In the middle of nowhere, there's Derry.

There's always been Derry.

This dusty, iron-hot, unpaved piece of land that has done nothing for the world but ruin its best people. Derry.

I wasn't born here. I wasn't raised here. I grew from teen to older teen here. I got fucked up by the demons in this town here. I got sore and broken. I got my scars here. I almost died here. Almost.

This town produced, made and shattered all the best people in the world. Don't ask why, nobody understands. I understand the least of all.

It also produced all the sickest bastards, all the despicable vices and every inch of pain. It was all locally grown and exported all around by the people that carried it from birth. I may carry some just by contact. It's contagious like that.

This town hurt me. This town. This fucking piece of land. I'm done being afraid of it. I'm angry. I'm pissed and raging, sick of what it has done and to whom it has done it to.

When I got beat up inside the building, when I got chased around by knives and fists, when my life was threatened at my smallest and most vulnerable, when I tried to slit my wrists open, or swallowed a box of sleeping pills, or starved myself for months... all that pain it caused me, also served to blind me of what it was doing to others.

I took it personally.

I thought it was only me.

But it wasn't.

It was everyone.

Everyone got as fucked by the place as I did.

It ruined his dad.

Her mom.

It ruined his sisters.

It hurt her self-worth and perspective.

And his pride on himself.

It pushed her far far away inside herself.

It destroyed my mom.

Today I learned another thing.

That it got her hurt. He abused her and I didn't know. Was it when I was around? Could I have done something? Was I too sunk in my own shit to see you reaching out? Derry got all my best friends.

The smallest one of all.

The tiniest and softest.

The most frightened one.

It sent one of its trash to hurt her. And he got away with it. 

I'm so so sorry.

I didn't know.

But then she got away.

And she ran.

But then he went after your little sister.

And she fought back!

So tiny and fragile. Even smaller than you.

With her big doe eyes and crooked smile. Her curls and giggles. She fought back and got beat up, but she won.

... won the battle? Won the war?

What war is this but the war against Derry.

Run away, honey.

Stay away from here.

I want to burn it down. I wish I could burn it all fucking down.

Cease existing.

Stop reminding me.

Erase all the memories from it.

Drown all the pain it brings me just to see its buildings.

Just dissolve into your own madness already.

You've done enough already.

Fucking. Derry.

It's always been Derry.

There's this song in In The Heights, it's Just Breathe.
On a side of being a musical masterpiece by the musical genious that Lin-Manuel Miranda always is, it has resonated inside me since I dropped out of school
for the second time
and which you all know I'm insufferable about.
Self disapointment has stuck to my bones and wrapped around me
as if it were a second layer of skin.
This is what I'm carrying with me.
Being the dropout that I am, I can't stop the comparisons and feeling like not only I'm letting myself down but everyone else that has at some point rooted for me as well.

It's not like the college experience doesn't suit me.
I like it, I like learning and I like teachers and I like chilling in the back row and drinking my coffee and making interesting remarks in classes and getting adult aproval as I do.
I don't like it when I miss class because of work
or because of anxiety
because I fall asleep when I'm having lunch and drop my face into my plate of soup
this happened only once, I got more careful
I don't like missing school because I'm stressing out about missing school
I hate being the student with the excuses
even though they're real ones.
I don't like failing tests
being behind on papers.

I was asked by my mom when I was returning to school
and I told her that I will when I have the time
and she believed it too because, well, dad finished his carreer at 36 with a marriage and a daughter and two jobs and diabetes and a drug addicted wife
and I got his genes. I am an achiever of things, an overcomer, someone who doesn't quit on life's hardships.
Except that I've tried and I couldn't and that's why I'm still here.

Miiiiira, Ninaaaa,
Grandma asked me why I left school and I told her the truth
she said I'm not in any hurry 
no me preocupo por ella.
she believes this
Ahí va nuestra estrella
she wants me to write a book and she said it would be better than Harry Potter
I told her I haven't done enough reading for that
Ella sí da la talla
They're all counting on me to succeed.

H keeps telling me that the second I want to go back he's got my back
he said that I can quit work
or we could close down
or he can take up whatever we need to help me focus on school only
but I don't want to close down
or quit work just yet
I do believe in our little thing and I don't want to close because I just couldn't

I'm 23 and I feel like if I'm not crashing down
I'm not doing enough
because everyone else seems to be managing better than me.

"The windows for sleeping rearrange 
And I'm nobody 
Well who's laughin' now
I'm leaving your town again 
And I'm over the ground that you've been spinning 
And I'm up in the air so baby hell yeah 
Well Honey, I can see your house from here 
If the plane goes down, damn 
I'll remember where the love was found 
If the plane goes down, down."

