Words from an Insomniac still trying to find her way

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Acceptance

To be brave,

to wander out

beyond what

you don’t know,

to say goodbye

to your comfort zone

To compromise,

to sacrifice

enough of you,

to fit him or her in

To set aside,

and pick your battles

wisely

to give,

what was once

so hard to let go of

To forgive,

to take the

never ending weight

from off your heart,

to say the right words

when only hatred

is felt

To give a second chance

a reason to be

Take all of these,

from within my hands

as an offering

A promise,

never to be taken

away

As long as I have you,

I’m here to stay.

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In the darkness, the light is not so far away

I am lost

daily,

struggling through

his darkness

and it isn’t easy

trying to shine.

I fall

into his trap,

thinking this time

it will end differently

this time

he will understand.

Maybe it’s time

for me to understand

to walk away

and let the darkness go.

I’ve held onto it

most of my life

there’s nothing

alluring about it,

when it stands

next to my light.


Equilibrium “Did we all have madness for tea?”

when did we become unequal?

weren’t we all meant for greater things?

the days when there were no “in betweens”

no line drawn in the sand,

no undeserving label planted at our feet.

how do we come back from war?

we have been beaten down; torn,

used as door mats, forced to eat

their “standards” of bullshit

washed down by anorexia and meds.

when did it go awry,

why haven’t we woken up?

we are slaves to a useless wage,

unappreciated and taken for granted

while rich silver spoon trust fund babies

run these shithouse factories.

we stand by the lawful whip

of “do as your told”,

not what you want.

it pays to wear a shorter skirt,

kill yourself at the gym,

use surgeries to get ahead.

sex sells; talent is a dying art.

we are only as smart as our looks.

what are we brainwashing our youth with?

we can not afford to sleep any longer,

if we continue, there’s no reason to live,

and i for one enjoy what little i have.

what happened to revolt!

to viva la revolucion?!?

gone are the days

when seizing the moment meant something,

when women and men

were of the same matter and blood.

Meanwhile, everyone is killng each other

for another dollar more,

than the next lemming in line.

there is so much to see and speak,

to dream and believe in,

its time to take the blind folds off

now is the time,

take the moment and run

time to demand the answers

and changes we deserve. now!


The walk of shame, but not all is lost

How does one recover from a failed marriage? Is it easier for him to walk away and start over? Do thoughts of every bad thing I ever did, every mistake I ever made or every time I stood up for myself,  nest inside his mind; as a source of protection from what he is really feeling? Is he angry because this time, I’m not distraught, crying profusely, begging him to try and make it work? Is he angry because my answer is to just walk away instead?

And am I hurting inside? There’s no doubt to the pain and sadness I feel within my heart, my head. We’ve come to the conclusion that we are two different people, with two different agendas. I can’t speak for him, but what I wanted was not what he became, or, according to him, what he always was. I no longer want to to be the “party of one” while my husband sits at home. How many excuses can one person make for someone?

Was it wrong to want someone who thought I was so beautiful in his eyes that maybe he’d surprise me every once in a while by taking me out on a date? Was it wrong to want to try different things, like moving away from the boring city we live in, to try and find our favorite interests? And was it wrong to want him to look at the bright side on certain things, to try something different to help him meet new people?

Is this what you call trying to change someone?

I admit, I don’t like being miserable. I don’t want to complain about everyone and everything; constantly. I have fought with depression for a long period of my life. I still fight with it from time to time now. I don’t want to yell at the person in the car who cuts me off or be hurt because my best friend no longer communicates with me. So how do I compete with that? I feel like a candle in a castle without any electricity. The darkness, in the end, will consume the light. The light will eventually give in.

He said I was moody all the time. I don’t think I was ever moody, or that moody of a person before (and if I was, then I hope someone points it out). And he’s right. I’ve been moody quite a bit since we’ve been together. Speaking as a person who wears her heart on her sleeve, I’d call that moodiness a reaction from the complaining and negativity I’ve tried to block. How do I recover after being knocked down? When my opinion doesn’t mean much if it doesn’t agree with his? When I can’t even explain myself that well, as I was never a great public speaker. Everything sounds so much better in my head, or on paper. How was I supposed to bounce back from being shot down while trying to share my feelings? In the end, it would have been better had I just kept quiet like a good little girl. Okay, so this is me venting. Sorry about that.

Like I said, I was far from perfect. I fought for what I thought was right. I stood up for myself. I said what bothered me. I wasn’t going to be the housewife with no opinion. The good wife who cleaned and cooked and did as she was told.

Someone on the sidelines once said I never used to be negative. And she was right. I had a great hopeful outlook on life. I still do. But in this world, misery always wins. I get angrier quicker, I get defensive, I’m quick to assume and I’ve become stubborn about my opinions. I wasn’t always right, and even though that’s difficult to swallow, I accepted it.

