May 19, 2018

The thing about having someone close to you be dead is that you go through life as if none of it happen. You do the same things and you say the same things. At least, that happens to me. But I am aware of it. I can’t tell if I should feel guilty about it or not, but it makes me feel like complete utter shit. There are just days that I forget that my mother is dead, and then there are days where I wake up and just cry. Today is one of those days.

This is the day that my mother passed, and I can’t help but feel pathetic. People say that others shouldn’t grieve for this long. People like me should try to move on and not be so sad. My dead loved one wouldn’t want me to be like this. This, really, is just general knowledge, but a part of me can’t accept any of this. I feel like by doing what society expects me to do, I will become heartless like them. I don’t want to be a person who can’t learn from the death of a person. I want to be able to give meaning to my mother’s death.

But it’s funny. I accept that my mother is dead, but I can’t seem to move pass this stalemate of depression. I have to accept that some questions I have can never be answered. The things that I had hoped to do can never come true. I can’t get over that. I want to apologize to my mother for being so angry all the time. I want to say sorry for yelling at her the night before she was hospitalized. I have plenty of regrets, but I guess it’s only fair. I don’t I deserve closure, because apologizing now makes it feel like I’m merely doing it for myself. I don’t want to be selfish, so I want to continue to grieve. In some ways, it makes me feel like the memory of my mother won’t disappear. It hurts, but at the same time it makes me feel good. I don’t know.

Some time after a year of my mother’s death, I wrote a poem. I have revised it over and over again, but I can’t seem to get the feelings I want across. I wonder if my mother hears the pleading in my own voice. I wonder if she can see how pathetic I have become. I’m not someone who can make her proud. I call this poem [Letter to the Moon], because there were days after my mom passed where I stayed up late to talk to the moon. My mother has always been a moon to me, a two faced person. Someone who can make me so angry and guilty at the same time. In the end, the guilt always consumes me.

I wanted to share this poem with the whole world, so here it is.


Hello, how are you?

Is it fun up on the moon?

Have you gotten your beauty sleep?

Do you no longer weep?

Have the stars loved you the way I couldn’t?

Do they treat you the way he wouldn’t?

These scars that you left

Makes me hold every breath

Do you miss me?

Because I miss you dearly

Why is it only when you leave do I cry?

Please tell me, how could I be so blind?

Do you resent me?

Do you wish bad luck upon my every dream?


I’m sorry

Everyday I weep

I can’t sleep

I don’t know what went wrong

But I know, I haven’t been strong

There’s nothing here anymore

So I just cry on the floor

As I talk to the moon

Waiting for a reply too

Do you hear me when I speak?

Do I, now, sound weak?

I’m unable to say what I want

I’ve feel as if I’ve been caught

Tangled like a spider’s prey

Because these problems continue to stay


Do you hate me?

Our last moment together

Has me crawling as I wither

Regret never leaves me

So my rotting soul remains thirsty

Consuming all that you left

Leaving no echo of a whisper or breath

Hate me as you will

While I cover it up with a pill

I wouldn’t condemn you

… Because I hate me too

I should’ve asked more questions

I should’ve offered more options

I should’ve relied on you more

I should’ve never swore

I should’ve guided you

But most of all, I should’ve said “I love you”

I’m sorry


I’m so sorry

Please take me

I love you

I want to go to the moon too


So there you have it. I don’t know. How do others deal with this kind of grief? Well, either way, I hope that people don’t grieve so much that they’re killing themselves over it. To anyone else who still grieves, I hope you find your sense of peace. Like most, I’m still looking for it as well.


April 18, 2018

There are three things that I think are important to a person’s character. They are integrity, passion, and compassion. There are many people who lack integrity and then those who give up compassion for their own selfish desires. As for people with passion… I feel like our society has given up on it and has prioritized money.

