godless country

June 12, 2018

tonight. under this deep dark night.
a teenage boy is crying for his Mother in silence.
the knot in his throat feels like a chokehold.
he can’t breathe. and still he is living
nightmares in the day time.

tonight. the cold night air brings loneliness.
a teenage girl is screaming on the inside. her eyes shut hard.
as armed men press their bodies against hers.
she can’t breathe. and still she is living.

caged.
cold.
confused.
frightened.
scared.
terrified.

children.
children.
children.

babies.
babies.
babies.

atrocities. i can’t un-think.

children.

babies.
children.

babies.
children.
babies.
children.

babies.

tonight.

a little boy is sniffling quietly
into the pillow of his hands.
he’s trying to ser fuerte
for his little sister. he wears
anger on his face all day
then weeps softly into the night.

tonight.
a little girl closed her eyes to pray
she couldn’t find God anywhere.
she couldn’t find God anywhere.
she couldn’t find God anywhere.

 

 

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Antagonist

June 10, 2018

I’ve thought about it since…

I’ve thought about what people would say, how they would feel. I’ve thought about the sadness I’ve felt when I’ve learned of others who’ve gone through with it. I thought about how hurt those I love and those who love me would be. I’ve thought about what my family would say. Some would say I’d go to hell for being queer. Some wouldn’t even think about shit like that. I’ve thought about what my mother would feel and think. I wonder if she’d blame it on herself or if she’d add suicide to the list of demons I have. Maybe she wouldn’t care what I did with my hair. Maybe she would finally just see me as her daughter and nothing else.

I’ve thought about my father and wondered if he’d remember when I called him at thirteen and asked to move in with him and he responded that he had remarried and started a new family so he couldn’t take me. I wonder if he’d finally introduce my partner as who she is and not my Amiga. I wondered about my siblings and the memories they’d recollect. Like when they would bite themselves and then tell Mami that I had done it so I’d get in trouble. I wonder if they’d wished they’d call me more often. I’ve thought about my younger siblings, the questions that would come to their minds. My little sister’s sadness.

I thought that my cousins would have stories for days of remember-whens and we-use-to… A good amount of them would show up lit (as they should) to the funeral and they’d pour some out for me. They’d talk about how I was always trying to get the family together to do things and how I had the best grasps of our family tree.

Now, I wonder about my partner. Her pain. Our children…

I ‘ve also thought that if I did it, I would no longer have to deal with this heaviness that has been with me for generations.  I would no longer have to swallow my cry as I shed tears in the shower because I feel other’s pain too closely. I’ve thought about it because I feel impotent in the face of so much heaviness and Hatred and complete disregard for Human Life and just fucked up people all around. This world is so toxic. Toxicity murders hope.

I’ve thought that I would no longer have to deal with the chest pain I feel thinking about how long the duration of another acute depressive episode will be. And even worse that you have to Show Up to places and put on all the masks of the world so that they don’t catch a glimpse of this “dark place” like it doesn’t deserve Light. I’ve thought how liberating it is to not feel caged because you just “can’t-get-out” of that place and you don’t quite have an explanation to what is going inside. And no one gets it. And some don’t care to get it. While others tell you you’re strong like strength has anything to do with depression.

There are days that have turned into months where I don’t even feel connected to my Self much less anyone else around me. I go through the motions and the lack of emotions with a turmoil that turns into a contained tornado inside my body while the world witnesses whatever mask I need to wear that day.  I perform daily. Some days I’ve done Oscar worthy scenes.

I’ve wondered if the Spirit in fact does still move after the body is gone. Can I see those I love? Can I feel them in the other worlds? How will I feel them? Can I watch over them? Does this feeling of void and heaviness dissipate in the afterlife? Or do I pass it on to the children?

Depression is one of the most challenging diseases. As a nurse, I’ve witnessed the toll it takes on the body. I’ve watched it consume people physically. As a patient, I’ve witness the internal damage of bottling. I send my “representative” to places for me so that I don’t show that I’m having an acute exacerbation of the disease.

I go for “routine maintenance.” I have a great therapist that I go to weekly-ish.” I do core therapy fully aware that the body remembers all trauma, even the ones our mind has forgotten. There are times that I turn to medication if I feel like the tools in my belt aren’t enough to get through. And I reach out when I chest tightness leads to shortness of breath.

In this moment, I am grounded. Today, I feel strong enough to write about it. Without shame or reservation. I don’t feel the above with the intensity I do some days. Other days, I don’t feel the above at all.

But always sitting there, waiting for the silence of my day, is the depression. That thing I’ve never been able to fully describe but what has been the biggest antagonist of my story.