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
I probably just got done crying right before this pic was taken
In my car-I scream, sing, write, and cry I dissociate to my radio-blasting out Conan Gray I can be as crazy I as want to be- without the fear of being judged or talked about the seat is molded to my petite frame perfect for meditation or for allowing myself to fall into my insanity makes videos about how beautiful life is- or how I no longer want to participate in it my car used to feed into my deepest fears and insecurities but now I worship it if it wasn’t for this sacred space away from my office and home I don’t know how I would cope when the intensity of my thoughts knock on my mind’s door
fragments of who I was weave in and out of my prose and poetry- I keep trying to honor the old me when she comes back with my insecurities and reminds me of how I constantly screw up anything resembling love I no longer shame her or call her the worst version of me- she was just trying to navigate life not understanding she was an undiagnosed hurricane of emotions- that couldn’t control or manage She didn’t go to therapy or know about DBT And she’s still full of grief for the life she couldn’t live- so she keeps on showing up trying to shake up my newfound confidence and power it’s her version of jealousy, and I walk with her for a while Console her, and let her know how because of her I did the work, and now she can feel happiness and joy through me I will forever be grateful to her and pay tribute to her when I tell her story
I’m tired of same repetitive compliments You’re so pretty, so sexy and if they’re really “trying” you’re BEAUTIFUL but never in my life have i been call a masterpiece, intelligent, or have I been told that I inspire poetry? and old lonely me would entertain these flimsy lust or love possibilities kept my standards low to keep my bed warm and to escape my chronic emptiness but after almost a year of solitude my standards have been raised to the ceiling and now I’m protective of my energy anyone who wants to get near me will have to make a solid effort write me poetry, take me out to steak dinners and buy me pretty dresses and notebooks
It wasn’t that I wouldn’t have done the work- I loved you more than enough to change, to accommodate to make compromises, to share my vulnerability with you but you weren’t ready to match my efforts and love only grows when two people are ready to evolve
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
I grew up too quickly in some areas and remained a child in others – it’s a truth that I hate to admit it wasn’t my parents’ fault they did the best with what they had – an extra sensitive child with medical issues it was too much for them to handle when they were trying their best to keep their own heads above water there was no extra time for the extra needs and demands I had and while middle age holds space to have compassion for them I still need to reparent my inner child who comes out in the most inoportune of time and has caused terrible havoc and harmed others but it’s not her fault or mine It happens sometimes, and now I’m taking the time to nurture her so she can finally grow up
I try my best to take delight in my life and enjoy everything good but fuck it, if I have to be honest with myself- sometimes the depression gets the best of me and I drink and write sad and pathetic things about how I want to cut my wrists and watch the blood leave my body maybe I’m just embracing the cliche of being a tortured artist or my darkness needs a place to fucking go- at least I’m now acknowledging it instead of suppressing it- and I almost spiral into a cycle of self loathing but instead say “fuck it- this is who I fucking am sometimes”- An emo girl caught up in her trauma and hormones- Wait-how did this poem turn into– Oh yeah-the prompt delight well whatever this is its the best drunk and depressed me has to give to my creativity tonight
I wrote this poem inspired by a coworker who pretended to be my friend while stabbing me in the back. She also gaslighted me about the whole situation when I confronted her. She also accused me of neglecting my oldest son when I went back to college and told me, “you be like other Hispanics and just work hard” . I left this workplace shortly after. All I can say is don’t trust March Pisces from Gainesville. Lol.
honestly tho, Merissa-this one’s for you
with this pen in my hand your reputation I’ll disband 20 years later, it might seem like an overreaction but the trauma you cause still causes me turmoil it’s time to let the the world know what kind of person you really are pretending to be my friend and have my best interests at heart but behind my back you made me the subject of gossip among our colleagues and this almost broke me apart and caused deep seated racial trauma Were you jealous of me or were you projecting your insecurities? I hope one day everyone sees past your bullshit And realizes you’re the biggest counterfeit
let me sabotage this new relationship by comparing him to my ex- the one I still write poems about, the one who still visits me in my dreams the one who wouldn’t leave his wife or other lovers for me- my new boyfriend treats me with respect and is such a calm guy my friends tell me this is healthy but I find it boring I miss being last on someone’s list I miss being treated as an afterthought I miss the inner chaos and conflict that came from the uncertainty of not knowing if my lover was sure of me-
The scared and anxious little girl and the insecure and clingy woman tug at me- I try to avoid them and lock them up in a box, but it never happens that way They refuse to go away when a trigger of trauma visits me And once again, I am lost in the alter ego I made up to protect myself the one who shows up in confidence and screams through her poetry but if I want to reach integration I need to allow the little girl and the insecure woman space to reside within me and honor them with powerful words of praise because they, too, were part of my strength and resilience through the many traumas It may feel painful at times-but for me to get to become a whole person and reach emotional maturity – I need to walk hand in hand with the ones who made me the powerful and confident woman I currently am
What’s something most people don’t know about you?
trying to avoid self-destruction. I do everything in my coping toolkit and since nothing works I just allow myself to feel-allow my inner critic to win for a bit I can’t keep fighting my negative thoughts – they need to be heard and acknowledge my fears who feed my anxiety telling me I’m crazy and I’ll never be worthy of anyone and I listen and cry to my bully within I allow her to keep going until she starts getting tired and slowly, I shut her out at least for a while until another depressive spell happens
As far as what my future holds for me, I’ve been doing a lot of long term goal planning and manifestations the past few years and that’s been working for me. Here’s a recent blog post I wrote about it:
The past 2 years was me trying to find out who I was and what I wanted out of life. I had this very vague idea, almost like a sketch but now I have a clear picture of what that is exactly. Getting out of survival mode was crucial for this development and I’m excited about the future. One thing I can tell you is that there will definitely be more storytelling. In fact, for the month of September, I’m telling my story chronologically with some of the moments in my life that most impacted me. This came about organically as I was planning blog content for that month and I said, “fuck it, let’s do this” and “let’s see what happens”. I think that so much of my healing happened because of my storytelling. It was important for me to retell my story because that’s how I took ownership of it. It helped turn me from a victim to heroine in my story and this has been monumental to my healing process. Of course, sometimes that looks crazy and messy but it only proves what a resilient and powerful Queen I am to still be standing despite the chaos and trauma I’ve been through. Here’s a poem I wrote in April about it:
Sharing my story
I’ve taken off my mask and stop repressing my true self- And while it’s terrifying at time, I show the world my authenticity and vulnerability I share the parts of my story that are terrible, happy, sad, lovely, crazy, beautiful, and tragic so others don’t feel alone and find solidarity in my chaotic and bicultural story of love, rage, defeat, hate, and resilience And bring to light my rich and vivid experience of the duality of being a rooted and rootless, Peruvian and American, a hateful and kind woman living her life fearlessly and shamelessly
I restarted this blog a couple of summers ago as a way to cope with my mental breakdown and at the time I had only 17 followers and now I have more than 300 followers who have been incredibly supportive and encouraging throughout this self discovery journey. Thank you to all of you who have given me this safe space on the internet to share my story through blogging and poetry. This has been incredibly instrumental in helping me in my recovery from BPD . It’s given me a sense of love through community that I didn’t know could exist and I’m incredibly grateful and humbled by it. Anyways,if you’ve made it to the end of this blog post, you’re the best. I’m not sure what year 3 after my BPD diagnosis but I hope I continue to evolve and live a life with purpose for the betterment of myself and my kids.
It’s Bichota Season and like Karol G says, “La Vida es Mia”-it’s me and my meds against the world
Life on the BPD 