I go between contacts and glasses to fit my different personas- in my contacts I’m a pretty woman with makeup and a dress I become the kind of woman men are nervous to be around or get intimidated by In glasses I don’t care to capture the male gaze or even mine it’s when I work that second job or I’m at home it’s when I allow myself to just exist not caring about the pressure to be attractive or allow my social conditioning to take over and tell me since I’m this crazy, I need to be pretty, sexy, charming to validate my existence Lately I prefer my glasses, lately I want the freedom to just be
In an ideal and magical universe, the one thing I would do differently if I had magical powers is turn into a potato. A potato that becomes a beautiful and most delicious plate of french fries bringing happiness and joy to some random person when they taste me. To become a potato would mean I wouldn’t have to be human and constantly exist which gets extremely exhausting and annoying at times. To become a potato means that for most of my life I would be surrounded by other potatoes, just chilling with absolutely no drama. It would be a swell life, I think.
I want to be part of someone’s french fry addiction
However, I don’t live in an ideal and magical universe so I guess what I could do differently is to become more organized in my life. I have struggled with the curse of disorganized thoughts and a disorganized life since I can remember. I’ve tried and tried and have somewhat succeeded in some areas of my life in becoming more organized. For example, I have a routine that I try my best not to interrupt. It’s important to maintain this routine so I remain semblance of sanity for the most part. It’s hard because I’m pretty sure I have undiagnosed ADHD that’s followed me since I was a kid. That’s also why I struggled with disorganized thoughts which the silver lining in is that I get very creative when I’m in the thick of it. However, it’s also fucked with my sleep schedule which means I rely on sleepytime tea and meds to be able to go to sleep. Having disorganized thoughts also means I get overwhelmed and overstimulated at times in my environment if it’s chaotic. It turns my cortisol levels all the way up and I have to find a way to cope ASAP. It’s my flight or fight response turned on and I usually choose flight. Like for example, during my PMDD period (worst time when I have disorganized thoughts), I’m moody AF and if I get triggered by someone or something, while I may want to hurl insults or punch that person, most of the time I pause, assess, and go for a drive or a walk. Most of the time it’s a drive though because that seems to be the faster way I calm down.
me in car trying to calm down
This post is a perfect example of my struggle with organization. I went from talking about wanting to be a potato to talking about disorganization to my PMDD. This fucking struggle is too real. Anyways, to answer this question, I could make more lists of shit I need to get done, schedule my breakdowns more often when I can (haha), make more time to meditate and relax (Idk how this will happened, I can’t even remember ever taking a nap in Kindergarten). It’s starting to feel like a hopeless situation but Idk maybe I’ll find the answer in a book. Who knows? Crazier things have happened. Also, I’m open to suggestions.
it’s me and my racing thoughts against reality on some days
me at 8 in an itchy AF dress, couldn’t hide my RBF
to little me, I’m sorry, lo siento I’m sorry, lo siento There are no words that could make sense or give purpose to what you went through it was awful that your childhood was tainted by trauma that wasn’t acknowledged or that your feelings were invalidated by those who promised to love and protect you I’m sorry , lo siento I’m sorry, lo siento and while I know my words are insufficient to lessen the pain and trauma you experienced I’m here to acknowledge it and make sure you can heal from it
I can tell when my depression is getting the better of me I uninstall most of my social media apps- Start isolating from friends and family- dissociate to whatever sad songs I have on repeat Today’s music is Jojo and Taylor Swift and I write anything and everything that comes into my head about what has been or is my current tragedy it’s almost comedic how dramatic I can On days like these I feel too sensitive for this world everything burns, everything is a trigger and I almost hate myself and fall back into self destructive patterns Seek out validation of my existence from others it would be so easy to reach out and get help but today, I want to fully feel my misery as it takes over me let it speak in my writing Me, my music, my paper and pen is all I need to get through this latest depression spell
On new year’s day of 2023,I have resolutions but they’re simple a trip to my homeland that’s been set in stone teaching my son to drive a divorce as a late birthday gift to myself keep my bangs because that’s really who I am pushing my oldest son to be more independent Continue to share my poetry with the world unapologetically Be wary of anything that pollutes my energy try my best to ebb and flow with the turbulent waves of my emotions take any obstacles that might occur in life in stride make more time for my friends and family become a new kind of brave woman and continue to do things out of my comfort zone to help me grow and evolve become an example of determination, discipline, and creativity for my kids to follow- and continue to inspire others with my journey of self discovery 2023 will be chaotic with everything I’m planning 2023 will be the year where I’m the definition of bravery
it’s me and my trauma-watch out, there won’t be a story left untold
I hold hands with my trauma and show her off to everyone most people look at her with curiosity some people are horrified my family cringes and and whispers to me, “it’s embarrassing, showing her as some kind of trophy” I get mad and flip everyone off and me and my trauma link arms and skip on our way to share her story and create drama and chaos who cares if no one understands our process of how sharing her story is the key to my recovery
she thinks she should be thanked for flexing her confidence clothed in privilege and luxury by posting advice to women about how dining alone in a fancy restaurant is women’s empowerment and I have an adverse reaction that makes me want to vomit it feels like a modern day Marie Antoniette moment perhaps it’s because I’m a working class immigrant woman who struggles in America perhaps it’s because the rights of the marginalized and working class are being ripped away from us and on my social media feed, this yuppie and elitist bullshit appears how can I be friends with this bleached blonde Barbie oh yeah, we worked together briefly and I almost start to comment with an essay on how she should check her privilege before handing out tokens of toxic positivity while people like me are drowning in debt and lack financial stability but I stop this barbie isn’t worth my time or energy it’s time to unfriend and unfollow the marie antoinette wannabe who only serves to trigger my working class rage who serves to remind of the injustice and inequality in this capitalistic and racist American society
it’s okay to make mistakes-it’s part of being human
I almost drowned in a whirlpool of shame today because I made a mistake because I’m an imperfect human but I breathe in deeply self compassion and grace and accept this is a small blunder in my life and it shouldn’t take up too much space in my mind And I needed to be a friend to myself Understand I won’t always be flawless- Afterall I’m only mortal
This time it will be different-I lie to myself over and over again- and for a while I’ll believe it-but it never works out and they always leave- And I wonder how words fail me when this happens- it’s a magnitude of emotions- Intense, mega, uber, all consuming, overwhelming- Some things cannot adequately expressed even with bilingual vocabulary- maybe not everything is meant to be written down it’s just meant to be felt, held intimately in my heart and mind maybe it’s a private thing between me and the universe
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
staying sober from a lover is not easy for a love addict like me it’s crying in bed wishing I was dead it’s loneliness, making me crumble in a ball on the floor making me feel unloved and even though I have the cure with a text to someone who’d put me out of my misery I’d rather suffer for a while even if it is a hell of a withdrawal because if I’m ever going to have a healthy relationship I need to be comfortable first with solitude and the much needed introspection and healing it brings
Life on the BPD 