Abortion

It’s been exactly one month since my medical abortion and I spent time crying last night about what my baby will be like at 15 weeks old this week. It was supposed to be my first child and I am 32 going on 33 in 2 months. Currently, I am not happy and hate that my abortion was the result of 2 people who chose not to have protected sex and many other factors of course. I feel like an ignorant teenager saying that. I mean yes, I did take the required sex education course when I was in middle school BUT no one taught me at HOME to value my body/womb, to WAIT to have sex after getting to know the man’s motives, etc. I spent my whole 20s living with a mentally ill mother and disabled sister I took care of and never had the chance to really date just to have/gain experience. I never had a boyfriend in middle/high school either. In other words, I was only truly sexually active/dating around August 2021 but I went into the dating game completely unprepared emotionally and physically. I was just so stupid and put myself in so many dangerous situations in the name of a man and his attention. The red flags were always there but I didn’t love myself enough to shut it down and move forward…or at least stop myself and turn in a different direction for my betterment. 

I’ll never forget, he asked if I wanted to have sex without a condom, and I said yes assuming he was going to pull out or “finish off” in a bathroom (I had sex with men who had done this). But he ejaculated in me (the first time a man did that to me) and for some reason warned me of the consequences like he wasn’t a participant in this. I just stood frozen and naked, watching him go to the bathroom to clean himself up. My mind wasn’t there. Prior, he talked about an ex who had an abortion and how it mentally affected him as apparently he WANTED this child and both actively had sex to get pregnant. They were both in their mid 20’s. 

Mind you, he is 29 years old. No GED, no job, lives with roommates in Miami, is spoiled and unmotivated as he’s a native American, and gets reparation money from the government and free assets like a truck from his tribe. Plus he drinks a lot of alcohol and spends most of his day, skateboarding, smoking pot, and hanging at bars. 

For 2 weeks after I came home from visiting him for the first time (we “met” on a dating app in August/September 2022…yeah…stupid choice), he talked about how if I was pregnant he was going to “keep me forever” and passively told me not to get an abortion IF I become pregnant. I agreed with him so willingly and ignorantly…

Well, on December 30th, 2022 I texted him I was pregnant and everything went 180 for about two months before my abortion. Suddenly he didn’t want to be a father and started to scold me for being very relationship-oriented (which is weird as HE was the one who wanted to be in a relationship with me…I guess he didn’t want to do the work to MAINTAIN a relationship i.e. better communication). He also expressed how it was annoying that I was so “parent-to-be oriented” (i.e. resharing Instagram reels of moms, motherhood, babies, childbirth, etc.)

I WANTED THIS BABY. Until…the pregnancy symptoms got worse, my mental health got severely worse, combined with him being a straight-up incompetent selfish asshole and other factors regarding finances, education advancement (I already have a B.A degree), mental health (I was very suicidal), etc. I MADE THIS CHOICE ON MY OWN to get an abortion. I remember crying uncontrollably after work to my mom that I didn’t want to be a single mother and she expressed “well I have done it, your aunts and cousins too”….but I DON’T want to be a baby mama…especially in my 30s…I don’t want to deal with child support, and custody battles, especially as he’s native and they have their own court system that could and WILL side with him… 

He admitted later when I was pregnant that he still talks to his other ex (not the one who got the abortion), of 10 years to help each other “move on”. Such bullcrap, apparently her being so “toxic and abusive” didn’t matter?… I was so stupid believing his lies. 

The day of my abortion, when I took the first pill with the doctor present, it was a relief, knowing I don’t have to be “stuck” with him “karmically” anymore…I made the choice. But 2 days after taking my second set of pills I felt the fetus pass (literally after my therapy appointment…what are the odds…) and it was horrendous and I broke down. I was 11 weeks so it was a painful process. It wasn’t just “a bunch of cells” that passed…a small humanoid was forming…I didn’t look of course…but I knew what it was. 

A potential I will never be able to see, kiss, hug, and love…

I used my own student loan refund (I am in an M.A. program) to pay for this abortion…my now ex’s father was willing to pay for it but honestly…having a 29 YEARS OLD MAN-CHILD own freaking father paying for the abortion was embarrassing.  I didn’t need their money. I haven’t spoken to him in a month. He is dead to me now. He tried contacting me 3 days ago and I deleted and blocked it without a second thought. 

This whole experience changed how I view love, relationships, men, pregnancy, children…myself…forever.

Re-Dis-Connection

You didn’t know that last night I touched myself thinking of you. Eager, repeating and screaming out your name. Sending out energies of white rays of love. Wanting….you. I guess it wasn’t felt by you.

I’m broken. Broken by the fact I met you… at the wrong time perhaps. Wrong platform like some digital application. Wrong country. Wrong lifetime? When I am at my most vulnerable crippled mentally and emotionally unstable time. When I was dealing with this new self—as a lesbian woman.