I have already given up on my family to actually care about me. They told me to just do whatever I want when I told them I dropped out of college. In translation, if I want to ruin my life, make everything difficult, I can do it as long as I don’t bother them. Despite the lack of emotional support and them just not understanding why I couldn’t finish school, there was the acceptation that what’s done is done.

My boyfriend was not as lucky.

He no longer goes to college like me. However, unlike me, he didn’t drop out. He was kicked out for academic probation. His grades during our freshman year wasn’t as good as mine were, so his gpa went below 2.0. He told me that he was going to take this opportunity to apply for a job that would be considered dangerous. It was always his childhood dream. I, personally, was iffy on the whole thing, but you know, I believe in passion. I don’t want to be the thing that stops him from doing what he wants, and I could see that life as it was then was killing him. The survival count compared to the death counts is much higher and that puts me at ease. I, however, knew that his family wouldn’t be a-okay about it. I told my boyfriend that if he wants to pursue this, then he had to okay with all the possible outcomes.

When he told his family… a storm blew over us. His father was not happy, and his mother was crying over it so much. He has three older siblings, two sisters and one brother. His brother called him stupid. His oldest sister was about as upset as his mother. Which if I think about it, it wouldn’t bother me as much if they were able to focus the main problem at the hand. My boyfriend was depressed and he didn’t want to continue his life the way it was. But they didn’t care about that. They were just mad at him for wasting their money and being a failure. Not only that, they also blamed me.

His parents and oldest sister were so focus on the waste of money that was put into my boyfriend. It was like, they expected him to get an education and then a job to pay them back for raising him. I don’t view that last year of college as a waste. We both learned so much about ourselves and that’s a good thing. It was the lowest point of our lives and we’re both fighting to get better.

His oldest sister explicitly blamed everything on me. She told my boyfriend that she knows that I have a lot of problems, but it shouldn’t be his job to take care of me. He had to decide if being with me is worth losing everything he had. Choosing me meant that he was going to lose his scholarship, education, and friends (not family, because apparently as family she will always be on his side).

The funny thing was my boyfriend’s brother in law. The man is married to my boyfriend’s oldest sister. He told us that he experienced depression too, so he understands. He was just so disappointed that my boyfriend never talked to him about it all until it was too late. I was internally laughing, because you can’t say that you’ve experience depression and that you understand it all when you can’t even comprehend why a depressed person didn’t seek out help. Also, side note, it’s never too late to help someone with depression. Anyways, the man said he was “disappointed.” For me, as a person with depression, I understand how powerful that word is. I had no idea what was going through the man’s head, because for someone who experienced depression, he lacked sensitivity to it. Call me unrealistic, but I think that as a depressed person, it’s our job to see the signs, because there are signs that people too fortunate can’t see.

His mother cried saying that she felt like a failure. My boyfriend dropped out of college, and she felt so bad about it that she wanted to kill herself. This irritated me as well, because I believe that there are invisible lines you should never cross. As stated so many times, I deal with depression. However, my depression and my actions are my own. I don’t try to dictate what other people do or put guilt on people, because I think that’s wrong. My boyfriend’s mother basically said that she wanted to kill herself because of him. And I get it. I understand the urge to say it. I want to say it all the time, but I don’t. I don’t because I think it hurts the other party way too much, and my boyfriend was hurt. He was so hurt that he just cried and called himself stupid. I just felt so frustrated because his mother doesn’t understand how much weight those words hold. You should never say things like that.

His father hates me. Like to this day, he still thinks that I am the main problem and he won’t move on from that. I think he thinks that getting an education and good paying job is the best option for anyone. He’s still asking my boyfriend to go back to school. He thinks that my boyfriend will never be happy without the comfort of money. If my boyfriend should fail in life, there will be nothing for him to fall back to. He has no safety net. I didn’t understand because isn’t that what family is supposed to be for?

