I wrote this in 2007 when I transferred to a 4 year University. It was a rough experience.
me with my friends in 2007
I feel small in this enormous and elitist world it doesn’t seem like I will ever fit It only seems like a perfect fit for my younger, blonder, whiter, and younger counterparts Older, hispanic, and poor is not acceptable here. Should I even try ? When I’m destined for failure on this institution’s steps Failure on the steps is what I feel here- a place where my browner, poorer self feels like an outcast, an undesirable- by the eyes of prejudice
I wrote this poem in December of 2016 after my almost love affair with death on December 5th. It’s strange how aside from my journal entries from that month, I hardly remember that month. I just remember feeling so broken inside and like a failure after that happened that it was so hard to get up every morning. I do know that writing saved me during that time because I started journaling way more consistently. I would learn years later after being diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder that up to 10 percent of people with BPD die by suicide. Five years later, I’m glad that I had people by my side that prevented me from becoming one in ten. I’m glad that afterwards, I was able to slowly come back from thiseven if I was mostly depressed the year after and it was a fight to get up every single day.
For more information about the high risk of BPD and Suicide, here is a link from Psychology Today with info about it:
I wrote this in 2007 about my husband. I was frustrated that he was always so guarded with his emotions and his past. I hated that I could give him my vulnerability and he couldn’t give me his. Looking back now, I should have realized how incompatible we were at the time, but my stubborn and optimistic self wanted things to badly work.
I wrote this in 2003 about Damon who I was seeing again.
Your strange ways confuse me One moment you hold me in your arms The next moment you want someone else in your arms Do you want to break our amorous ties? Was the love you professed another one of your lies?
Necesito estar solo era tu excusa no quieres herirme fue lo que me dijiste Todavia la amo es lo que querías decirme un corto pasatiempo fui lo que yo signifique para ti
I wrote this in March of 2020 as I was reflecting on my suicide attempt in December of 2016. I don’t remember writing this poem but that could be because it was a crazy time for me since I was an essential worker during COVID.
me in March of 2020 when I wrote this poem
Appearances were kept well for 15 years the husband, the salaried job, the 3 off springs I pretended like everything was fine And yet there were ominous signs I never felt like my authentic self and always felt false I tried on this so called suburban bliss and mediocre routines but knew it just wasn’t me So I ended up in profound misery And one day I wanted to forever sleep To forget my mediocre reality I took 15 numb feeling pills one for every pseudo happy year I wanted to slip into a forever dream to never wake up to my false stability
Life on the BPD 