I don’t have any more energy to write…my heart hurts a lot. It seems like a faraway dream now. I want soo much to get close to you. So much. I wanted to scream to you on the phone: I WANT YOU! I DON’T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THIS GIRL!

I was just talking about my insights….but it was annoying.

You’re absolutely everything I asked for. Everything. And I haven’t even met you. But I understand, someone secure wants something more. I failed at giving that. I will always fail. I want to die. God, why was I born? Let me die. Please. Please.

On a New Moon, my sister cast a spell…more so a prayer without telling me. My sister prayed for me to have a partner who’s attentive, supportive, loving, caring, and understanding. That same morning I left..that same morning I told her what I wanted. She actually prayed so much and yesterday she said she felt bad when she thought we weren’t speaking. It’s not your fault Leeana. My beloved twin. I’m so sorry.

I don’t want to work. I have $100 left in my savings account. I don’t want to continue with schooling even though I am passing both classes with two A’s. I don’t want to do anything right now, I don’t want to clean my house, take a shower, eat, go to yoga class, to get out of the house. Let me go God. Your creation wants to go to the dark.

I hate my voice. I hate how I communicate. It always comes out badly. I hate everything about myself actually. I always do everything wrong. Having an anxious attachment style, with anxiety and depression and all this bullshit is not easy.

Who would really want me now? I feel alone.

You have no idea how much I want you. No idea and it hurts so damn much…

The thorn in the ocean.

He’s so special to me.

If I would find myself on a path to him and fell away because of my past hurt and patterns then I would die inside and never forgive myself. In what ways can I find another soul again like him? This world is very cruel and people are in pain, but when one refuses to let that pain entrap them then what do I see? I see a god? A hero? A prince? What do I see? What do I want to see? How come I won’t see it as is? His bravery. His confidence. His self-knowing. Why must my mind create stories that are not real? Why must I take this “sword of words” and inflict pain? Why walk on this cycle of illusion once more? I feel like a drunk princess on a high tower, ready to fall away. But why run away gain? Why fall? Where will I land?

But instead of wallowing in guilt, I decided to take the essence of courage and look at myself. I say to myself: Stop. What are you afraid of? Because it is just as is, a meeting, a discussion, a moment.

That I want to last forever. Ah yes, the moment.

It is a gift, but will I accept it?

God laughs. “It’s ok my child.” “Now, what have you learned?”

To believe in my healing, to believe in my heart more, to believe that I deserve good connections. To face my mind, to find the patterns… But I have to put in the work. I have to do my part. I must be brave and protect this connection from the illness of traumas, the illness of thy past. Ah, if he saw my heart and my willingness right now…I won’t let go of him. Be my mirror…

The words of infliction from a memory…a memory I need to face.

I wanted to love her. I wanted to believe there was more but when the connection of affection died I was hurt. I wanted the first time to have a dream of love. But it was an illusion once more. I woke up on her bed after feeling very distant even from physical touch like hugging and holding. She blocked me away…very slowly…she wanted to be friends and nothing more. I knew this but still believed that maybe there was something more and I remember texting my sister that morning I can’t do this anymore and I don’t want to stay over again because I’d been away from home for almost 3 days. I left with these thoughts of disappointment but I was forgetting my own life and I had to leave. I had to leave this castle of nothingness. There was absolutely nothing. While riding an uber home, I thought that I will never find love. I thought that my life will be filled with emptiness going through one female body after another until I found an authentic connection. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. I gave up.

But why must God do this to me the same day when I came to my home?

He smiled and said: “Ah, here is one person who you can connect with”.

Who is she? Wait, who is he? What is happening?

God then said: Look at the sky, look below your feet. I’ll shower you with truth, from this unforgettable meet. This is my gift to you.

Time doesn’t exist, there was a prolonged meeting of words. Two bodies haven’t met yet, so the mind needs to connect first. It is the mind that I have right now that has many stories. But some stories are from hurt. Like an ocean with thorns…

I have to go to him. He’s like a modern prince. Full of self-assurance and bravery. I admire him so much. So far away, but so close. I have to go. I feel it in my soul. Aw, this feeling, I want to be brave…so I can be near. I want to face my fears.

So what is the thorn in the ocean?

The water is the subconscious and a thorn is an affliction when it surfaces. When I harmed him with the words of thy past, I collapsed. I collapsed. I collapsed. What have I done? Oh God, please what just happened?

God: I showered you with a truth…from this unforgettable meet….look below your feet…what do you see?