All in all, I hate the majority of my boyfriend’s family. It’s not like I’m going to beat the shit out of them and not talk to them if we were ever to reconcile. I just hate them, because for people who value education so much, they seem to lack the education on how to speak about a depressed person (me) and analyze the real problem (my boyfriend’s depression). They lack compassion for my boyfriend and it’s sad because they consider themselves as a relatively good family. Because of their lack of compassion, my boyfriend is unsure of his own passion, his dreams. I try to make them understand the real issue, but no one wants to talk about mental illness (depression). I was basically told that it wasn’t my problem and I can’t say anything because I only knew my boyfriend for a couple years. While they raised him all twenty years. I’m like, if you’re just going to say that then don’t bring me into the conversation, don’t blame me and expect me to just take it.

They talk to my boyfriend like he’s stupid and he doesn’t know what he wants. They talk to him like he can’t possibly have a mind of his own. They talk like there is only one way to live correctly. I view them as arrogant people who won’t listen to anyone but themselves. Again, it’s not like I think they’re bad people. I just don’t like them.

I don’t know. I just think that it’s ridiculous. I know that if I were to ever be a parent, I would never act like any of them. I know it’s a lot to say, but I think it would kill me to treat them like that.

April 17, 2018

Today I watched “Love, Simon” for the fifth time. I have a strange obsession with this movie, even more so the book: Simon vs the Homo Sapiens Agenda. I love Simon and everything he is. I love the message that being gay does not define him as a person. The story isn’t really about him being gay, it’s about him being who he is.

Here is one thing that I don’t like about our current society: labels. I hate how people put each other and themselves into boxes. It’s so ridiculous, because we become defensive of our labels.

I think society has it backwards.

It blows my mind when little girls are saying that that they like the color pink because they’re girls. They wholeheartedly believe that all girls like pink. Then there are little boys saying that they don’t want to play with a girl toy, or just a female character/persona, because they’re boys and they’re supposed to play boys. I don’t understand parents who teach their kids that. Or maybe they don’t teach them that, they just don’t comment on it. From a young age, we get thrown into gender roles and it’s learned that because we are blank then we have to blank.

It’s not even just about gender. I know this is a sensitive topic, but here’s a story. I went to high school with some people who are Christian. They have gay friends and are open minded. Then, you know, gay marriage was up to be voted on in 2015. Apparently, their pastor told them to vote against it. They were confused on what they should do. They didn’t want to go against their own religion. I was baffled, still am, because why does it matter? Religion shouldn’t have to do anything with how a person feels about gay rights. Even if it did, it shouldn’t affect their faith in God. I am atheist, but I don’t hate religious people. I don’t find religion stupid. What I’m trying say is that being Christian shouldn’t define everything you believe in. We were seniors in high school at the time, perfectly capable of identifying ourselves and beliefs. I was just so confused because does being religious mean that you can’t think for yourself?

I’m not saying that we should just forget labels altogether. I just don’t think we should rely on these labels to tell us how to feel and what to believe. Our gender, race, sexuality, and religion are things that are a part of us, but they don’t explain who we are as people. Saying that you like pink because you are a girl, means that all girls out there have to like pink. But that’s not always the case.

I just wish that we would embrace our individuality, separating our likes/personality from these labels. We are all special, so I don’t know why we try so hard to label ourselves and band together when we’re the same. Just because I’m a female, it doesn’t mean that I’m going to get along with all the females in the world. And that’s common sense. Everyone knows that. And yet, we keep pinning personality traits onto gender, race, sexuality, and religion.

I just think it’s wrong, because we’re more than our labels.

April 16, 2018

I am deaf. Well… I’m not really deaf. I was born with unilateral hearing loss. Growing up, the only thing I knew about my ears is that I’m deaf in my left ear. After figuring out what the correct term is, unilateral hearing loss, I looked it up. People with unilateral hearing loss experience social anxiety. I finally understood why I have trouble with being with others. Being with my family didn’t make anything any easier.

My dad was always the one who pushed for me to have surgery. Throughout my life, he constantly asked me if I could hear better. I would always wonder if my father was ashamed of me because I was born this way. But I never asked. I just became more and more self conscious of the fact that I am not normal.