Grandma.

I finished reading my grandma's book
but I'm not returning it until I see her again.
She's getting old. She's growing weak.
I always thought of my grandma as a strong sturdy lady
who would live until she was 106 like her mom.
But she's gotten soft since my grandpa died in 2014.
She really held it together for him
I guess there's no use anymore.
She's still the Chanel Lady who gets her expensive swimsuit from Sunset Boulevard and gambles at Vegas and gets lost in hotel lobbys, drunk from her 3 escochansodas.
She's still the woman who grew up in a little ranch and truly believed she would marry her thief neighbor.
My grandma is one of a kind.
But I see her getting tired walking on the beach.
I see her struggling with her lungs and her sickness.
I'm not sure how I'd handle it if...
I can't even type it.

A fan blows cool breeze around us
while we wrap each other in fresh linen and kisses
we laugh about everything and nothing
I'm truly happy.

On the ocean.

I like how waves pick me up
and let me float slowly
I feel how angry the ocean is
when waves crash against the shore
it thrashes and fights
ands still lets me be
I don't fight against it
I only do its will.

It's a good day today.
We're whole, we're good.
We're hard working and making it last.
We are gonna get through.
I'm motivated and willing.
We're gonna get through.

"S M A R T".

It's not possible to control the way people think about you
or how they refer to you
their misconceptions or ideals
everything that makes you YOU according to THEM.
I hate being considered as smart.
What is smart even?
How can you measure smart?
Who isn't and how can you see me as smart if all I'm doing is giving up constantly?
I keep doing this and being less than and not achieving while people that you believe aren't as "smart" as me keep finishing everything and doing the achievements that I simply cannot.
Where's the smart that you talk about?

Money.

So my biggest and deepest concern in life is money.
I can't fucking get around it.
I work like a dog and earn money.
I save it and feel guilty for being stingy with it.
I spend it in little things I want and feel splurgy and undeserving, like I should be saving.
How does one save when one makes little, and still needs to do more?
I feel pressure with saving and it bothers me that whenever I feel like I'm not broke and I can afford life, it's precisely when I have to do a big payment of something out of the blue.
How do I lose so much money?
Why don't I make more money?
Why do I have to care
So
Much
About
Fucking
Paper
?

On the future.

I don't know what I want.
I want us to be ok.
I want us to be safe.
I want my mom sober
I want my love and my life
I want stability.
I don't know how.

On you.

If I could rip my heart open
and show you how much I love you
my life, I would.
I would break it in two
split it in half
make you see
it's all I ever feel.
No matter what, I love you.
Every day of my life, I love you.
I would show you if I could.

On Running.

I'm running this life.
I run from work and I run away,
I run to relax and run to exercise,
usually I run late and often I feel
like I'm running behind.
I run long distances sometimes
but usually run short ones.
I rarely run sprints but I run out
of my way for people.

This is a list of specific songs

The song when I miss Grandma
The song that reflects my self-deprication.
The song when I need a good cry
A song for when you want to believe in something.
The song for when you're broke.
the song that reminds me of Miriam the most
the song that reminds me of Mali the most
the song that reminds me of Jorge the most
A song about love
A song about therapy

How to summon me after I die.


Draw the circle, gather ‘round!
Summon this witch from underground!

Hair of cat, strong coffee,
incense burning, books to read.

Daisies white and winking dew,
wildflowers of every single hue.

Chocolate black, wine and ale,
a quiet room and ghost stories.

If this all fails–this whole spell–
I’ll still show up for fresh baked bread smell.

On suicide.

I read this article about passivity in suicidal ideation
I am not depressed and I'm definitely not active upon it
But it's something that someway or another
Always roams around there
If it's a bad day
If I'm really anxious
If I'm somewhat fucking up
“I want to die”
Is a recurring thought
Not as alarming anymore
Just... there.

tonight's concert

really nice you guys
it's a very nice discourse
but you are advocating for feminism
while praying for a rapist?
hm.

Here's the yearly writing about my dad.

Cómo te extraño.
Ni te conocí tanto y te extraño, a veces me cae el veinte de que voy a pasar el resto de mi vida extrañándote, que nunca te voy a volver a ver y nunca me vas a hacer reír con tus comentarios históricamente correctos y todas tus ganas de ser Rocky Balboa.

Yo creo que si estuvieras, serías un conspiranoico del internet y postearías cosas vergonzosas en facebook y te quisieras pelear con todo el mundo. Tal vez también serías vegano, who knows.