There I saw everything. My anger, my pain, my fears, my thoughts shaped like thorns inflicting myself…over and over. I cried. I shut down. But that made everything worse. There was silence. I harmed him. His beloved soul…

The night ended with a serious discussion and an exchange of apologies. It was a miracle we laughed actually before we ended the conversation. But I couldn’t help but lie on my bed with self-disappointment. What will happen moving forward? Will things change? Will this connection continue?

What really matters: How can I change moving forward?

And then I began to write…I began to tap into my mind. I am tired of hiding away. I began to write…the morning is dim. I want to write like my life depends on it. So where do I begin? I already just started. It doesn’t have to be perfect but I am doing it because it’s so important to me right now.

And so I drifted away from the ocean of thorns, I came upon the surface holding on to the thorns that pierced my hands. I let go, my hands are still bleeding, thy salt of the ocean stung thy wounds. I kissed them, tasting the blood on my lips. I’m completely wet…I’m naked. I’m on my knees on the sand and I felt it for the first time. I felt pain, but a pain that motivated me to live. A pain that wants to heal. Because there is this love inside of me, this beauty, that needs to fly.

Thank you God for this gift.

Yellow Rose: An Awakening

Chapter 1: She Appeared

When she appeared she glistened, when she appeared she quieted my being. I hated time at that moment. Time was my biggest enemy.

It was a Sunday. Mother Spring exposed us to gifts of blossoms and a warm breeze. The night was black. The stars looked like shattered pearls. The clouds floated in the stillness around the full moon. I thought it was perfect regardless of it being overshadowed by the loudness of city lights and sounds. That night I drank a few beers with my friends at a very well-known LGBT+ club called “Twisted”. I wanted to take a walk outside to gather my thoughts which were clouding my mind.

I’ve been working this job as a financial analyst for 5 years and couldn’t bear the idea of going back to the same damn cubicle on Monday, doing the same routine over and over, while being micromanaged by my boss and noisy co-workers. I needed a break or more so, an escape from the demands of my career. My close friends Roger and Melania didn’t mind me leaving for a bit and told me to call them when I was ready to leave as they didn’t want me to drive alone of course.

I was walking slowly, the city lights were dimmed yet bleeding through my eyelids; colors of white and red like the car lights. While I was walking, I stumbled over my words a bit while holding my favorite Singha beer in my left hand. I looked a bit disoriented but I didn’t care. I just needed to keep walking.

“Are you ok miss”? a stranger asked me when I walked past him.
“Ummm..yeah I’m fine..” I snickered. “Thank you”.
“Don’t you want to come over to my place, you look lost”? continued the stranger.
I stopped in my tracks. With hidden disgust, I answered hesitantly
“…N-no thank you, sir”.
“Oh come on! You look like you needed a good time!” “Come here, bab–!”
“No”. I said.
He persisted “I have a few people at my place and we’re going to try out some good drugs called–“
“No!” I said in anger. “Fuck off!”

There was silence between us, the sounds of taxis and the people in the background became a source of relief. I wasn’t alone. This stranger was taken aback by the words and at that moment felt the need to tell me to go fuck myself. At that moment I burst out laughing at his face and then sang my favorite song “Trapped in the Corner” by my favorite Thai band “Omnipresent” which my father and I use to listen to when I was 6 years old. While signing the lyrics louder at the stranger’s face, he backed off and shook his head.

“Crazy bitch” he said while walking away.

But I kept walking forward, in opposite directions, singing my song. I didn’t give a damn.

“I’m coming alive, where are you…?”
“From the deepness inside, I long for what’s true…
“On this earthly stage full of loudness. I quiet my head…”
“I see your eyes…my heart was fed”

While I was walking which felt like hours, I felt the need to walk to the left side of town. Now Yellow Rose park was quite a complex park to find in the city, it’s located by an alleyway away from the typical shops and restaurants you see in the city. It felt like a maze trying to find it actually. I got lost a few times when I first moved to the city in 2008 but I am able to navigate myself to this place without the need for Google Maps thankfully.

“Ah ha. found you.” I spoke under my breath. The garden welcomed me with yellow roses and these amazing willow trees donated by an Arabic family that was well-known for owning very expensive vintage antiques. I was quite happy being alone away from the smell of tar and the sounds of cars and people. I sat on a bench and began to breathe in the roses. Dear God, this life…

It’s a quite horrendous feeling alone. I wondered why this feeling engulfs my head almost every day. I am 27 years old, with a good career…that I absolutely hate. I have great friends, a nice family of scholars, and my baby kitten Ilia, who always comforts me. I live in a great city people would die to live in. I take yoga and cycle classes, go to therapy every Wednesday after work, and even joined a 20+ singles book club to please my mother’s request, to well “socialize more” a.k.a find a “nice partner”. I am doing everything by the book. Why do I feel so damn empty? Why?

I pleaded from my heart. Then I saw her.

