july, july, july it’s the month where I lose my mind the heat gets to me and turns up the BSC in me you won’t find me sweet and eager to please in July you won’t find me full of ruffles and flowery phrases in poetry you’ll find me being a ball of immigrant rage and fury you’ll find me a woman who’s had enough of the American dream bullshit and ready to roar and scream out everything wrong with this country
hold onto hope, don’t let go one day you’ll laugh about this one day you’ll be okay hold onto hope, don’t let go Remember all of the times you’ve been strong Remember all of the times you put one foot in front of the other hold onto hope, don’t let go your story is still being written you’re still in time to change your narrative
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.
lately I hate everything I have written Sometimes I get the urge to burn Or delete everything but something tells me this is how I know I’m growing I’m evolving in my craft
my body feels like a rundown shack that’s crumbling down slowly I can’t get up in the morning without my knee or hip bitching and moaning without me groaning in pain and mumbling to myself “Omg, another stupid day” and cursing my genetics that make me watch everything I eat and again I wonder am I paying a karmic debt for my colonizer ancestors
you’ve change from spring to autumn within moments never knew if I should wear my feelings on my sleeve never knew if I should wear layers of cynicism I’ve made it as simple as possible for you and nothing happens and slowly my hope of love recedes in the background
this modern world got my victorian and pure heart all fucked up don’t know which way is up don’t know which way is down don’t know what is right don’t know what is wrong I want someone’s hand to hold but they reach for my breast I want innocent kisses on the cheek but they reach for the heaven between my thighs
I hope this story is buried for a final time and you don’t pop up again and I have to play whack an asshole once again blocking you on yet another platform would the universe be kind enough this time for it to be good riddance forever cause I’m tired of my past mistakes to constantly come out of nowhere to disturb my present
I’m ready for steak dinners and an expensive bottle of chardonnay shared over awkward getting to know you conversations with no expectations to put out I’ll be a completely different woman when I’m dating again a woman selective about who allows near her a woman who no longer seeks validation and attention from the wrong men
a glass of champagne in my hand as I raise a toast who I used to be a woman mentally ill and needy a woman who gave men easy access to her hips a woman who thought intimacy could only be created and felt in between her sheets we say goodbye to the his woman lovingly as we usher a new era of me a woman who knows her worth and won’t settle of anything less than she deserves
I look forward to the day when I’m no longer known as the writer with BPD when I no longer make my mental illness a part of my brand when I’m no longer dependent on my ex husband and antipsychotics to survive when I finally start to resemble something like a normal person and not the vehement emotional mess I usually am
there are days I don’t feel strong enough to be their mom maybe it’s insecurity that weighs heavily on me after every fight, after every conflict it was easier when they were small and I was their favorite person the one they ran to the moment I opened the door nowadays I work much and they have their own interests to have much to do with me nowadays they bring up grievances of everything I’ve done and am doing wrong is this karma for being a bad daughter to my mom is this karma for being selfish and self absorbed for a few years of their lives Who knows- maybe it’s not about being strong, being right, or being respected maybe it’s about them knowing they are loved
everytime you disappear, I lose an ounce of the fondness and affection I hold for you this last time,I didn’t even notice I thought, good for him he found someone else to stroke his ego and validate him but here you are again everything I once felt for you has dried out and I have nothing left to say as you try to nonchalantly come back into my life I’m filled with indifference this time holding onto my new sense of empowerment careful to not again fall under your spell once again
I wanted you but God wanted you more Perhaps you were an angel not meant for earth Perhaps you were a hard a lesson in grief and loss That I needed to learn A lesson that I should never take love and hope for grant No matter how brief the stay is A lesson that your heart can break within a span of a few minutes A lesson in surviving what you think is unsurvivable
never understood why you took us with you maybe it was to assuage your guilt maybe it was say you really did nice things for me and my brother inviting us to an all day road trip to Tijuana in your air conditioned Blazer silent as mice and on our best behavior to not disturb you, your husband and your son it was all so strange the only thing I can remember was the messiest hamburgers we needed a hundred napkins to eat and the picture with the donkey maybe you were kind and graceful with us at times but all of that has been lost with the trauma you incurred on us I’ve blocked out and 34 years later in my middle age sitting in my hot car in between jobs I still don’t understand why you took us with you