Shame

I feel shame at my nemetic habit, procrastination.

I remember the underpinnings. I would see my step-father using his headaches as a reason to avoid paying bills, organizing his paperwork or even through unneeded items out.

Prior to moving to live with him far, far away from from my neighborhood of Jackson Heights, NYC, I had watched my Mom keep important papers in organized folders and her reminder lists in small notebooks. Her manner of keeping on top of these important issues were commonplace and not a big deal. All was manageable.

When we moved to the wilds of pony riding New Jersey, where there was not a Spanish-speaking family for miles, Pepe’s frustration over the clutter that he self-generated would spill onto how he would treat his new wife, my Mother, and me. (Pepe is the nickname my Mom gave my stepfather.)

It’s difficult for me to express the toxic relationship that Pepe created in the household. I don’t like talking about the abuse both my Mom and I endured. I get overwhelmed from these memories.

Prior to moving to Bernardsville, NJ from Jackson Heights, Queens, NYC, I had been a pretty motivated girl and student. I had tons of support from the Human Resources School where I had attended school for the disabled from 1st to 7th grade,

Both the overt classism, racism and hate towards me was apparent from day one by students and even teachers and guidance counselors.

However, the instability at home, which had always been my safe space with Mamá, had turned into a dormant volcano that erupted into full-fledged explosion since my Pepe had no idea how to express himself otherwise.

His clutter was apparent all over the home. He always complained about it to us causing his dis-ease to become my Mom and my Mom’s problem.

Fast forward to today. I have been working so hard to minimize the clutter in my home. I have been successful in the past. With this past year of distress and being alone since my husband who no longer resides with me, I have felt lost, unmotivated as well as lost in past traumatic events.

One day at a time.

About BigBalloonReadyToFly

I often feel like a balloon ready to fly off this big blue marble! I openly write about depression and post traumatic stress. Born & raised in NYC from a Costa Rican family. I have ongoing medical condition that has caused me to experience 50+ bone fractures. I stopped counting at 50. It's called Osteogenesis Imperfecta. I attended a school for the disabled prior to mainstreaming. I moved to Boston in 1983 for college and soon after became involved in local union and community politics as well as a peace activist. My high points have been my marriage, my step-motherhood and re-connecting with my Papa as an adult. Since 2004, I have experienced much grief due to the deaths of my stepsons and parents. I am a witness and survivor of the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing. I write prose and poetry in both English and Spanish. I live with my dog Sugar in Roslindale, MA.
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