I have a hearing aid, but I don’t wear it. It doesn’t do anything to make my hearing better. It simply irritates me with its beeps. Also, my ears are sensitive, and having something in my ear makes it moist. My hearing aid makes me more susceptible to having an ear infection. Those really hurt. It feels like someone is shoving a needle down my ear and it bleeds ear wax & blood. However, my family always yells at me to put it on, because I’m deaf.

Because I am partially deaf, my speech is weird. I mumble a lot and have a strong slur. I’ve been told that it’s probably because I can’t really hear myself. However, I love to talk. I mean, when I get in the moment, I speak quite a bit. But when I’m not careful, I let my slur pop up. When I speak too long, I start mumbling. I get too self conscious that I’m taking up someone else’s time. My family makes fun of me whenever these things happen. They imitate my slurs and mumbles. I don’t think they mean anything about it, but it makes me feel bad. When speaking to people besides my boyfriend, I get scared. I start saying things that don’t even make sense. Then I get made fun of for that too.

When I’m around strangers, I don’t talk much because of these things. It’s not only that, sometimes I have no idea what the other person is saying. I just nod, because I don’t want to ask them to repeat themselves. The thing I hate the most is having to tell people that I’m deaf in my left ear. They are very understanding of it, but that’s not why I hate it. Eventually, they all always come talk to me from my left side, because they forget. Then I just awkwardly just stand there and nod. Casually, I remind them that I’m deaf on that side and I had no idea what they were talking about. They laugh and say that they forgot.

But they don’t only forget about it once. Everyone forgets about it multiple times.

I’m not deaf, but I’m not a normal person. I feel like I’m always in the middle, the place that no one cares about. Maybe that’s why everyone always forget that I’m deaf in one ear. I look and act normal until they approach my left side. The thing is, me being deaf in my left ear is permanent. I tell people, because it’s not something that can change. I don’t want to be that “hearing impaired girl” but with the way our society does things. I am that girl. I had just hope that I was that “hearing impaired girl that I should speak on the right side of” and not the “oh yea, that hearing impaired girl.”

It’s so weird dealing with this, because one moment I’m normal and then the next I’m disabled. I don’t think I’m considered disabled or normal when it comes to this. However, people see what they want to see.

April 15, 2018

I wonder if I made a mistake. I mean, I made a lot of bad decisions in my life. However, I can’t tell if I made the right decision to drop out of college. Only time will tell, but by then, I won’t be able to reverse this decision.

I love to learn. It’s fun for me to analyze written works and solve problems. It’s entertaining when I feel my intelligence be challenged with new materials. I love education, but I loathe school. I hate our education system and I detest what our society has become.

When I was a junior in high school, we were showed a TED talk, and it was about “faking it until you make it.” People in my class and my teacher were moved by it, but I didn’t like it at all. I’m not saying that it’s wrong or that it doesn’t work. I simply didn’t like the method. It felt like we were being told to fake everything to eventually become it, letting the course of life and society push you down a specific path. A lack of individuality. I think in that moment I truly realized that I don’t conform to society. I want to choose who I become rather than have life choose it for me.

If I am to be honest, I never wanted to go to college. A part of me always knew that I wouldn’t make it. I’m not afraid of change. I’m afraid of becoming a person who I don’t know or like. I told my mother when I was a junior that I was thinking of not going to college at all. It took some discussion, but she eventually told me that as long as I could provide for myself and that I was happy, it didn’t matter. If I left home, she wanted me to stay in contact.

But I knew. She still was hoping that I would go to college.

The thing about me is that no matter how much people screw me over. How much they have me in the back of their mind like an afterthought. How much I act like I don’t care. I am weak to other people’s emotions. I mean, if I didn’t care about myself (depression), who cared if I got hurt more for the sake of someone else? Who cared if in the end, no one wanted to help me, but expected something from me?

