I wrote this in April of 2002 when I was depressed and felt empty. Chronic feelings of emptiness is a trait of living with BPD. It’s rough sometimes.
I’m at a very bad place
I struggle and struggle
to come out of this miserable and horrible place
But somehow feel confined
With a helluva strong glue
at the bottom of my pitiful feel
Stuck to the pit of here( my life)
I continue to
Dream and dream
The impossible dream
To someday become unstuck
I wrote this in March of 2003 when I went back to Hawaii. I had a lot of conflicting feelings about this trip.
I’m back here
Where it all started
A place I once called home
But now I’m not so sure
I always wonder if I should’ve stayed
But now I see why I had to go away
It is filled with both
Beautiful memories
of the loved ones I left behind
And ugly memories
of the ones that left me behind
when I needed them the most
I don’t regret coming back
Because it’s what I needed
In order to heal and move on
from you my past, and let you go
I wrote this in January of 2003 about Lucas. I was doing what I normally do, obsessing over past love because I was lonely. At least I wrote this poem instead of trying to track him down.
My dear Luke
I Still miss you
Even after your unexpected departure
My heart feels a terrible torture
Of not having you by my side
I wonder if for me, you ever cried
Why couldn’t you stay?
Instead of leaving on that dreary day
Why did you have to go?
Nobody else could’ve loved you more
I know my letter may seem strange to you
But my heart finds it hard to replace you
I have tried so hard to move on
But it’s impossible to go on
I guess I should say goodbye
Before I start to cry
But before I do this
I gotta tell you my wish
that you find what you need
Even if it’s without me
And if you ever find yourself in love
Understand that you’re enough
and that you fight for it
Don’t run away from it
So now I say goodbye my friend
Maybe one day I’ll see you again
I wrote this in September of 2001, probably about a one night stand. It’s amazing how great sex fucks with my brain. Lol.
I saw myself last night
In a sea of the most passionate lovemaking
of my life
It was like your body
Knew me like an old friend
Even though we just met
2 nights ago
Escribí este poema en el 2003 acerca de Lucas. La nostalgia de el me visitaba frecuentemente y eso me inspiraba bastante.
Cuantos años pasaran
Para pararte de amar
Cuantos labios besare
Para sacarte de mi mente
Cuantos pensamientos más tendré de ti
Hasta poder olvidarme de ti
Cuando se me quitara este deseo
De querer vivir contigo en un sueño
Cuando parare
De quererte ver
Escribi este poema en 2003 acerca de John.
Yo no quería hacer
La misma historia
De la mujer usada
Pero al ver la indiferencia con la
que me tratas
Yo veo que para ti
No tengo nada de importancia
Que para ti
Nada soy y nunca seré
Pero un dia
Te vas a lamentar
Cuando después de un tiempo
De nuevo me miraras
Y te moriras
Al no poder tocarme
Y los remordimientos vendrán
Por haberme menos preciado
Y por haber sido conmigo
Un desgraciado
Escribí este poema en enero de 2003 acerca de un amor que deseaba. Todavía vivía con la illusion de encontrar un amor así.
Me tienes llena de estos bellos sentimientos
con tus tiernas caricias y la maravilla que son tus besos
me devolviste la fe
Por ser aquel hombre
que sabe como tratar a una mujer
Contigo deseo amanecer
Me tienes siempre pensando en ti
Y la esperanza de tenerte junto a mi
Me haces volar
Y otra vez soñar
Me haces sentir
Y mi sangre hervir
Me vuelves loca
Con tu bella forma de amar
Y a ti siempre me quiero atar
I wrote this in May of 2003 when I was depressed. At the time, I didn’t think about getting help. I also didn’t understand what was happening to me. No one knew because I had become a master as masking my emotions. Instead poetry was my therapy.
The sadness creeps up on me
like a wild animal
upon its prey
Slowly but surely
I become all too quickly
Miserable again
I ponder the question
Why, why, WHY?
I am young and healthy
Yet I begin to feel
like I’m slipping on thin ice
and what scares me the most
is
I DON”T KNOW WHY?
I wrote this poem in 2019 while going through a deep depression and reflecting on my crazy year of 2018. I put myself in a place where I was constantly objectified by men and even my friends. It felt good since at that time I felt the high of unhealthy validation for a while but then it got tiring.
Princess
They call me
They treat me as such
A Princess
Stuck in a tower
Of a dead end life
A Princess
Objectified
By everyone
From strange men
To
So called good friends
A princess
Everyone wants to
Save, compliment, or fuck
But rarely love
Pretty princess
Trapped within
The walls of a sexist society
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.
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.
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:
My Amazing Hero
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 in January of 2003 about Lucas. I was still obsessing about him.
Your love was a lost cause
when it was her you chose
but at night I still toss and turn
wondering why it wasn’t me you yearned
Was it the hurtful fact?
You wanted to keep your life intact
Or was it because
I wasn’t good enough
To make the ultimate sacrifice
to leave your perfect and fake life
Life on the BPD 