“Impossible,” I whispered.

She appeared.

She was sitting on a different bench right across from me. She heard my bodily movements and was jolted with surprise. She lifted her head and stared right into my eyes. Those brown deep eyes. I needed to pull closer.
“Where did you come from”? I asked. Y-you just appeared out of nowhere!
“Did I”? she answered. Her voice instantly put a stop to my doubts.
“I think I was here before you.” she continued. She took a quick glimpse at my left hand and saw my Singha beer which was almost empty of liquor.
“Oh..sorry.” I threw away the beer can quickly and brushed my blazer. “Um…maybe your right, I am a bit drunk anyways so I probably didn’t see you there.”
“It’s ok”. she smiled. Her smile took away my heart violently.
“What’s your name?” she asked. Why must her voice strip away my strength, the sort of faux strength you’re forced to show to the world?
“Jamila” I answered. “Jamila Wang”
“Hi Jamila”, my name is Hanako Summerson.
We stared at each other for a few seconds.
“Hanako…” means “blossom” in Japanese right? I asked.
“Yes” how do you know? Do you know Japanese?”
“No, I just remember someone naming their pet dog after that.”

At that moment Hanako started to laugh. It sounded like chimes swaying in the wind. I couldn’t bear it anymore. She was beautiful and I wanted to tell her. She had long dark hair that stopped at her torso, a small frame, red budding lips, and a button nose. She was wearing this simple white dress that covered her ankles. She looked like an angel who was lost on Earth. Where did she come from? She’s certainly not some typical city girl I see every day. I had to know everything about her. Her simplicity is what made me beg for answers. What was on her mind? What was in her heart? My heart couldn’t stop racing. I thought I would die.

“How old are you”? “Do you live here?” I asked.
“I’m 21 years old and yes, I live in the B section of the city.”
“B section, b-section…that’s a few miles from here. Did you take the subway?
“Yes.” “I tend to come to this park at night after work”
“Where do you work”? I asked. I hated asking these vague questions but it was the only way to warm up to her.
“I work at a daycare at Trinity”.
“Ah, Trinity daycare, I know someone who owns the business.”
“You do?!” she said with shock.
“Yes.”
“Oh..” she quickly released from those lips of hers.

Why must she be so simple? I can feel her moving away from me, and I grabbed her arm. What was I thinking? Am I stupid? She doesn’t know me. She’ll call the police for harassment.

“You’re capturing my heart”. She smiled while looking down at my hand that held onto her arm so tightly.
“What”? “What did you say”? I asked with great confusion. “Aren’t you scared?”
“No”. Slowly she spoke again, “You’re capturing my heart, I’m your celestial hostage now.” She laughed. The yellow roses released their petals. The willow branches swayed.
I was still confused by what she said and then my phone rang, abrupting this sacred meeting between us.

It was Roger.

“Where are you? It’s been an hour and we’ve been waiting for you at the club. It’s going to close soon. Do you need a ride? Are you safe?
“Y-yes…I need a ride. I’m at Yellow Park.” Hanako stayed still without a struggle.
“Yellow Park? that’s 50 mins away, you walked that long?” said Roger
“Yes, I know. But I’m ok”. Really.” I let go of her arm.
“Ok, I’ll pick you up, see you soon”
“Ok, bye” I hung up and looked into Hanako’s eyes again.
“Look at me”. I said with command.
Hanako looked at me with the most shimmering eyes. I let go of her arm.
I took a deep breath. “I need to know why you appeared to me this way.”
“I didn’t fall from the sky” she cheekily said. “I was here first then you came.”
“Ok, fine. You’re right. You’re right.” I sat down on the bench still feeling my heart bursting. I felt sick. Was my heart bleeding inside?
“Are you ok”? she asked.

Suddenly, she laid her hand on the top of my head, caressing it slowly with each fingertip. She was gentle and I felt like I was going to cry. I have never experienced anything like this. I wanted so much to understand what was happening to me. I wanted to run into a hole. I felt embarrassed, vulnerable, and naked.

“You just appeared.” Tears fell from my eyes.

The Job That Almost Killed Me

Regardless of my efforts, it was never enough. To be honest, I wasn’t sure why I was chosen to work at “Ben’s Place” as there was obviously someone more qualified and experienced than me that can get the job done assisting the mental and physically challenged. Maybe it was too expensive to do so?

I recently moved from a small area and wanted to make sure my disabled sister has some activities to do. However, she was still on the waiting list to get the services she deserved so she ended up going to a non-profit adult day care (paying $125 a month) where disabled friends can meet up and hang out; doing numerous semi-repetitive activities to make the joyful and chaotic days pass by quickly. She loved it. I loved it because I wanted my sister to be happy.