Te conocí diez años y ocho meses. Tengo amigos que he conocido más tiempo y sigo creyendo que tu fuiste el único que verdaderamente me entendió. Tú que te agarraste a chingazos con todo Mexicali, y te perdiste en un cerro por meterte peyote y que me llevaste a todos los lugares que pudiste para que no me quedara con las ganas.

Siento que tal vez ya sabías. Que después de que te curaste de leucemia a los 8, sabías que no iba a haber tantos años más. Y que a los 20 te hiciste diabético, y que a los 38 te moriste.
Qué pedo, 38. Qué miedo que un día yo voy a tener más años que los que tuviste tú. O a lo mejor también me muero. Quién sabe.

Creo que te hubiera gustado Héctor. Es súper interesante e inteligente, y súper hubieran platicado de musica y Batman y películas. Y yo podría seguirles la corriente y hacer como que no quiero que te metas en mi vida. Me encantaría que te metieras en mi vida. Ojalá te tuviera para que me hicieras enojar.

Cómo te extraño, pa.

Cada vez que veo a mis tíos y a mis primos te veo clarito. La pinche genética de los Rivera está muy fuerte y todos se precen bien duro. Daniel se parece horrible a ti. Fuimos al Valle de Gudalupe y me tomé tres botellas de vino y le dije casi llorando que se parecía un chingo a ti, y se sacó mucho de onda, pero esta navidad ya fingió como que nunca pasó porque tiene un corazón enorme y no me quiso avergonzar.

Ojalá los vieras a todos. Iván se acaba de casar, te hubiera encantado estar ahí. Tus hermanos te extrañan mucho, creo que Cata más que nadie. Aarón se fue a India y estaba entrenando artes marciales en un templo Shaolin, te hubieras vuelto loco de la emoción. Max se fue a Canada. Sigue siendo el más hermoso, siempre me dice que me ama, igual que Almita. La Sofi está enorme y es idéntica a mi tío Juan. De seguro te reirías mucho como mi tío Tomás.

Mi mamá está bien. Ya no está enojada contigo.
Obvio la caga un chingo, pero ya no la culpo tampoco.
Te extraña todos los días, pa. Ella sí cree que te va a volver a ver. Ta tonta.

Pero nadie te extraña como yo, y así te voy a extrañar para siempre.

¿Por qué ya no te busco?

Pues honestamente no estoy segura. Se que todavía te quiero y se lo mucho que te quiero cerca, pero creo que al final de todo siempre me da miedo depender de los demás. No te quiero abrumar con la existencia y con las cosas con las que lidio rutinariamente. Supongo que de alguna manera quiero que me sigas encontrando interesante, en lugar de cansada y atiborrada de trabajo como siempre estoy últimamente.

Me gustas cerca y me gusta tu risa y tus comentarios siempre inteligentes, divertidos, me gusta incluso cuando no hablamos de nada porque aún así siento que aprendo cosas contigo. ¿Yo que te doy en cambio, quedándome cerca? ¿Qué se yo que no sepas y que te pueda enseñar? Te extraño constante como antes pero no me arrepiento porque sé que cuando estemos de nuevo cerca tendré algo que darte, algo que también compartirte. No solo mis problemas.

Is this a libra thing?

Mental checkup.

How are we feeling today?
I guess not so great.

Today's been tough and long. I'm constantly tired.
I guess working two full time jobs and managing my brain is not as easy as I like believing, but I don't think it should be this fucking hard.

How can I stay on top of the mental game?
I can read all about it. I try yoga and running, esting healthy, drinking less, breathing more, making lists, but it's all for nothing.

Maybe I should see another therapist but I'm too fearful of starting over with another stramger, and my last experience was so crappy I'm terrified of another judgy lady.
I should definitely sleep more but how can I if all i need is more time.
Maybe I need a babysitter to tell me to sleep and drag me to take care of myself as I actually should.

Crying from exhaustion is getting natural.
I'm spiraling down to a point where I start thinking that maybe it's always going to be too much for me. I'm hopeful for the future, and over all I guess I'm happy.
But man, I'm tired of living inside of this brain.

On being late.

So I can't really seem to ever be on time for anything.
I may try my hardest and do all the extra little efforts just to end up arriving later that I usually do. Later than expected. Always late.
I try and make changes, prepare beforehand, have my things by the door, set 79 alarms. Never works. Late for work, school and dates. Meetings and parties. Some lateness is seen as worse than other given the ocasion, but always late nonetheless.
What can we do, then, but aspire to be late but ready? Late but perfectly prepared? Late but no other complaint. Have the execution excuse the tardiness.
Or that's how I like to think it can work.
Because once again, I'm late.