But I’ve always accepted the wrongs and working on a way to change things.

I even went back to church. It’s apparent, if my life is going to change, it’s going to be through God.  This change, it is far from easy, especially when those who don’t want me to succeed know who I’m leaning on. Building this relationship with God was the most important relationship in my life. How else was I going to learn to love my husband who surrounds himself in misery? How was I going to change my behaviors in order to be an example of God’s love? Instead, I failed God as well as my marriage.

I let my marriage come before God.

When my husband became bothered that I went to church or that I spent time on the couch, next to him, reading my bible, we had an argument. He even admitted to being jealous of God because I gave God my attention. I couldn’t explain it. I couldn’t get the words out right, how it was a good thing I was building this relationship with God; learning to love myself. In the end, it still bothered him. So I did the dumbest thing. I stopped going to church. Stopped reading my bible so much, thinking he would come back to me. That we would enjoy each other again. How selfish of me. I turned my back on the one who would never leave me. Look where it has gotten me. Now that I’m trying to rebuild this relationship with God, while trying to hold together a marriage with paste, I’m called a hypocrite when we argue. Or worse when I get mad at a terrible driver. It’s as if he expected me to be perfect because I was going to church. Why do so many people think this way? We are still sinners, still imperfect, still unworthy of God’s love. He has become judgmental in these situations. I’ve never judged his wrong doings. I’ve always wanted him to learn and grow from them so they don’t happen again; feeding on whatever is torturing him.

He’ll never see it that way.

So during this last argument I admitted that I hadn’t been happy for some time. And at some point, I even agreed that we should move on in order to get back to how we used to be, before getting married. We can each find our happiness again. But it became another argument. I thought that would’ve made him breathe easier. Not having to worry about resenting me later on in the years. If this wasn’t the answer he was looking for and he doesn’t want to make some changes, then I’m left confused.

So here we are. Me, making a trip to Goodwill to unload more of the things that weren’t me. Dresses I bought while hinting that I’d wear them on a date. Shoes that were meant to please the eye. (Here I go again, changing in order to make things work). Us, walking around the apartment in silence. Me, with knots in my stomach, no appetite and a sadness in my heart. He, communicating through text messages when I’m in the next room. I don’t know what he is feeling or what he thinks.

All I know is that life is too short for misery.

So as I write this, alone, in our bedroom, I don’t know the future. Whatever it ends up being, I’m going to take it in both hands; learning from it and building up what was torn down. I’m a mess. I like to think I’m a beautiful disaster of a mess. But I can still be rebuilt. I can still get up off my feet and continue on. I failed at keeping a marriage. But I don’t have to fail at life. God has this wonderful purpose for it. I just have to keep reading the blue prints.

Thanks for reading and allowing me the ability to get it off my chest.


Life is too short for misery

Someone once told me “you’re a giver. You give and give but I never see you get any of it in return.” And they were right. I used to believe that it didn’t matter if there was nothing in return, as long as I kept giving. After all, there was an abundance to give. There still is. As time went on, I thought about this comment. I thought about the deeper meaning, the whys, the explanations and it hit me. Always giving doesn’t make me a happier person. It makes me a loving person. A person who sacrifices; no questions asked. In the end, though, when I get nothing in return, it leaves me empty; unimportant, as if I was only there when needed and afterwards, easily discarded.

I will never stop giving. I was born to love and to give my all in everything I do. The only difference, is to know when I’m being used. To know when it’s time to stop. To walk away from someone who sucks the life out of my gift. And there are plenty out there who enjoy doing just that.

It’s a work in progress, but life is too short for misery. Life’s too short for a lot of things.

And that got me wondering. Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we give and put up with everything else? Why do we shut up and not speak our mind when another person is angry and takes control of the conversation? Why do we give up our dreams so that another can fulfill theirs? Why do we sacrifice our happiness so that those who are miserable can have someone like them? Why do we put everyone else before ourselves?

I used to think sacrifice was a part of life. Our grandparents sacrificed for a better lifestyle. Our parents sacrificed so we could have pretty things and college educations. Friends sacrifice their time in order to be there for someone who will never listen. A spouse sacrifices their life in order to give the other all they can; no matter the cost. Others sacrifice in order for their children to have a better life. In the end, who really has the better life?

Someone once told me that it cost nothing to be nice. To be courteous, to be patient or friendlier. I wish that person had looked in the mirror when it was being said. Words are free and never ending. But to fulfill them, well, it comes with a hefty price tag. In other words, for some, it’s easier said than done.