And it did move me. Watching my mother do little side jobs to pay for my siblings’ textbooks and gas. Watching her get so frustrated when said siblings ignored her phone calls (they went to college in a different state). Watching her struggle to work for the house because my father suddenly decided that he didn’t want to work anymore. Watching everyone disregard her feelings because of the mistakes she made in the past. Without a doubt, it moved me. I’m not the best daughter. I was mean to my mother. I was angry that no one was helping me and I was so confused. But I knew that it hurt me seeing my mother hurt. In my senior year, I just decided that I would go to college, get a useful degree, pick up my mother’s phone calls, and visit my mother. I was excited for that, but… as you know from my previous post, my mother died before I could do any of that. I lost my reason to go to college.

I lost my reason to be moved by others’ emotions. My mother’s passing was abrupt, and so unreal. But it was real. It felt like no one knew that. Or maybe they did but they just didn’t care. One of my sisters never came until the last day of the funeral, but she knew that my mom was dying. We told her to come when my mom was still in the hospital, unconscious. One of my brothers was complaining at the funeral saying that he was Christian, why did he have to participate in a cultural funeral? There’s just so much more that depressed me, but you know what the worst part was? After the funeral, my dad asked me if I wanted a new mom. I just cried, and said that, no, I didn’t want one. But he took all the money and left me to go find one. That’s the reason why I don’t talk to my dad anymore.

I know that people grieve differently. Even my social worker at college told me that I shouldn’t be so hard on my dad and that it’s probably just how he grieved. But you know, someone died. A life ended, and I was left by myself. I was so angry. I’m still angry. And you know what, my family (my father included) still expects me to do something with myself. After sending me off to college when I was still grieving at the lost of my home (I was also evicted from my old house) and my parents. They also knew that I was still dealing with depression and social anxiety. They told me to take out more loans to pay for college. I did. Because my dad said, “If you really want me to, I’ll pay for your school.”

I wanted nothing to do with my family, especially my father. I feel like I’m a horrible person for acting like this, for feeling this way. But it’s just how I feel. I hate myself for not being able to control it. And then I feel so guilty, because my mother wanted us to help each other. I don’t know what to do.

Anyways, I went to college. My first year, grade wise, was well. I kept myself driven from the thought that going to college was what my mother wanted. I had no social life. I had no one except for my boyfriend and my roommate, both from high school. The first time I saw my father again was during spring break. I went back to the dorms and for the first time, I experienced a panic attack. At least, I think it was. I am so scared of my father, because he has become the epitome of what my mother didn’t wish for. Honestly, I feel like if I befriend my father, my mother would despise me more than she already does. The next school year, I went back to live in the dorms and it was horrible. I really wanted to die.

I roomed with my boyfriend, and I know that sounds bad, but it was the only thing keeping me going. At this point, let me say that I never visited my family unless the school told us that we had to. I didn’t (still don’t as mentioned in my earlier post) like visiting my sister. I had no real home, no personal place, so I always stayed in the dorms. My boyfriend went home every weekend. With the increasing of panic attacks and trying to understand why nothing changes, I was losing myself. I didn’t go see a social worker, because after the first year, I found it useless. I don’t think anyone thinks as deeply as I do, and that’s not a problem for me. I just felt like no one was really listening to me. My boyfriend became stressed and we spiraled down into an unhealthy relationship. But it wasn’t like we didn’t love each other. We just didn’t know how to help one another.

We stopped going to class, mostly because of me. I was far too afraid to leave the room. College felt suffocating.  It wasn’t like I could fake it until I made it. If college was purely about education, I could do it. It’s not. It’s about socializing and buttering up professors. I find it messed up that the proper way to ask a professor out is to pay for their meal, just so you can talk about your grades and future. Then there’s the students, the “millennials.” They were all cheating on exams, cheating on each other, quick to anger without thinking, trolling each other, making offensive jokes, and just so full of themselves. It didn’t matter what clique I looked at, they all seem to have the same thought process. It just felt like there was a lack of integrity, respect, and modesty. It’s like no one thought about anyone else except for themselves. And our professors were so quick to adapt to that. I couldn’t fake it until I make it, because being a millennial would be becoming someone I hate.

