Some gifts are burdens, some burdens are gifts
Today I'm 33 years on Earth.
I feel like what started my healing journey in 2018, when my grandma passed away in a Brownsville Hospital while I was probably washing a doggy butt in my work van or maybe driving lost in a podcast or my Spotify mix that day but knowing in the back of my head I'm gonna get that call. Before I go into all the beautiful things i see and notice about the world, I have to share the darkness that I've been through, what was my foundation that kept cracking under pressure that Ive been trying to fix with duct tape, low self esteem, risky behavior, suicidal thoughts. I've had to demolish that foundation, and rethink how to rebuild a new one. Sometimes you feel more insane on this journey then you did after a binge on a Tuesday night, Instead of hooking up with a “nice” guy who gave me the slightest attention, and keeps me drunk/high feeling “loved” but I didn't want to live that way anymore, it was draining, and going nowhere, cause it was never enough, there just wasn't enough booze in the world that could fill this void I had inside me. so instead of drinking or fucking my pain away, I opt out for to just stay home, laying on my floor, crying and staring into my walls, going to sleep early was the best thing I can do for myself, going to AA/SLAA meetings from time to time, cause I really didn’t know anyone who suffered as much as me, and was actively trying to change their look on life until I was in these rooms. It was nice to feel heard, seen, even validated for some of the shit I would do or think. Each awkward step, falling and getting back up again has brought me here.
I loved and adored My grandma, despite our language barrier, we always seemed to understand each other when it was needed ,even when there was no one to help us translate. My grandma's funeral was my second funeral I'd ever gone to, my first one was to a friend's dad who passed in high school. Both funerals were in Brownsville Texas, despite the always sunny atmosphere, there's always a layer of sadness that follows me when I go back.
I didn't shed a single tear packing my suitcase, rebooking my clients, on the drive from Houston to Brownsville with my dog Bree until I got to the wake and saw the coffin at the end of the room in the funeral home. Funerals always feel like this fever dream, or a nightmare you just can't shake yourself out of. As someone who wasn't in touch with their emotions, funerals are the place to let it all out. The tears came hard after that and continued the next day. A great aunt told me how much my grandma was proud of me and my dog grooming business. I would have loved to hear her tell me that in person, though it would have felt amazing to hear it from her too when she was alive. Compliments weren't a thing in my life, from the living or dead. That was just the beginning of her talking to me through people or through my own body. I didn't know or understand that intuition back then. My grandma felt more maternal to me than my own mother, as much I loved and adored her, felt safe and even understood , and as all mothers and daughters do, it's the origin of almost a lot of our pain.
When my 14 year old mom ran away, came back pregnant with her 18 year old boyfriend like the family cat who ran away for a weekend to hang out with the neighborhood stray , my grandma, like a lot of moms did back then, forced her to have me, there was no discussion of other choices. Eventually my mom was kicked out all together, “Have your baby father take care of you now” This is where all my sadness began, being born into a world where my father probably should have been in jail, or at least changes brought on, by a 15 year old who didn't even know how to take care of herself, here I am the “gift” to the Andaverde’s in 1990. I was thrown into the world, in poverty, with a young mom, a dad addicted to god knows what making $65 a week, I don't have much memory of that time, but certain weed smells might make me think of that time, or those awful UV lights that turn the white in your clothes into a purple blue color. There is only one picture I have of my dad, at my baptism , my mom and godmother are holding me in my white dress, they both have the insane teased out hair of the 80s, and you only see the back of my dads head. I wouldn't even count the picture as the only thing I have to feel connected to him , but what I can def count is that stems from being prone to alcohol abuse, mental illness, I have a love/appreciation of Primus- Pork Soda. That's it really, I can tell you 30 something years later, not one phone call or letter, anything to check in.
I didn't grow up to have any siblings either, so watching my grandma being put down 6 feet under, I felt more alone than I ever felt, I felt like I had to check in on my mom and grandpa more, I knew they needed me, I needed them. But when I laid down in my old bed, at my grandparents house, as I rested my eyes, I knew I wasn't gonna wake up to the smell of coffee brewing, maybe some migas or biscuits, or her and my mom playfully arguing with each other. (they eventually squashed the teen pregnancy beef )
I started to feel that familiar wave - the melancholy -god or whatever you are, why did you bring me here- why haven't you yeeted me off this planet yet- emptiness- hopelessness-depression mood then passed out quickly exhausted from crying. Depression/Anxiety is nothing to me, I've been having panic attacks since elementary school just like my girl Rue in Europhia. My attacks were more of sitting at my desk as a first grader, trying to hold in my tears, cause the test I was taking was stressing me out, or the dread of knowing i have to ask for school supplies, uniforms that i hated wearing, that's one memory i do remember very well, is crying trying on uniforms in the dressing room. But that burden I knew even as a kid, this wasn't an easy task, or it was going to be a topic of money, argument, stress. It's weird looking back at those memories, and feelings as a child isn't it? You don't think about it, until you write it down and really process it. Sometimes you wish there was a rewind button, so you can unlearn that healthy or unhealthy skill, recovered memories, icky feelings.
