Confessional

04/20/23

It feels inherently natural to be back here; I am most myself when I’m suffering.

05/14/23

One of the hardest parts about being a writer is that by staying true to your artistry, you can hurt the people around you. Here, I am risking it all. I am giving you the truth as I know it, from the deepest depths of what I am. Every feeling, every doubt, every thought I have ever had, I attempt to immortalize. Life is too short for oneself to keep quiet, and I refuse to do that any longer.

05/28/23

People refer to the idea of a “weight on your chest” as something negative. I cannot recall when his weight became a necessity or when his presence became my own.

I have only ever been prideful in my ability to be alone, to need nothing, and so I denied the fact.

The difficulty of breathing was an unbearable feeling; at times I wished it away. His weight was lifted off me, not long after, and I found myself short of breath. I would stare at blank walls and find myself mirrored.

I want the heaviness back; I want the pressure, I want to asphyxiate; I want to see stars.

06/08/23

I’m not ready to stand back up. I don’t want to. I want to stay on the ground for as long as I can; I want this pain to inhabit me a little bit longer, a lot longer, actually. This is the last I will ever feel for this moment in my life. I know I will be okay soon, but I don’t want to be. Once I stand, once this pain is gone, it will all be over.

08/10/23

I roll my tongue into the back of my throat to stop me from spelling out your name. It’s hard not to recall the way you spelled it out to me. Your memory rests where you used to, almost like an angel on my left shoulder; devilish in your dictating of my every move. I’m sorry I never asked for you to try and stay the night, but you are the day, and there are people far more deserving of the sun. Your duality was always my favorite, and now I have grown to resent it.

08/15/23

Even now, I am terrified. I promised myself never to write about this; I did not want to place it out here, for anyone else to read; I wanted to be selfish with it; pero tambien le quiero gritar al mundo que por primera vez, todo tenia sentido. How can I not write about something that has altered and fundamentally changed the way I see myself and the world around me? I simply cannot.

08/27/23

It was your birthday a week ago, and I did not wish you anything. The heaviness of this grief impairs me. I want to free you from myself. I want to give you the luxury of keeping the wound closed. I want to give you what I do not have.

09/12/23

My spirit is broken, half-mended, with a void unglued, right in its center. A consequence of knowing and being known, all the while forgetting myself. I have never wanted to be like everyone else, but this is the human condition. I am every cliché ever written, and all I want is to write poetry. I want to write anything. Maybe then I will return.

09/18/23

I fear all I have done the past couple of years has been fear and worry. I worry about my path, knowing I cannot change it. I thought I would never find myself fearing a bigger monster than that of uncertainty, but I recently fed my body a drug I cannot fathom normalizing. I have tip-toed around the subject, terrified that I will somehow end up living in a world where this self-my-self can satiate her hunger without the need for connection. All I have ever wanted out of life is to achieve divinity–to get closer to myself and therefore closer to a higher power–but I am anything but holy. 

I write to breathe; I breathe to write. I fear to live; I live to fear.

09/23/23

I want to become the person I would be if I just forget. If I were to put everyone after me. I want, no, I need to come back to myself. I have loved most lethally and it is now me who stays away from everything good that ever chooses her because God knows I would never choose it for myself, again.

10/04/23

I am tired. What is it that I am looking for? I grow dim every passing second. I am losing time and everything I have made myself to be; I am not anymore. I thought the end of my longing would be in him or the others, but what is it that I truly want? Passion? Success? Divine intervention? I want to not think.

I am never behind what I am; I find myself talking, and I am not saying anything. I don’t mean the words that I speak; I haven’t for a while. 

I reinforce the chains that have long kept my grandparents, my parents, and myself captive. I agree, I follow, I submit. When do I become my own nation? When do I decolonize my tongue, my spirit?

10/10/23

I never thought of myself as a bad person until I met him. I was shown what I can’t have, what I don’t deserve. I have turned into the worst version of myself; my anger is now rage. I wasted my goodness. Bliss turned into agony somewhere over the Pacific. My thoughts do not belong to me; I don’t even belong to myself. My pain had been the only thing to ever belong to me entirely, but it now has a name.

10/16/23

I want to unlock the hungry writer I once was.

10/21/23

I’m estranged; from my family, my friends, my culture. I have big dreams and even bigger hopes of becoming. Is it possible that I should give those up? I want to be peaceful, so I no longer want to accomplish anything. This is not the fulfillment I envision for myself.

When I dream, I see in the distance, my body as it runs home. Somewhere near the waves; the breeze, the salty air, the weight of nothing, is falling on me, I am disconnected from everything but myself. 

10/23/23

Can’t they see? I want to wake up every day and be someone entirely different. How are they to understand why I do the things I do when I don't even know where my thinking begins or ends?

10/25/23

I did not finish that thought. I tend to do that. I mean what’s the hurry? I am in no rush to become or vanish, yet.

10/27/23

My life keeps changing, and I give up hope. I am done holding onto people and things and places that do not hold onto me. The things that have once made me happy, eventually run out; as if I have reached the limit. I understand and I will not complain, I give up hope because the better things in life are fleeting and they are gone.

11/01/23

I don’t feel anything in particular nor can I make myself cry. 

I was so caught up in my own pain that it never occurred to me to thank him for my heartache.

It is strange, to know that there is someone out there.

That there is, after all, one person who can translate what I mean to the whole world.

11/08/23

My trauma still feels not “traumatic enough” to deserve space anywhere but in my subconscious.

11/09/23

I keep letting myself make a habit out of inhabitable beings. I do not owe you anything; I never have, and I never will–but I can thank you sincerely.

Because in all this doubt, in all this anxiety, in all this grief, you have unknowingly saved me from my self-inflicted torment. I had forgotten what it was like to be reckless; I'm not sure I had ever been. 

You made me feel again, even if it was not the most graceful of feelings. You put me off my pedestal, you let me be. I am sorry if my newfound self disappointed you, but thanks!

11/20/23

Me pesa en el alma, no serle buena hija a mi tierra.

12/09/23

Where do you go?

What do you reach for after you find peace?