Reinventing yourself stems through cracks and crevices and fruitfully I am ready this time.
I’m at a gas station in the south, a famous one, watching someone walk their dog. One of those breeds that looks strangely human.
Not the point, but setting the scene is something I need to get better about in reference to these entries.
I’m avoiding driving anymore. Even though I have about 6 more hours left. I’m also guessing because I’ve been trying not to focus on it.
I just made a life-altering decision two days ago. On a whim some might say (I spit out with venom). Although my views on the situation have been crystal clear. My boundaries were being pressed, smudged, burned, ignored. I’m angry. But my anger will fuel into something brighter. Blinding to some, but a sacrifice I am willing to make. Everyone knows I am paying for it.
Here’s the truth: I don’t care about everyone’s opinion.
Harsh. Grave. Dire. Whatever you may say, but the truth.
The truth doesn’t reach my doorstep with a heartless bow wrapped around it. Someone threw it through the window, shattered the glass and the truth was a rock with five shrilling crimson letters painted slanted across it.
SHAME.
Not! Because! Of! What! You! Think.
My shame is for the utter fact that I’ve ignored myself for so long. Especially my physical being, but definitely a little bit of my mental.
I’m ricocheted into something I wanted to pump into my mother’s bloodstream: don’t you dare fucking help people if you have nothing.
And I don’t have nothing. But it’s pretty fucking close to it.
Call me ungrateful.
I worked for the very little I have. And I deserve to be protective of it. But I also deserve to be protective of something I know gets smaller.
Time.
My time is ticking. Definitely not something that I want to hear. My anxiety is already skyrocketing. But let’s talk about something that interchangeably makes me feel so at peace and yet like I’m that rabbit tapping on his wristwatch.
My man.
All I’ll say in reference to their identity, but I just want to breathe. Be respected. And being disrespected outside of something that isn’t a romantic relationship hasn’t happened in a while. I do live very morally beautifully and I am very cariñosa a mi gente (loving to my people in my broken ass Spanish). But now that I’m sitting with being disrespected by someone I love so deeply because of the constant outside influence of other people that this person has managed to parasite to(NOT FOR THE FIRST FUCKING TIME EITHER *bashes my head against the wall*). As well as the other person being a parasite to said person. However, with this in mind, I am feeling more peace in the continuation of this relationship, my romantic relationship that is.
There’s things to tweak. But lord almighty, please help me find the patience to not tweak. Especially all the time. Nonstop. Agonizing.
That drive though I think is what I live for.
Constant shifts. Changes. Melting into each other and into our outside lives. The flow. Everything I’ve wanted. And will continue to want hopefully.
I have a lot at stake. That only shows my want, my passion, something I’ll compliment myself for always.
Never ever forget though— I’m not the one who has these feelings or what I want out of grasp. It’s YOU. (Not my reader, but for the person who wronged me). I never did something to someone who didn’t deserve it. I stand by that shit. I live so intentionally.
Always remember to protect, to caress, and to compliment yourself.
You will succeed.
Success looks different for everyone.
[Image description: The start of my road trip today, 4/12/2026. Starting from above the chin up, is a blatant expression on my face, a Latina woman with purple messy bangs. She’s got heart shaped sunglasses on her eyes and a toothpick in her mouth. Taken from her Snapchat story with a Sexxy Red song attached that she very much believes about herself, He Wanna Hang Wit a Bad Bitch. He does. Always. Very much still angry at the person, someone with a role in my life where the only thing they should want to do is protect and love me. But they don’t love themselves. And they hate that I do. Do you like my sunglasses? Ten dollars at a grocery store. Much love.]