Mental health, Buddhist teachings, and Lesbian poetry I hid in the depths of my soul for 20+ years.
My friendships made me feel love,
When I didn’t allow romance.
My friendships kept me warm,
When all I could feel was cold.
Without real friendship,
Without platonic love,
I wouldn’t be alive.
Continue reading “Power of Friendship Poem | Farewell Oregon”[This poem addresses an ongoing issue within queer inter-communities. Straight people: Please read if you are interested, but also realize you won’t have cultural context.]
After my coming out, all the responses from my bisexual friends were incredibly powerful. I felt so much love towards them — but then…guilt? I was confused, why was I feeling guilty? All the memories I had with these bisexual friends were happy ones, not trauma! I meditated about it and immediate free-wrote the below poem.
As a lesbian, I want to make this clear: Historically, our community has not been welcoming to bisexual women. This needs to stop. This needs to stop now.
I cannot ask that you, bisexual women, forgive me for my past. But you deserve an apology.
I love bisexual women. But there was a time when I didn’t.
I was jealous of them.
So I wrote a poem about it. . .
Continue reading “Apology to Bisexual Women | Lesbian & Queer Community Issue”Dear P,
To be honest,
You scared me.
You were the perfect Mormon example.
You were everything I wanted to be,
Everything I — needed to be.
So I chose to walk behind you,
Hoping you’d show me the way.
Show me how to be a good Mormon,
How to be a good heterosexual girl.
How to be good at all. . .
Continue reading “Dear Perfect Mormon | Internalized-Homophobia Poetry Therapy”Disclaimer: This poem DOES NOT mean you shouldn’t go to therapy! In fact, EVERYONE should go to therapy! However, if you think there is even a SLIGHT chance you have a personality disorder, GO TO AN EXPERT. Not a general therapist. Don’t make the same mistake I made 5 times. It took an expert 6 months to fully diagnose what 5+ years of various forms of therapy couldn’t even guess.
If you are a therapist, please read (or scroll) to the end for signs/clues you should know regarding the 9 symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder.
When it happens 5 times,
You’re pretty sure it’s reality.
You must just be evil.
You must just be broken.
You must just be worthless.
It isn’t a disorder,
It’s you.
That was the fear.
No, not a fear —
That was the reality.
A reality.
Continue reading “The 5th Time I Was Misdiagnosed | Living with BPD”Brand new to adulthood.
Brand new to college.
Brand new to bisexuality.*
When you caught my eye,
I was not looking for friendship.
I remember feeling startled —
You took my breath away.
So I left my new roommate,
And I follow you to the elevator…
You laughed at something dumb I said.
Did you realize you had a grip on me?
You held the power in our friendship?
Congrats Z — you were the first,
The one & only,
Close friend I ever fell for.
To be fair to my poor lesbian heart,
You were exactly my type,
And I never wanted friendship.
Continue reading “My College Freshman Crush | 9 BPD Symptoms: Idolization & Devaluation”Spanish word meaning: “twin sister”
Dear Gemela,
I love you.
You are like a sister to me.
Not “like” a sister,
My twin sister.
Always on my side,
Against anyone who’s not.
You always have been.
Even since we met,
Since I was a sad,
Angry,
Broken child.
You were the bright light,
The brightness in Utah’s clouds.
Continue reading “Gemela & #1 Amiga | Living with Borderline Personality Disorder”Disclaimer: This poem addresses how I acted as a 5-10 year old child. If you are one of the people this poem is written for, please do not take this as me asking for you to reach out or forgive me. This is merely an expressive art therapy process in the form of a free-write poem. I have written it “for” you as my formal apology for any psychological trauma I may have caused you during our childhood friendship.
[Author’s Note: This poem was written immediately after a PTSD episode. It is very raw.]
I was not a friend to you.
I should have been.
I did like both of you,
I just liked the games more.
I liked the lies,
The manipulations.
I liked pitting you against each other.
It made me feel powerful,
When I had no other power. . .
Continue reading “Apology Poem for F* & T* | BPD Early Signs: Toxic Friendship”I could write a million stanzas,
And still not convey what I mean.
“If you want to know me,
Read my poetry.”
Is that it? Is that all?
Do you know me now?
Perhaps you know me as much as you can,
From a one-sided conversation.
What’s the point of it, then?
Of poetry, or the written word at all?
When it’s one person speaking,
And another one listening along?
Is that a human connection?
One person listens to another.
Is that the reason we write?
Or is it just the start?
No actual thoughts in my adolescent diaries,
Only what happened during my day.
All so boring,
So sterile.
What happened at school,
What happened at church,
What happened at work,
What happened at home.
Nothing on my thoughts.
“Your thoughts are normal, no need to keep track.”
Nothing on what I want from life.
“Your life won’t last long, no need to fantasize.”
I don’t care what happened during my day,
I care about what I felt during my day.
But I didn’t write it down,
Writing it down makes it real.
Mindfully Messy 