A Better Gloomy Day


A distant mind.

A distraction I am

trying to find.

Cloudy day covered in mist.

Vibrant colors

Songs of birds

Not today. Today I resist.

Everything is gray

the colors, the air, the mist, the songs

synchronized in a ritualistic dance.

My eyes looked away.

My heart remained cold

My darlings laughed and smiled, but

My happiness could not unfold.

Guilt manifested within me.

Why am I feeling this on such a beautiful day?

A voice echoed in my head

“You are okay. This is just another gloomy day…”


Time to Move Forward


March is a beautiful month; It is a time of awakening; colors begin to slowly

reveal themselves, flowers begin to bloom, our surroundings wake up from a well

deserved slumber. For me, there is only one day that brings me misery and

despair, March 17th; my father’s birthday.

As I have stated in a previous post, my parents and I share a similar birthday

month; we are about 2 weeks or so apart. I use to love the idea that we had this

one thing in common, but my father quickly poisoned my love with his perverse


Now, every year on his birthday, I feel…hhmm, how do I feel?

I used to feel angry or sad; I made a promise to myself that on the day of his

birthday, I would restrain from committing any form of celebration or happiness,

because if I did then in some way I would be celebrating him and he will be the

winner; a monster like that does not deserve an ounce of happiness after

all the darkness he spread, not only in my life, but everyone he touched.

“Now…I feel numb.” I told my husband as the hot trickles of water hit my

my body as I bathed.

My emotions have changed. For some odd reason, I do not feel anger or sadness.

I feel as though my emotional state has washed away any emotion linked to that

day, yet I tell myself, “Tomorrow I will do nothing.” My emotions are guiding me

to a direction of, I believe, positivity, but my mind is pulling me back.

Why do I have to prohibit myself from treating a day like a normal day. A

day like any other. If I am caging my own happiness, then isn’t he


The Smell of a Man


As my husband lays his head on my breast, I press my nose

to his hair and caress it ever so gently. I close my eyes

and immerse myself with the smell of his hair until

the past pulls me down…


A handful of Ralph Lauren cologne.

Throat burning.

Is this the smell of a man?

Stench of alcohol.

Sweat and…again that smell

of alcohol…

Is this the smell of a man?

No…this is the smell of a monster.

I pull myself back and place myself in my present.

Slowly, I run my fingers through his hair and inhale

the sweet, soft, and loving smell of this man.

This is the smell of a man…my man.

Something New


I’m not much of a self loving person. I have always struggled with personal self esteem. My experience taught me that my body was just a toy, disgusting, disposable, used, and stained; so that is how I guided myself through school, marriage, and being a human. I started this self practice that I would compliment myself everyday, even if the words that came out of my mouth were filled with deception. I thought by doing so, I would believe it…eventually.

Recently, I found a balance within myself. I’ve noticed that I haven’t had any negative thoughts. I willingly keep myself busy to prevent myself from being devoured from my darker alter persona, but what stood out to me the most was that a couple days ago I was looking at my reflection and realised my beauty. I told myself,”You are…beautiful.” I give myself a timid smile as if I am complimenting a stranger…well, not even a stranger; I think my compliment towards he or she would be without hesitation and straightforward.

After this frightful realisation, I decided to share my thoughts with my husband. While looking at my reflection on the bathroom mirror, completely naked, I said,”My boobs look great. I’m starting to like them. I feel beautiful. Yeah…” My gaze remained as is. I wanted to look at him, so I just slightly turned my head and he looked and me and smiled, “You are beautiful. I was waiting for you to finally realise it.”

I could feel my chest tighten. I remained silent, but I couldn’t help but smile.

So this is what if feels like…to love yourself.


Freedon with Chains: Part Three (Trigger Warning)


Time and I never had the best relationship and after our confession, an opportunity for a mutual agreement was long gone. Our days were engulfed with courtrooms, family breakdowns, interviews, and psychologists. It seemed as if life was punishing my sister and I for…trying. Our efforts were looked down on, not praised. Our truth were lies cultivated and shielded by our mother’s pride.

The days when we were summoned in the courtrooms were the most difficult. Our mother made sure our lines were rehearsed and memorised. I hated the feeling of guilt that pierced my stomach sitting in that podium and repeating the same phrases:

Nothing happened.