It has taken me many years to learn to love myself. How silly, I know, especially when I tell others that’s where it all begins. It was easier to give my all to everyone; hoping they would feel the same and return it in a different and beautiful way. I was full of love, full of life and ready to share it with whomever. But I didn’t love myself. Perhaps that’s why I felt it wasn’t important when it wasn’t reciprocated. It was my sacrifice, my role in this life.

But I was wrong.

I was created for more than giving and never having anything in return. I was created to love and to be loved. I was created to forgive and be forgiven. I was created to be understanding and to be understood. I was created for dreaming and acting on those dreams. A bonus would be to have a supporter by my side. I was created to enjoy this life I’ve been given. A bonus would be to have someone enjoy the sunrise and sunset, the new day and the adventure; with me.

(more…)


It’s the hardest thing I’ve had to do

Will you wait for me

even in the rain

will you hold my head up

even when the pain is near

will you close my eyes

if I should want to rest

I see images

untold stories

they’re all about

me

how funny

even though

the light gets darker

would you lie for me

if it meant that I would live

would you hide me well

when all my fears creep in

would you accept each sacrifice

I so willingly give

this building

is very high

the breeze

my relief

I’m really trying

to fly

are you happy

with this life I live

are you angry

because I can’t wake up

are you afraid

of losing me all over again

this road

splits in two

I know the road

I must choose

it’s the hardest thing

I’ve had to do

be proud of yourself

another night has come and gone

I’m still here

still trying to hold on

you’ve succeeded again

to help me fight the good fight

if I could I would

keep you for the rest of my life

~Nov. 1996

 

 



	

We must be born this way…

Our Generation  

part I

 

We were born

in a time of drugs

Van Halen, The Circle Jerks, disco

and of course,

oldies and the wanting of hippie love.

We just missed the war

but gained the title

“lower” middle class.

Mexican-American mothers on welfare

Mexican-American fathers in an out of our lives

raised on papas and frijoles

homemade tortillas

and generic cereal.

We were poor and didn’t even know it.

Enjoying free lunch at school and summer programs

how were we to understand what poor meant

When we were too busy enjoying ourselves?

What was in store for us?

~

The eighties contributed widely

to our dreams of romance, traveling

and imagination.

John Hughes, New Wave and Mtv

swept us off our feet.

While Sweet Valley high,

Lisa; bright and Dark

and Go ask Alice showed us what not to be.

And though our parents hardly approved

they couldn’t argue

for there was nothing to protest.

We didn’t treat our parents as the enemy

even under discipline and punishment.

We were children who were too busy

absorbing knowledge

in exchange for a ticket out

headed for anywhere,

somewhere other than home.

We didn’t spend days in front of the t.v.

playing video games, watching endless

television.

We had rules,

we respected those rules

we didn’t always like them

but they were there to stay.

When ‘Totally” and “Gross me out”

were commonly heard,

they didn’t sound ridiculous.

We read, we listened to music with a purpose

songs that didn’t dwell on one boring concept.

We believed in something

while using our imaginations,

Our imaginations that kept us going.

While all around us

violence was rebuilding,

The Middle East between

Iraq and Iran,

The Soviet-Afghan War

and Ethiopians starving and in need of life.

and then there was Ronald Reagan

disappointing, like our family knew he would be.

~

During later years

we grew up rebellious,

the outcast of a gang life-style

of yuppie do-gooders

of drugged out moms and dads,

left alone to our own devices.

We still made the most

of what little we had.

Still ate free lunch

hung out at after school programs

still clung to friendships

even though some of us

changed schools like we changed underwear.

Slowly understanding

how ‘Food Stamps’ became shameful

and ‘Low Income Housing’

was embarrassing.

Some of us delved into depression

into hopelessness

and still we weren’t ungrateful.

We loved the things we received

the attention we craved

and belonging when we didn’t belong

anywhere else.

Still, we had a book in our hand

a song in our hearts

and compassion and love

for life around us.

Blinded by a dream.

~

In the nineties we were insecure

acne, body weight and high school

and we were lambs lead to the slaughter

We tried, we lived as we believed

still dreaming of Mr. or Mrs. Right

still planning on living abroad

away from the labels and stereotypes

given us;

Wet-backs

Beaners

Dreamers

we were pushed up against the social wall

and we fought with all our love

all our dreams.

Some of us fell hard

into the abyss of Depression

of peer pressure, of belonging

and some of us didn’t make it.

Some of us became teen parents

drug addicts, gang members

or runaways.

Trying to find out where we belonged in this world.

Only a lucky few made it out unscathed.

By this time we knew

what it meant to be poor,

Mexican-American and non Anglo

behind the lines of success

and facing endless troubles at home.

We were failing; brave rebels

but we tried and that’s all we could do.