This was another poem I wrote about the first Andrew in early 2003. I think I was dreaming about him a lot and got inspired. I think at the time I kept returning to this past memory of love because I wanted to hold on to the hope that someone like the first Andrew was out there for me.
The memory of you visits me And a realization washes over me You were the light in the dark tunnel in my then hopeless life You were the song in my heart That I can’t stop seem to stop playing Now matter how loud the music Of my new life tries to drown you out
I wrote this in January of 2003 about John. Maybe he tried to come back to be an FWB and I got mad and that’s what inspired this poem.
Never
Why do you continue to be such an asshole to me? With your pathetic games you make yourself look lame You expect me to sit around and wait for you whenever it’s fucking convenient for you but I guess this is my fault for letting us almost fuck So now I have to tell you something I will no longer be your fucking fling So start to forget that we ever met Go on your merry away and stay away for i am lot more than an on call whore
I wrote this in 2003 about the first Andrew. Yes, I have a hard time letting go of someone after a breakup especially if I really loved them. I think one of the reasons I thought of the first Andrew often was because he was one of the few guys in my romantic life who didn’t objectify me.
so true
You stay on my mind Even after a long long time You haunt me in my dreams I wake up in tears that form a stream Then you appear in my poetry Your memory lives inside of me And at last I ask myself why? I can’t let you go, my wonder guy
I wrote this in January of 2003 about John. I’m telling y’all when I get obsessed with someone I’m like the mild version of Joe Goldberg.
You had no clue How I felt about you Because you were too hard headed to put us through the relationship test because you wanted to be free Instead of wasting your time on me It’s really sad But I’ll have the last laugh Because one day you’ll realized I could’ve been your ultimate prize But now it’s too late for you have offended your fate
April means Autism Awareness and Acceptance month and I felt compelled to write about a realization I recently had about my oldest son, D who has autism. My realization was that he’s not a hero, he’s a person. I want to say that first and foremost, I got permission from him to write this post about him because at some point in the journey, it became his story to tell. I also got his permission because I’m trying to be better about boundaries when it comes to writing about the people in my life. I could actually write more about boundaries but that’s another blog post.
My oldest son was diagnosed at the age of 5 and I was 22. I’ve written about him in a previous post about how he was my hero because of all of the obstacles he’s conquered and how proud I am of him because of that. Here’s that blogpost:
One thing that I didn’t address in that post was how receiving this diagnosis meant me receiving a new identity, a mom with a child on the autism spectrum. Or we are often called autism warrior moms or whatever is trendy at the time. From the age of 22, this identity was deeply ingrained within me. I’ve lost count of how many articles or books I’ve read about autism. I’ve lost count of how many parent teacher conferences or IEP meetings I’ve attended having to fight or advocate for services for my son. I’ve lost count of how many therapists or counselors my son has had. You get my point. Being a mom to a child with autism is not easy. It’s hard, really hard. I’ve mentioned before how my child started to flourish between 3rd and 4th grade and he went on to be successful in his academic career throughout high school. Throughout all of this, I didn’t realize it but I put my child on a pedestal. I don’t know if it was the BPD or me being super excited about my son’s progress. Don’t get me wrong, it was a good and healthy thing to encourage my son and support him; but at some point idealizing him put an unhealthy amount of pressure that started to feel like a burden. I won’t say what happened next in this story but I will say that he’s now thriving as a regular 23 year old. I realized this week that at some point I stopped being an autism warrior mom. I think that I understood this sometime in 2016 after my son turned 18 but really accepted it this week. It’s weird when I used to start talking about myself, being a autism warrior mom would be one of the first things I would share and now I don’t feel the need to. When someone who knows me and my son mentions he’s quiet, I’m just like “well he’s just shy”. Like I first mentioned in this post; it’s just no longer my story to share. When I talk about my son, I just say “ he’s D, pretty awesome most of the time but kind of annoying at times.” I’ve also let go of this idealization of him I had. I still admire him and love him for who he is but he’s not a hero; he’s a person. He’s a person with his own set of issues and insecurities. He’s a person with goals and plans for the future. And talking to him, he wants to be seen that way. I also want to mention that I’m not speaking for all the moms with children with autism, I’m speaking just for myself. Getting here has been difficult but it’s been an important part of the process of me becoming not just a better mother, but a better person as well.
I wrote this on January 1st, 2003 about this dude that I hooked up with a week prior. I was upset about John and of course wanted to escape from my feelings of rejection. So I started once again seeking validation from men and ended up hooking up with some guy from the bar.
So true
The night I met you I was drunk and blue Because of that impossible love Who said I wasn’t good enough So I decided to drink my pain away and then you came my way With your charming and smooth manner I should’ve known you were a player But you told me everything That I wanted to believe in How you had never met anyone like me And that you wanted us to be It sound almost too good to be true But i was feeling lonely too So i decided to give in to you Afterwards you promised to call But instead you went awol And many days later I sit here In a river of foolish tears Wondering why why why I always fall for the same false lines
I wrote this in January of 2003 about John. Guess I was still mad at the rejection I felt when he ghosted me.
It’s like that sometimes
If I was nothing more Than another girl Why couldn’t you have been straight Instead of acting in an enamored way And made me really believe You truly care for me but I should have known all along that you’d be the same jerk song Hopefully one day I’ll learn to stop taking all you crooked turns
I wrote this in April of 2003 about the first Andrew, the guy I fell in love when I was 16. I had gone to Hawaii in April and went to the beach we use to go to and I wrote this poem. Yes, I was still having nostalgia about a short relationship from 5 years ago. One of my BPD traits is being obsessed with some of my romantic partners after the relationship has ended after a long time.
Kailua Beach, Hawaii
So I take a walk on the beach Where we used to come And make promises of young love But like the waves of this tumultuous ocean Our lives took turbulent and separate turns and our beloved promises Got forgotten somewhere in between And for some reason I keep thinking A new tide will come in and I’ll turn around one day And you’ll take me in With a welcoming embrace And fate will remember us Once again
I wrote this in December of 2002. Towards the end of the year, I was depressed abotu dating and romance. I hated feeling like I was always just used for fun, objectified, and then discarded like trash. .
exactly
Now that I know That between us Can me nothing more Than a story of pure lust I feel so dumb And wonder once again If it’s possible to go numb From all of the jerks that are so damn lame You fucking jerks that don’t want to see past Me being a great piece of ass And I ask myself these questions What does it take for someone like me? To find someone that will make me happy To find someone who doesn’t use me just for fun But maybe it’s okay Maybe this is just my fate
Life on the BPD 