It’s all lies.

We love our daddy and we want him to come back home.

All I can say is that my mother is a master manipulator and we, unwillingly, followed her steps. Before we knew it, rehearsal was unnecessary; the words glided out of our mouths, but the pain did not vanish. Besides the courtrooms and frequent visits to a psychologist, our family was quickly breaking apart. My older brother found comfort in drugs and his group of friends, so my mother used the rest of her free time watching out for him, bailing him out of jail and guiding him to thr correct path which he found little understanding in. On the other hand, my little brother conserved himself to the fullest; he enclosed himself from us, both emotionally and mentally. My little sister was in the middle of the storm; she was trying to find her place in an environment consisted of chaos. The one thing we had in common is the fact that we were all drifting apart; whether it was an inevitable path of life or just the mere fact of not being able to face each other with the truth, we continued to create a gap between us.

The one day we all came together as a ‘family’ was when we made our secret visits to our father. These specific days made me realize how quickly I lost the battle for justice. My mother found some way to visit him when there were strict prohibition of our contact. The days that we visited and slept over at his place created the illusion of the perfect family. We all laughed and bonded as though the world around us did not change a bit. I never knew if my siblings feeling were sincere when were all enclosed in that small room. The echoes of laughter, the uniform smiles, the hugs… The truth is, I was numb to everything that occurred around me. I wondered why my father wss acting like the perfect father. I wondered why he did not try to lay one hand on me during the nights that we stayed with him or why he did not dare to look at me once. Overall, I didn’t know how to feel about the whole situation, so in the end I gave up.

After about two years, the courtrooms stopped and my father and two uncles were sent back to their country. Even though I had the luxury of not seeing my perpetrators anymore, my mind and body did not correlatw. While my body moved forward, my mind continuously jumped from different time spans; the past being a top favorite.

Now that I think about it…we all mastered the skill of manipulation.

Freedom with Chains: Part Two (Trigger Warning)


Silence devoured my surroundings during the car ride. It took me a moment to realize that my little sister was sitting next to me. I was still processing everything that happened. She was quiet. We were avoiding eye contact. We couldn’t speak to each other.

My mother did not look at us. She kept both hands on the steering wheels and eyes locked on the road until we arrived at our house. We each opened our doors and walked inside, my mother pointed us to the kitchen. She called my brothers and we gathered. My sister and I stood next to each other, in front of the breakfast table. My mother approached us, “What happened? Why are they saying things about your father and everyone else? It’s not true. What did they force you to say?” She kept asking, until she paused and waited for an answer. My sister stood her ground, “He did touch me.” My mother’s eyes filled with fury, “Why are you telling the teachers? Don’t you see what you have done? They will take you from me.” She looked at all of us. My brothers were supporting her, but they can’t be blamed for doing so. They were oblivious to what was happening to us and even more so, now that everything is coming out of the blue. My breathing deepened. I have to admit that I was scared of what was happening. I was so afraid of what I have done. I was sad that I made everyone feel that way, so I denied and I betrayed.

“I-I never said anything. They’re lying.” The words came out and a feeling of nausea formed. It didn’t feel right denying what I had just admitted. I looked towards my sister and she did not flinch, but a sad look formed in her eyes. She remained quiet. My mother looked relieved as if she was happy to know that her ‘perfect’ daughter remained perfect.

“It must of been your aunts spreading the rumors. They always had…” My mother’s voice subdued, and my mind took me to a vivid memory.


I was standing what I think was my room. One of my aunt asked me if HE touched me. I remember repeating the same answer, “No.” She gave me a melancholy expression. She knew that word was filled with lies. My mother barged in and they began to argue. My aunt continued to tell her that HE is a bad person, but my mother did not flinch in her defense towards him. I stood in the background, but I assume my mind blocked out the rest fo the conversation.

The memory is vague. As much as I try to find the missing pieces and bring color to the images, in the end it is futile.


I continued to nod throughout her Who is To Blame speech. I dissociated after a certain period of time

During that time, I didn’t know what dissociation meant. I just thought I was crazy. What person in their right mind would just block daily events without even noticing or remembering?