A week after my sister joined Ben’s Place a boss asked me if I was doing anything. I recently graduated from college (B.A degree), I moved away from an abusive household, etc. I wasn’t busy really and I was discovering my new surroundings. Because I was new to the city, and got along well with the students whenever I picked my sister up or dropped her off I was offered a job. I solely wanted experience. I wanted to understand myself and others through this job. I didn’t need the income as my job was already taking care of my sister (In-Home Patient Care Assistant).

In the beginning, the boss was kind to me. Everyone was kind to me (there were 3 co-workers at the job). It was fun and creative. Upbeat music was playing every morning to bring in a happy mood. There was cooperation from everyone. Cool lessons were taught. I never got bored there. Everyone seemed very happy. But let me tell the truth about the work environment and myself.

I wasn’t ready to work. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind too. I didn’t value myself enough to quit before I was let go. I wanted others approval for the service I provided and it back-fired. I was being micromanaged. 

It was not easy working in an environment with those with different mental and physical disabilities. It was a burden to assist 10+ students to complete their life skill chores every morning.  I did this alone most mornings.

It was degrading being evaluated by a boss who expected me to know what to do. How can I know what to do from the top of my head if something new is being added by her almost everyday?

How did it went from not having to supervise those washing the windows for example (a program manager told me this in the beginning of my job) to having to because the windows were not clean enough and I have to supervise. It seems like such a simple task to many, but everyday I had to look at those stained cracked windows, “praying” that a student would complete his job to the best of his ability so I would not get in trouble.

 

• “MariaMars, there was no toilet paper in the [4] bathrooms when you left.” Little did she knew that I took pictures of the bathrooms that DID have toilet paper before I left, I just never showed them because I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t going insane and actually did my job. I worked there Monday, Wednesday and Friday (3 hours a day for $9 an hour). On Monday there was toilet paper (one bathroom had 2 rolls!) on Wednesday she complained to me. On Tuesday who was in charge? Was it that person job to check to make sure before Wednesday morning?

• “The floor isn’t vacuumed MariaMars.” (How can someone who’ve been at Ben’s Place for over 6+ years STILL couldn’t vacuum properly? WHO was in charge before I was hired?..also..new vacuums are needed even if the old ones are “fixed”).

• “MariaMars, there needs to be a certain product used for the student to clean the stains from the table, the directions are in the back of the Art Room.” (I didn’t know this Boss why tell me after 2-3 weeks?! and I couldn’t find the directions to make the product because the Art Room is disorganized). Oh! but thanks for organizing it to make it easier for others AFTER letting me go.
• “Alright, let’s see, the windows are not clean MariaMars.” (This student is 60+ years old, attended Ben’s Place for 10+ years and couldn’t clean the windows properly? Again who “trained”him before I came in the picture? Also, maybe it isn’t good to clean the outside windows when the sun is blazing out?..just a suggestion..)

 

 

Issues With Co-Workers

One co-worker would shout at the students to do their chores if they didn’t start immediately. This confused me because…it was my job to assist others to start and finish their chores. He was a project manager. He had bigger roles to fulfill….why dictate others to do their chores right in front of me?! What’s devastating after making a complaint to the boss, the next day there was no more “Hello, Maria!” He wouldn’t even give eye-contact. It was very uncomfortable.

Another co-worker in my opinion didn’t want me there. She and I knew it. Female co-workers are very vindictive and passive aggressive. They smile at you but deep down there is a form of unwarranted jealousy that exists within them. She probably thought I wanted the +40-year-old divorced project manager she flirts and talks to most of the time. No, I am just charming and it threatened her. I am 28 years old with no children and that threatened her. I am fairly pretty (many say I should model) and that threatened her. I wasn’t like the stereotypical black woman and that threatened her.

I read people very well and knew every bit of body language she showed towards me. It was really hard to work there because of her. She also micromanaged me too but I couldn’t mention it because she is the boss’s daughter. She also rarely eye-contacted me some days. I took it as: we’re not friends, I don’t like you, back off…and I did. I think she prevented me to work in the evenings after requesting too (because I wanted to help ease her workload/hours..) But she didn’t want me near him because he worked in the evening too.

The 3rd co-worker was the only one that didn’t give me a hard time. I could tell that the other 2 didn’t really like him but they needed him because he assists the more severely disabled. He actually had credentials and past experience to do his job. He was more expressive and passionate with his job; creative and sensitive. He was annoying but respectful.

The workplace was very disorganized and dirty. I saw roaches and ants most days. There was expired food that was sometimes served. Communication was sometimes an issue. I didn’t feel apart of the team. There was exaggerated emphasis on “assertiveness” towards the disabled I had to adopt. Favoritism was obvious. There was not enough workers who specialize working with certain disabilities and rehired those who left the job for perhaps the same issues I have. And I wasn’t trained immediately after I was hired. I WASN’T GIVEN THE SPACE TO GROW AS AN EMPLOYEE.

