Some days I can’t deal with the boredom and restless It all leads to chronic feelings of emptiness And I asked myself Is it time for another depression spell? And I’m annoyed by me, by everything I attend to whatever I think my brain and my soul needs Sometimes it’s music, sometimes it’s sunshine Sometimes it’s writing Sometimes nothing appeases the Gods of BPD And I just to deal with my emotional instability I wish for at least a week of tranquility within Instead of a pendulum of ever changing mood swings When will I finally get calm and peace?
he watches her as she sleeps and the emotions she stirs up in him this was supposed to be a casual agreement where only each other’s primal needs got met she’s not easy or convenient she has way too many issues and yet here he is starting to love her
Old insecurities come to visit me again, they shake up my newly acquired confidence they tell me I’m not smart enough and I’ll never be truly loved They tell me the only thing I have going for me is how sexy I can be Otherwise I’m a waste of a person because of my bpd And I try to shut it all down and not once again drown Because I have made so much progress and have come so far Only to once again fight an anxiety and depression war but it’s daunting and exhausting not to let the negativity get to me So here I go once again, trying to calm down my brain from negative and intrusive thoughts by covering myself with self-love
Overturning my right to choose feels like a slap to my face it is my american dream of liberty turned into a nightmare of reproductive imprisonment because of my 3 unplanned pregnancies, because of my 4 IUDs birth control pills and a patch because I am a woman scared for my niece, for my future granddaughters scared for the generations of women who come after me and I sit here at a complete loss for words and understanding at a loss for how this could happen a fundamental right ripped from right before our eyes while we were distracted with the modernity of society a fundamental right ripped from us that will take us back to the 1950’s
People say I shouldn’t give up on love and it’s really just my bad luck But how do I explain How love makes me insane It’s not the men I pick It’s really me, me, me I’ll become the version they want me to be thinking they’ll stay with me- behave, swallow my words, hide my anger, implode on myself in the privacy of my journal but keep my mask of sweet princess on- but this never last for long something always happens it’s just a matter of when when will I get tired of hiding who I am and start being erratic and crazy When will they get tired of my bullshit and decided to leave and almost always, this ends up as an emotional catastrophe for me so I’ve come up with a solution I’m going to make my newfound solitude a haven, a sanctuary to fall into give myself as much time as I need to enjoy the gift on my own company understanding that this isn’t an ending but rather a brand new beginning for me to write and edit my own unconventional love story
I wrote this poem in June of 2022 inspired by my youngest son.
me and my youngest in April of this year
At Tae Kwon Do class my son kicks with a determined look on his face It’s strength and resilience inherited from me and his ancestors It’s a competitive spirit passed down generation after generation from people that had to fight to compete to survive and it fill me with excitement and pride because even at ten my son shows traits from his ancestral warriors
I wrote this poem in October of 2022 inspired by my middle son.
me and my middle child in March of 2022
Me and my teenage son fight and I regret it the next day I’ve watched too many people mourn their sons this year I’ve felt the screams of those close to me asking God why he took their babies too young Young men who will never be fathers, Young men who will never see their children grow up into rebellious and sassy teens and while I understand conflicts happens between parent and child I also know we’re both on borrowed time and I don’t want our angry words to be the last exchange between us if its his or my last day today
Happy Mother’s Day! I wrote this poem in April of last year inspired by my sons.
us in May of 2022
finding someone to love used to be a priority until love burned me one too many times besides I’ve always had 3 somebodies to love that always deserved all of my attention with them I’m never alone with them there will always be inspiration with them my love overflows at this point, it would be useless for anyone to compete with this complete kind of love
In therapy I’m supposed to write about the last thing that cause me grief and I think it’s funny considering the tons of poetry and journal entries I’ve written about it I’m tired of writing about it, I’m tired of talking about it I’m tired of thinking about it and I want to tell my therapist I don’t have homework for this week but this is part of therapy this is what I need to address the unhealed trauma within so I’ll write for the 1000th time about the last thing that caused trauma and grief hoping my therapist will provide valuable insight on how to let go of it
Happy international Nurse’s Day to all the nurses and especially my favorite nurse, my sister. We’ve had a complicated relationship through most of my life but within the past few years, our relationship has gotten a lot better. I have more to say about this but that calls for a longer blog post in the future. Today, I want to honor her for being the awesome human being that she is. Below is a picture of us at a concert we went in July of 2022 and a poem I wrote in December of 2021 when she turned 47.
me and my sister in July of 2022
To My Sister On Her 47th birthday
you’re 3 years away 50 but still look like you’re in your 30’s Has anyone told you how amazing you are? Have our parents loved you out loud?
I’ve always admired you for your fortitude and resilience but wish for you to have peace and an opportunity to be soft
I get it though – It is hard to be soft in a society that expects you resemble a tower of strength, where you take care of everyone first and put yourself last It was something you had to learn at a young age
you used to be the Villian in my book at times, but lately I think of you as the victim and the victor_
You’re a victim of life- the victim because of the pressure you were put under for being the oldest the victim for being a woman of color in a racist and sexist society
But you’re also the victor- the victor never giving up- no matter how fucked up life got for you the victor for facing shit head on without any fucks and with an intimidating confidence (maybe that’s why I was jealous)
oh sister of mine, on your 47th year-I hope. you get to sit and enjoy the wonderful life you’ve created
I wrote this poem in May of 2022 inspired by this “woke” white woman. Lol.
you’re nothing but a selfish and narcissistic attention whore constantly craving the limelight by posting long and stupid ridden Facebook statuses about the “truth” of the injustice you see injecting yourself as the voice of minorities it all unveils your world of deep seated insecurities and the irony of all of this is should you know better since you’re a therapist but apparently you’re still dumb as fuck It doesn’t matter how many degrees you have-you still reek of ignorance
I’d rather live in music, daydreams, and fantasies than face the monotony and routine of real life who wants to deal with spreadsheets when I can get lost in dreams about finding the one who wants to answer to karen’s idiotic questions when I got taylor swift on repeat who wants to open and read another email about another stupid workplace policy when I can fantasize about the best sex I had the a few nights ago real life is too boring for me when I have music, daydreams, and fantasies waiting to inspire the writer in me
I believe in second and third chances because more often than not I’m the one who’s written off because more often than I’m left after the first time I fuck up because more often than I’m expected to be almost perfect and this weighs on me heavily but it’s my cruel reality so I’ll give a second, a third, even a 4th chance because I believe people can change because I accept people for the humans they are because even if my benevolence burns me at times at least I don’t commit an emotional crime cause judgment without compassion makes one an inhumane and callous robot
Distraída, distraída, distraída siempre fui así porque la fantasía siempre es mejor que la realidad porque necesitaba escapar la durez de mi vida vivir en sueños es mejor que vivir la vida que muchas veces me dejan rota y triste con las desgracias que me pasan distraída, distraída, distraída siempre sere asi mientras tengo vida en mi
Life on the BPD 