I knew a long time passed when I glanced at my window and the sky was engulfed in darkness. A small flicker stood out; a single star. I stared for a few seconds and a familiar feeling overwhelmed me; loneliness. I glanced over towards my sister’s bed and she was fast asleep. Maybe she was able to sleep because she felt like a huge burden was lifted. I, on the other hand, felt an immense amount of guilt, disappointment, and betrayal. I looked back at the star and began to cry. The overpowering feeling of loneliness grabbed a hold of me and I did not let go. I embraced it, because IT was the only thing that comforted me.

Like the star in the sky, I was alone. Even though I was surrounded by a plethora of other people, aid, and love, I singled myself out. I was afraid. I was guilty. I was dirty. I was unforgiving. I was a taboo.

I could not bring myself to shine. Instead, I took my shimmer and introduced it to a world of solitude.

Freedom with chains: Part One (Trigger Warning)


The day our secrets came to the open was a day like any other. The Texas heat was scorching hot without a cloud in the sky to aid us. I walked from class to class, the minutes seemed to travel slower than usual. I walked into my classroom and was, about to sit down until my name was summoned by the assistant principal. I was an outcast within my class, so there were no “Ohhh, she’s in trouble” comments. I just felt heavy eyes around me as I walked towards the office. My assistant principal guided me to her office and gestured me to sit down. She sat across from me, behind her desk and a stern but gentle expression formed on her face. My vision was becoming blurry, I could feel my anxiety trying to crawl out. I hated being put in a position where I was (am) the attention.

She didn’t take long to inform me of the situation that was occurring. My sister had revealed that she was being sexually abused by a family member. CPS was immediately contacted and an investigation was taking place. The AP waited until I gave her some sort of response, but I couldn’t. I locked my hands together in front of me and started sweating and shaking. I was nervous. I was in a panic. I was confused on what to say or what not to say. I thought I was the only was being abused. The news that my sister was going through the same thing filled me with guilt and disappointment.

I couldn’t protect her.

Why didn’t I notice?

The questions rambled on.

Within minutes my voice broke free for the first time in a very long time. I told my truth to the Vice Principal. She listened and wrote things down, asked a few questions here and there. I told her about my two uncles and my father. I gave her details, but I couldn’t speak the whole truth. If it was too difficult for myself then the person in front of me would not be able to withstand such truth. I was in that room for over an hour, I think; I felt like I was there forever. CPS was contacted immediately after that. The teacher escorted me to the main entrance and a black vehicle waited for me. I hesitated. I didn’t feel comfortable getting into an unknown vehicle, but they persuaded me by saying that my mother was going to meet me at our location. So I got in and sat quietly in the back of the car. I looked around; the seat, the windows, the floor, the leather, even the odor, everything smelled clean. What was I doing contaminating such a nice car? I felt my insides twisting, turning, and rotting. I stayed quiet the entire trip until we arrived at a building.

The woman who was driving the car guided me inside to a small, enclosed room. The walls were empty except for a large, rectangular mirror that reflected half the portion of the room. There was a small, black table with four chairs and the lady asked me to sit down. They offered me a drink and snack which I accepted since I wasn’t able to eat lunch at school. She waited until I finished eating, then she began with the questions:

What do you like to do on your free time?

Do you get a long with you brother and sisters?

Do your parents fights?

Do you have friends?

So on…

I stayed quiet most of the time. I didn’t want to talk anymore. I felt this piercing feeling that I had done something wrong and I didn’t want to make things worse. We didn’t last long in that room. She helped me find the lobby where my mother was waiting for me. Her expression gave me chills. I knew she was mad. I knew I had done something wrong. I knew it. My mother grabbed my arm, giving a stern look at the woman, “You will hear from my lawyer.”

We left. The car ride back to the house was quiet. I began to flick each one of my fingers together and bite the inside of my mouth. I was nervous. I looked outside. The sun was setting, a flock of birds formed shapes in the sky, the tree dances with the wind, I knew the beauty out there was real, but I could not see it or feel it.

I spoke my truth that day and I still felt trapped. My voice broke free, but my chains were still attached.

Is this the consequence for speaking my truth or is it a punishment for allowing a taboo to become reality?