 

So why did the job almost killed me?

Situational depression from job loss.

P.S: I DON’T care about people’s ignorant opinions on depression and suicidal thoughts. The boss and co-workers never knew that I tried attempted suicide 3 times in my early 20’s, went to mental facilities over 4 times, received intensive therapy and took medication. Depression runs in my mother’s side who suffers from psychosis but that’s another blog day. THIS ISONE TRUTH ABOUT MARIAMARS:

She wanted to kill herself from job loss. 

The day I was let go, I burst into tears in front of the boss from absolute confusion and stress. I couldn’t find the ingredient list needed to make a plant-based product for a student to clean the table because the back room was very disorganized. I told her this and she states “Maria, come sit down, we need to talk, Maria, now it’s time to do your job right…” I was in great fear after hearing those words. “But, I couldn’t find the list…” She gave me the look and decided to bring up the difficulties caring for my sister as if it was the reason I didn’t do a good job. The conversation went manipulative in my opinion. Suddenly, I was spewing reasons why I couldn’t work (i.e. hip dysplasia) and how hard everything was. But instead of working for a solution I was asked if I wanted to be let go and I said yes.

I didn’t want to leave the job. But I felt pushed too. 

Being compared to her daughter’s past self was one red flag. She mentioned how she use “to be like me”, not assertive enough when managing others. She was quiet like me. Her daughter even use to disapprove how she treated the disabled vocally. Somehow, my qualities (i.e. silence, patience, et.) were invaluable when she told me this. She expected me to change my personality (how I interacted with others at Ben’s Place) to her fitting. I noticed that some co-workers mimicked her communication style. It’s unconscious conditioned behavior that leads to nowhere.

I cried a lot privately at work and was spied on once before and I was gossiped on. Gosspi is very contagious and negative. Actually and admit I’ve done it also. However, I learned to never complain to a co-worker about the stress I go through at work because they’ll pass it on to others with ill intentions towards me. My weaknesses are their weapons and disappointments to pick on.

 

After job loss I felt so much anger. I didn’t want to leave the house for days. I felt very useless, ugly and confused. I self-harmed on my legs. I held a knife towards my neck. I thought about killing myself and wishing the courage to. I had a purpose and it died. To this day, I still don’t want to purse a career as a ESE teacher because I am that terrified to work under someone who may try to get me fired. I have small panic attacks when I think of Ben’s Place & the co-workers becase they terrify me. I want to stay away from that place for good and have been for weeks. I wondered if all that kindness in the beginning was sincere? I didn’t want to believe that the people who work with the underdogs of society could be passively cruel.

I realized the job itself didn’t almost kill me, but my attachment towards it almost killed me. I measured my value and self-worth based on how others treated me there. I’ll explain more later.

(to be continued…)

 

The Psychology of Religiosity

 

Your mother was your first “God”.

 

Psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott emphasizes how a mother’s responsiveness to the baby’s needs determines the quality of a separate individual. According to him the quality and nuances of adult subjectivity and the subtleties of mother-infant interactions provided a powerful perspective for viewing both the development of the self and the analytic process.

In the beginning, the infant believes that his or her needs and wishes emerges from the integrated drift of consciousness or subjective omnipotence. If the baby is hungry then he makes it happen by crying and the mother’s breast would appear, thinking that he created the breast or the object of his desire. The mother overall “brings the world” to the baby and her responsiveness is what gives him the “moment of illusion”. The mother is in charge giving the baby a holding environment which is a physical or psychological space.

The mother doesn’t have to attend the infant’s needs all the time. In matter of fact, after the mother regains her sense of self after temporary suspension of subjectivity, the infants notice the “failure” of the mother to “bring the world to him”. It’s somehow painful and disappointing for the baby to experience. Technically the baby depended on the mother but for the first time he realizes the *feelings* associated with dependency. The baby also realizes that others have their own desires and wishes and must depend on those people fulfill them. Self-awareness is born.

Psychoanalyst Heinz Kohut stated that the narcissistic experience begins with the infant’s blissful state, which is inevitably upset or disturbed by the expectable failure of its mother’s ministrations after the mother naturally retains her self-awareness again; leaving the child alone for long period of times.The infant finally understands the difference between subjective omnipotence and objective reality but most couldn’t cope with the reality.

The infant then tries to restore the disruptions by creating two systems of “narcissistic perfection”. The infant first creates a world where everything is pleasant and good within the self and everything outside is bad and dangerous. Kohut states how this is the beginning of the development of the “narcissistic self”. The child creates another system where he attempts to restore the pleasant and good feelings by projecting it onto someone else, creating a “perfect” object (i.e. priests, gurus, etc.).