So they say healing isn't linear, maybe more of a spiral. In 2023, this new year of going into 33, life is magically beautiful. It's giving Tony soprano coming out of a coma, after having those crazy life altering dreams, saying lift is a gift, then going back on my bullshit months later. Though Tony would have gotten the same results if he had taken some shrooms with Dr Melfi. I would personally fund an episode of him going on an Alice in Wonderland psychedelic cartoon trip but coming out feeling wholesome and a brand new man, forgiving his mother for her mental illness, his dad for choosing this lifestyle, letting go of the all the violence he was raised in, realizing they were all trying to strive to be something In this country, and here he was born again to break the generational trauma. In my head that's how the show really ended. I think that's the beauty in a fade out, it makes you open your imagination, a dialogue, or a reason just to talk shit. I just saw The Sopranos for the first time in 2022, honestly it was the best time for me to watch it, the universe was like here ya go, it's time you treated yourself to binge watch the next few weeks. Not even knowing how the hints of spirituality came through the show. You really do fall in love with Tony Soprano but also see how manipulative, charming he can be, though you STILL relate to him so much!!! Putting time into your busy schedule in between working , wacking people, being open to going into a room to seek help, but also your first reaction is to be like “well this is fucking stupid” but you still go back. Spiritual gangsta.
Growing up around violence, where mental illness isn't talked about , in fact ignored, and labeled as laziness, spoiled, whatever it is, having to figure out how and if you're gonna eat tonight, you grow up with really good survival skills, you learn how to put emotions to the side, they build up and come back in fun ways, or if you lucky, a lot of memories become suppressed.
You can be a business owner, CEO, top dog, but still not feel like you're good enough, and the outlook on the world is so dark . Something as simple as laying on the grass, painting a picture, taking a walk, becomes tedious, not worth the energy, in fact it's so hard. Writing a poem, or trying to learn a new song on guitar feels like I'm scratching an itch on my skin that's been filled with pus, there's blood oozing, it's uncomfortable, almost alien but primal at the same time. It's not natural to me, but I'm trying anyway. you just go in circles fighting the voices in your head of how you should be doing something else more productive, making money, be debt free, whether that is, or the voice is a mothers, grandparent, society. It drains you.
Once the love and life was sucked out of me, I was fucking miserable.
I would get up and try to get through the day, and it would just hurt, physically, spiritually, mentally. I didn’t feel worthy of living , not worthy of happiness or existence. Definitely not worthy of receiving help. I thought maybe it was just because of my actions, or because I have had some success and now it’s turning on me, it made me sick physically and mentally, or maybe it was my past that I never spoke about.
My Facebook feed picked up on my algorithm oddly and a local psychedelic assisted therapy found me while I was scrolling through. I had tried antidepressants, anxiety meds in my 20s,regular therapy, honestly if shocks or lobotomy was more affordable and still in use, I would have tried that too. Why not? It was try this modern way of getting help, or kill myself. I wasn't ready to do that yet. The only thing keeping me here on Earth was my dog Damien, my black long hair dachshund mix, but there were some days I thought, me working so much, not having time to walk or just being so exhausted from existing, I couldn't be present with him, he deserved better. But you know I deserved better too. A year ago I started this journey, and here I am, sharing my pain and love with the world with my boy Damien in my lap, snoozing away while I brainstorm and type. It's given me the tools to be patient with myself, forgiveness fill my own cup with love. To let me get in touch with my inner child, get her that attention, consistency, love she craved but was too busy trying to protect herself in the world, too busy fighting everything in my way and my own self. It also gave me the biggest gift of all, is having creativity again. It's a fun mind trick part of healing is telling yourself , none of this shit is true, just throw away that thinking/ logic and paint a new picture. It’s a little delusional mixed with mantras, affirmations, and sitting around breathing.
Life was actually always magical, I was just too deep in the dark to see the beauty.
“Creativity means, I made change happen” Seth Godin