t matter the ocean, the mountains, the city welcomed me back Reminding me it had always been there for me to come back to and the powerful and profound emotions I felt in standing on the ground that saw my birth and early childhood made me understand there really is no place like home
my soul commands me to slow down and listen in silence to what I need It tells me to not suppress anything-even it looks angry another mean and petty poem appears it’s okay, it’s shadow self needing to be seen it’s a part of my identity that doesn’t define me my soul tells me I’m not worst or best moments I’m more complicated than that I’m a woman full of trauma search for the calm in the chaos that is her life
Life on the BPD 