Most people usually search or found their “perfect” object in religious or spiritual institutions like churches, temples, mosques or ashrams; to cope with their psychological “disturbance” from being separated physically and or emotionally from the mother. Some also use objects to continuously express their “moments of illusions” by using objects like rosaries, angel cards by Doreen Virtue (lol!), crosses, crystals, pictures of a deity, statues, bibles, dolls, etc. to feed their unmet narcissistic needs.

Religion (and by the way the definition of religion varies and everyone is “religious”) is a cultural object and people use it to deal with things they cannot control in their lives. According to the Introduction from the book Going into Pieces Without Falling Apart, the problem is that we have not learned how to give up control of ourselves.

Gurus, spiritual teachings, angels, star-beings, Buddha, Jesus, etc. are cultural objects that can “help” the “religious” deal with everyday issues by creating “moments of illusion”. They are basically pacifying through life with these objects. During “moments of illusion” the person believes that prayer, worship, etc. connects with God/Source…or the mother. They gain faith/hope/etc. but not a healthy dose of objective reality.

I think most religious people are afraid of the unknown or feelings of emptiness and believe it can be healed through religion. Even the object of meditation (i.e. Theravada Buddhism), makes the person connect with feelings of emptiness, imperfections and regrets without self-judgement…but are they moments of illusions too? How do we know emptiness exists? How do we know self or even no-self “exists”?

Can a person of religious faith get pass the “failure of the mother”?

 

 

“The Devil Is A Lie”

Those were the last words my aunt from my late father’s side spoke to me via. text before cowardly cutting me off from her life.

How can you psychologically prepare yourself after finding your father’s relative via. Facebook after 10+ years one day at the public library? You’re never truly prepared for a life changing moment like that but you hope that family would unconditionally accept who you are including your flaws and all because blood is thicker than water right? Right? Well…I was lying to myself.

I let myself down for believing in a “‘no one gets left behind” definition of family but my aunt let me down even more after I expressed my sadness of how my deceased father neglected me in social media. I had a sensitive moment, (we all do) wounds rose from my psyche and instead of compassion and understanding from her end, I was ignored, erased and crucified.

My father died when he was 39 from cardiac arrest. It was the result of smoking and bad eating habits. It hurts to this day never knowing what our relationship would be like if he stayed alive a bit more till I found him on Facebook, just to say to him that I love him. If he was still alive, maybe he would have given me the space to be angry for all the years lost. Maybe he would allow me to cry. Maybe he would finally give his side of the story on why there was a huge fallout between him and my mom that partly influenced  her moved from California to Florida; taking me and sis with her without telling him. There are so many secrets that I’ll never know.

He’s not here anymore but in my aunt’s eyes my anger towards him hurt her and she forever carries that hatred in her heart toward her niece. That’s her choice. She had the privilege to grow up with a father. I didn’t. Why couldn’t she see a young woman crying for help that day? Who cares if the feelings were made public for that brief moment…in reality I was in pain because I’ll never get to see him again and the reality hit me harder than a ton of bricks since finding my father’s family. At least she had many good years with him before his untimely death. She’s so lucky. She got to see him laugh, make his music, talk and hug him. She got to say: I love you.

I didn’t.

I’ll never forget the real evil my aunt spewed to me that day.  “The devil is a lie.” The “devil” drove her apart from me. In other words, narcissism. Mind you, I did apologize to her after stating what I said but she never forgave me for expressing abandonment issues to this day. It’s scary that a 50-year-old “woman of God” could be that way but she was never meant to be in my life I guess. We all don’t need passive aggressive abusers in our lives…even if they are blood related.

Time to move forward.

 

Oh, and father, I forgive you. I always did. Rest in peace.

The Fragmentation of Youth

The experience of being a “young a heart” human is a sensitive journey. This world is a big stage; an endless maze full of imperfections and complexities. Being “young at heart” sounds romantic, but the journey is melancholic because there is so much uncertainty if how you are living has purpose and meaning according to the “adult”. The uncertainty is infused with judgments by the older generation who expects us to be “grown” in this system called World.

My Definition of Youth

“Youth” isn’t solely a physical experience, it’s a psychological and emotional journey full of trials and tribulations. To survive in this world full of “adults”, one has to dream, play and believe in themselves.

Play, Pleasure and Wounds

I was 21 years old when I had my first alcoholic drink. I remember the taste of strawberry rum so distinctively. The result of drinking alcohol that first time wasn’t based on mere curiosity.

His name was “Austin”. We meet during a bus ride in Saint Augustine, Florida one afternoon. He was 18 years old at the time. He kindly complimented my newly dyed light brown hair and there, I wanted to be friends with him instantly. We agreed to meet at his apartment to hang out and I was so excited because he seemed awesome to be friends with.

