Anxious

My heart is racing, my breath is agitated, my chest feels heavy, my hands are shaking, my stomach feels sick, my vision is blurry, my mind is dissociated from wherever it is I’m standing right now.

I can’t breathe. I can’t see.

I’m dizzy.

There are too many things going on in my head; there are too many thoughts; there’s too little time.

A thousand feelings and memories and troubles hit me at once and I’m overwhelmed, yet I can’t bring myself to feel anything but numb. But at the same time I can also feel everything that could possibly be felt. I can’t comprehend.

Too many voices are around me right now–too many for my liking.

I’m usually okay with closed spaces but right now it’s closing in on me.

I’m walking, but I can’t feel it; now I’m sitting down, but I can’t feel it; now I’m writing, but I can’t feel it; now I’m talking, but I can’t hear it.

I didn’t sleep. Is it that? But this has happened before. Or has it? I can’t remember.

My thought process is messy, but my mind is set on all the things I have to do.

Procrastination. Hopelessness. No future for you. Right? I don’t know anymore.

My mom is texting me to just breathe and think of something nice.

Gee, thanks, never thought of that.

I can’t get it out of my head—I can’t get the numbness out.

I need a therapist. Or do I need enlightenment?

I don’t know.

I need to breathe, but I can’t.

I can’t feel me. Or can I?

Photo credits to: theheartysoul

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Family pt2

I have mentioned before how my mother went to university, but it is an overstatement to say that her accomplishing that was easy or normal in her family; she was the very first one to attend this higher level of education and actually finish it; and she did so with nearly perfect scores, coming in third place from her entire school of thousands of students. Getting her degree was intense, though: the 1980s were not good years to earn a degree in Cuba. The year in which my mother graduated high school and started applying for university, Cuba was in need of teachers all over the country. My mother was very excited about university and having put medicine—specifically a neurologist—as her first choice in what she wanted to study in made her proud. But the Cuban government had other plans, so she was forced into studying to become an English teacher the next four years of her life. Her biggest support during this difficult time was her grandmother, who had always supported her in anything she accomplished, and who told Irisbel that if she didn’t finish her major despite her hatred towards it, she would never finish anything else in her life because, as she used to say: “all that is started must be finished if you seek success in your life.”
Continue reading “Family pt2”

Family

At an early age (only 2 years old), Irisbel Ortiz Rivero started showing her clear, prominent trait of persistence. It was a fiery summer day in Cuba, and Iris had just arrived from a long car ride that had taken her from Camagüey to La Havana. The entire trip—which had been a long 5 hours in the least—riled up Irisbel’s growing desire to visit Coppelia, a place which was known throughout the country for its amazing ice cream. Since many people liked to have something to refresh themselves with under the hot and unforgiving sun, no one really questioned people who traveled several states just to get a taste of the Cuban delicacy that was Coppelia.
Continue reading “Family”

When I need you

It was December 23, 2003 when I came,

and, then, only ten days after, you left,

And from that time I should’ve known

That it would always stay the same.

Years came and we got closer

But then you got another family.

I always knew you were a poser

But it still hurt to see you happily.

Fifteen years have gone by

And I can’t help but realize:

You’d never sing me a lullaby

And yet I loved you without thinking twice.

When I think of it, with me

I sympathize

Because that love I thought you for me had

Feels like nothing but a lie.

Years came and we got closer

And you’d still claim a lot from me,

And even though you never call me

I still became your devotee.

We went different ways,

But I still loved you;

We become different people,

But I still missed you.

Life brought us back together

And I thought it would be for good

But everything stayed like always

(Probably the way it always should).

And then my fifteenth party arrived

And you made it your second option.

That day I realized you’re never there.

You’re never there when I need you.

I am my hands

I am my hands. As I gaze upon these two vital parts of my body whose importance and valuable assistance in my daily life I often give for granted, I contemplate the overwhelming and numerous thoughts that seem to emerge as I keep looking at them.

I can almost tell my whole life’s story just by looking at them. Starting from my long and hairy-knuckled (which I’m honestly not very proud of) fingers; one of them in which lies the precious gold and black ring that my mother bestowed onto me about a year ago. Continue reading “I am my hands”

Music Turned Into Writing: I don’t want to be you anymore

I’ve always wanted to be the star of the show. It might sound narcissistic but, honestly, being the main focus of everything always felt really good and right—like it was meant to be for me. Growing up I had everything to make it possible for me to stand out: the personality, the charisma, what my teachers called the ‘spark’, the talents, the easygoing nature, etc. So, it was never hard for me to fit in anywhere and always have massive crowds of people after or with me at all times. Continue reading “Music Turned Into Writing: I don’t want to be you anymore”

The sea

When I think about how my life used to be when I was a child, the first thing that comes to mind is that sacred place in which I spent most of my earliest days alive: the sea. The thrilling and yet peace-inducing waves that would carry my body from side to side seem to be one of the sea’s features that I reminisce whenever I’m near said place. Continue reading “The sea”

A Series Of Fortunate Vignettes

Vignette: a small impressionistic scene, an illustration, a descriptive passage, a short essay, a fiction or nonfiction work focusing on one particular moment; or giving an impression about an idea, character, setting, mood, aspect, or object.

Being fourteen is more than just going through one more of the “angsty and rebellious” years of your life. Being fourteen means Continue reading “A Series Of Fortunate Vignettes”

31 Day Blog Challenge–Days 10-12

Day 10: Most proud moment

My most proud moment would be the day in which I received my first Honor Roll.

It had only been a month since I had just arrived to the United States from Cuba, and I remember my non-English-speaker self sitting in homeroom when some kids walked into the room and started handing out some papers: the invitations to the Honor Roll Ceremony. The moment the kids walked in, Continue reading “31 Day Blog Challenge–Days 10-12”