I used to find it romantic and endearing how in Hollywood stories the protagonists triumphs over insurmountable obstacles to find their happy endings until I notice there’s always a third party who’s left behind a third party who’s expendable and the cost of the happy ending the protagonist are granted it makes me wretched with empathy and feel grief for them because too often, I’ve known what it’s like to be left for someone prettier, shinier, easier, MORE EXCITING and I wonder if it’s time to write stories about them the third parties left behind who didn’t make the cut in their lover’s love story
I had fallen in love with brown and hazel eyes Before the disaster with blue eyes walked into my life Those blue eyes would make me believe in love again Those blue eyes would be the first to make me want to die of shame and guilt and cause more trauma than he ever intended Then again, I was only twenty and there were a dozen years between us he should have known better than to fuck with a girl who was barely a woman but carnal desire ruled both him and I And we were tricked thinking it was love but we were completely wrong and he got to walk away without any consequences While I was slut shamed and had to endure the trauma
at least the last time I got a bottle of free wine
I drank the last drop of the wine you gave me as I sing out my guts to lyrics that reminds me of you the worst of my ideas, the worst of my crimes I drank the last drop of the wine you gave me hoping that this is the last bit of closure I need from you and that from now on we’ll both live our lives free and clear of each other and soon our toxic love affair fades into the background of my memory and soon you stop showing up in my dreams
The rain falls steadily in Autumn and I remember the 9 days in the summer When the tears wouldn’t quit raining from my eyes The eternal emotional pain wouldn’t stop the lonely nights I couldn’t sleep the infinite anger and sadness that I felt the emptiness that wouldn’t go away the food I couldn’t eat. And yet I still woke up every day with a determination to live live for my kids live for my friends live for myself even at my worst, even at my most vulnerable Somehow, I managed managed to find strength managed to find inspiration and somehow managed to find my way back to myself Summer was the season I died when I was rejected by the one who claimed to love me Autumn is the season I was reborn and I fell back in love with myself, forgot him and fell into the magic that is me
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 wrote this poem in October of 2020. This one was really hard to post because of the content that includes sexual assault but I believe it’s important to share this part of my story.
so true
There was no way out- and so I pretended – I acted the part of a willful lover even when I wasn’t willing
There was no way out And he refused to read -the subtle hints of no -in between the lines of forced complacency
There was no way out And he kept taking me Every which way he wanted Even when my whimpers turned into sobs
There was no way out and I was terrified I needed to let him have my body to save my life
He swallowed 2 years of my life without meaning to. He swallowed 2 years of my love that he never intended to He swallowed all of my intense and innermost feelings and left me with an emptiness inside. He swallowed my confidence and turned me into a broken shell of a woman. And slowly I’m trying to gather the broken pieces and repair my soul–
There were parts of myself I forgot when I was with you I forgot my self worth I forgot my dignity I forgot my self confidence I made the mistake of placing my worth and happiness in your unsure hands I made the mistake of giving you my heart I made the mistake of not knowing when to walk away I made the mistake in believing you would change I made the mistake of wasting my time and love on you
In anticipation of the night I was excited to see you But then we met And the look you gave me said it all without saying anything at all I had warned you I had changed But you refused to believe it and held onto an idealistic image of me in your head Worthless small talk ensued Even though there was nothing left to say Your body language screamed: “Get the fuck away from me” But a small trickle of hope cemented my feet to the ground next to you And then a sorry excuse trickled from your lips And you left me stranded that night
a year from now things will be radically different I will not be stewing in my misery and making poetry out of it instead I’ll be more empowered, more creative than ever instead I’ll be wiser and stronger understanding the rollercoaster of the storms of 2024 was needed to inspire another cathartis, another catalyst for change the universe had to humble me for a bit to remind me of what’s really important to assess how I’ve been living my life and whether or not the many hours were worth killing myself over a year from now this will be radically different I’ll have a deeper knowledge, understanding and clarity about what’s in alignment with me life will be more balanced, more full of joy and with an abundance of everything that inspires me everything that brings purpose to my life
maybe I restarted the blog for a younger version of us out there in another state, another country who needs a roadmap, Understanding, knowledge, and wisdom in navigating a hard situation they never thought they had to face maybe I restarted the blog out of hope that some couple out there who’s struggling can find something useful in my story, in my prose, and my poetry to get through their own hardship through the worst of it and make it to the other side, evolve and grow together in intimacy and find their own happy ending
I want to hold on to what’s real and not be stuck in a daydream I want to live in my present And not stuck in my past I want to be over you and not be triggered by the memory of you
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 