When we got to finally hanged out the next day all he wanted to do was lay on his couch and watch reality television. I was disappointed. I wanted to play! Well what was my idea of play? Being. Just being yourself and expressing all sorts of elements of that self, perfect and flawed. But with being comes with surfacing wounds and I wasn’t prepared to see Austin’s and even my own.

The next day he wanted me to smoke marijuana. I was shocked and declined. He smoked without me and boasted how he got another newbie high for the first time and laughed. I asked myself if that girl was like me, a late bloomer who didn’t know what “play” really was all along.  Later that week, I was introduced to rum. While he looked at me and smiled, I reluctantly yet slowly drank it. It tasted good honestly. It wasn’t so bad. He laughed and perhaps felt relived.

However, I was bitter inside. I felt like this sort of “play” was the only way to connect to him and feel more “youthful and free” and I hated him for that, especially myself.

“Austin” had a very tough life as a victim of sexual abuse. He was ganged raped at a party. He almost succeeded in a suicide attempt. He was also a drug user. I later found out that his 60-year-old roommate wasn’t his father or grandfather but a sugar daddy who financially supported him and his drug habit. Keeping an eye out for him while he stole cough medicine at Winn-Dixie to get high was also a memory that stuck with me.  He admit to me once that he got his friend pregnant. He told me that her mother walked in screaming when they were having sex. The mother thought he was gay. I concluded he was bisexual.

I also concluded that his “youth” was fragmented.

I remember my first hangover after drinking that rum. I was giggling and laughing all the way to our trip to Wal-Mart. He just looked at me and smiled at checkout, like I was this fresh flower ready to be more tainted. Psychologically, I thought that I was finally being a “true youth”, against the system called World, having REAL fun by rebelling. In reality, I voluntarily enter his own system of self-abuse and mimicked it for my own selfish pleasure. Later that night, I violently purged in the toilet, feeling more like a diseased rose that wanted so much of his validation.

We did played at the parks, climbed trees, walked through the forests, watched the stars at night but there was this big gap in these experiences. Ironically, I didn’t feel youthful at all because alcohol was always involved. I felt like I was giving what the adults what they wished for. For example, Austin and I was drunk at a playground one night and a man and his wife watched in confusion. The man looked excited when I was dancing sexually in my own space, my own tainted dark galaxy. He wanted me in that moment but he couldn’t for obvious reasons. All I was at that moment was a potential object of pleasure. He didn’t use me that night but I noticed that Austin’s version of play became a game of pleasure for the adults and for those who had hurt us in the past. Play and pleasure co-existed to feed our wounds and entertain others.

Austin’s game of play reminded me that those who had hurt him will always win, tainting his youthful heart, entrapping his mind and people around him, including me. Instead of being a good friend and encouraging him to get help, I decided to play for my own selfish needs and hurt myself in the end. All it took was three horrible vodka hangovers to decide to not be his friend anymore. I couldn’t be in his abusive cycle anymore. I remember sending a long Facebook message mirroring his issues and why I couldn’t be friends and with anger he told me that I was being (in short)–childish.

Maybe because my tone in the message was too judgmental. Maybe at that moment, I acted more “mature” and self-aware than him that possibly enraged him. Whatever the reason, me deciding to not play his game turned me into a “child” again in the adult world and it disgusted him and I was afraid again; very uncertain and lost. But I was free again to be myself.

A few weeks after I cut him off we oddly made up and forgave each other. I knew it wasn’t sincere though but didn’t care because within that summer I moved to Palm Coast and began a new chapter of more difficulties and significant changes. From a distance one day, he admitted on the phone of taking pictures of me I was passed out drunk in the nude. I didn’t even remember taking my clothes off. What’s worse was that he shared them to one of his roommates who wanted to “meet me”. I felt slimy and betrayed but it could have gone much worse. That last I ever spoke to him he cried in tears revealing he contracted HIV and wanted to commit suicide. His last words to me: “I love you Mary, bye”. It was just surreal.

Conclusion

My previous definition of youth is incomplete because honestly, I don’t really know what it means to be “young at heart” anymore since meeting Austin 7 years ago. The youth in the past and now are equally fragmented because of the system called “World” where we are expected to either achieve what they want or be shamed to self-destruction. It’s all a game in the end of the day.

As a 21-year-old at the time, did I really cared about 18-year-old Austin? I mean, technically we BOTH were by legal definition adults but he was a baby; broken and crying for love. I thought I did care but in truth I was just trying to discover my missing youth through him but I came out more terrified than ever of my own wounds in my own life. But at least I learned that being young is not a nice journey at all. It’s raw. It’s collective. It’s eternally fragmenting.