My mom went into the hospital because of a stroke. The veins going to her brain constricted and so with the lack of oxygen, it happened. I was surrounded by people who made jokes about having a stroke. Some of these people already knew how my mom died. I don’t want to be an insensitive person who can casually hurt another.

I became so afraid of being someone that I would hate, so I never went to class. It’s not only that, I also had no idea what to do after college. I can’t imagine myself being in a office. Lastly, I have no reason going to college since, in reality, my mom is dead. I didn’t need to please her anymore. So I dropped out.

Am I happier? A little. As for my family, they see me as a failure and hold a grudge against me not telling them anything. They see me as someone stupid who isn’t thinking about life seriously. But they don’t know that I am, and that’s why I’m still here. Maybe I’ll go back to school in the future, maybe not.

April 14, 2018

So, let’s see… today is a snowy day. Cars are getting stuck outside so I’m staying inside today. Honestly, I feel weird living where I do. Before I get into that, let’s get some background information here.

I’m the youngest of 11 kids, one who died when I was 2 years old. Nevertheless, I have 6 older brothers and 4 older sisters. I never grew up with my parents’ attention, because they worked all the time. My siblings took care of me, but even then, I always felt alone. My family is a dysfunctional one. We’re not close.

However, I live with my sister, her husband, and two kids, as well as other siblings from both sides of the family. The reason for that is because my mother died when I was a senior in high school. I had two and a half weeks left until graduation, but fate decided to be a dick and yea, tragedy hit. My mom passed and my life fell apart even more than it was before. I don’t live with my father because he stopped being a parent. I am the youngest and at that time, I was 18. My father became so into himself, I never really saw him. There’s so much more as to why I live here, but these are the basics.

I feel weird here, because I’ve been struggling with depression and social anxiety for a long time. My family knows this, and they obviously know that none of us are all that close. Yet, they expect me to hang out with them and go to them when something happens in my life. It’s like, I don’t want to do any of those things because, again, I have social anxiety, but it’s not only that. I know nothing about our current society, because I don’t follow trends and social media. I never even know what they are all talking about the whole time and they get mad at me when I don’t jump into the conversations. I can’t trust them with anything in my life, because they are the type of people who tell me that they accommodate my needs when I’m clearly so uncomfortable as they say it. I don’t tell them anything about my concerns about them, because the thing about being the youngest is that no one listens to you. Everyone else has already agreed on something, so I’m the deviant for having a different opinion. I get shut down so fast, but then at the same time, I’m told that they are all accommodating me like my depression and social anxiety is difficult for them to deal with.

I’m always on and off about how I feel about my family. Sometimes I love them, and sometimes I just want to kill myself. I don’t know. My family makes me hate myself more than I already do. They make me hate that I am depressed and that I have social anxiety. Sometimes I do believe that I am crazy, and that there’s something fundamentally wrong with me. I’m not sure what to do with my family. I want to run away and never see them again. I want to have a life where they’re not in it in any way.

People believe that everything can be fixed if we all just talk about it. I don’t believe that. I grew up with a family that constantly fought, argued, and broke promises. I’m a part of a family that the dynamic of our relationship never changed for the better even with my mother’s death. And if I’m to be truthful, I hold a grudge against my family for that. Sometimes I feel like, I’m the only one who was drastically impacted from my mother’s death. I guess, in a way, that’s true. I was the only one left going to high school. I had yet to live a life without my mother, but you know, I never knew that people can be so heartless. My mother wasn’t the best mother, but she was the only one who cared about my family as a whole. It kills me to see that people don’t change.

So yea, I don’t like living where I do, because I can’t deal with my family.