Tag Archives: Death

#21 – Toxic Masculinity Chronicles Part II – Random Thoughts 

Yesterday as I was heading back to work from my lunch break, I was walking behind three white bankers or Masters of the Universe as I like to refer to them. I don’t mind lingering behind groups of people because I like to listen, it’s a hobby that serves my writing and directing. These are my anthropological experiments. They were talking about Puerto Rico so my ears perked up.

“What more do these people want? I’m sick of the negative press Trump is getting for doing his job.”  Said one of them.

I wanted to move away from them but as you expect, the three of them were manspread all over the sidewalk.  I kept telling myself to keep my mouth shut, hold my tongue because today was not the day to tell three men to fuck off.

“And that mayor, some people don’t know their place.” With that, they walked into their glass castle, their building is literally all glass on the outside, and I was left fuming.

I have no problem standing up to or speaking my mind to powerful white men. It’s one of the things I’ve learned to do well because of my job as an Executive Assistant.

After the mass shooting in Vegas, Tom Petty dying, the devastation in Puerto Rico, the so called president being himself, and some family issues that have me a little worried, I did not have the energy to engage with the three Masters of the Universe. I don’t know why it still baffles me when educated people are racist and misogynist. I don’t think the three men would have been expressing their views so freely in the middle of the street if Trump wasn’t in office. It still shocks me and hurts me when I see how much hatred is being put out there.

When I got back to my desk, every news article kept referring to the Vegas shooter as a lone wolf. I hate how the media, the police, the FBI and regular people refer to white terrorists as a lone wolf. This is how repugnant humans get normalized. Wolves don’t come in and attack hundreds of people unprovoked. Wolves are often the hunted either by hunters or farmers. Leave this beautiful animal out of the vernacular when describing white terrorists.

One of the news reports made me laugh; it was a this is so fucking sad, I don’t know what else to do kind of laugh. “Las Vegas gunman (I won’t print his name) enjoyed gambling, country music, lived quiet life before…” I laughed because it reminded me of some of the dating profiles I received when I was on Match.com. I got a lot of guys who had pictures of themselves with guns or rifles, some had the audacity to point their weapon at the camera. The way the media describes this white terrorist reminds me of some of those profiles.

Just when I think things can’t get any worse, I see the president’s visit to Puerto Rico and he’s throwing rolls of paper towels at people!

Stock prices of gun manufacturers go up after mass shootings.  The contraption used to turn semiautomatic weapons into machine guns is called a “bump stock”. The Vegas terrorist used bump stocks became a hot item at gun shops.

Advertisements

# 10 – Grief & Depression

Grieving Mami was more difficult than I anticipated. I had six years to prepare but I was not ready. Each day greeted me with a new reminder that my mother was dead.  How many times would I dial her number before I remembered she was gone? How many times would I crave her bacalao, albondigas and carne mechada before realizing that their flavor, aroma and comfort died with her.

I planned to visit my God-mother in the Dominican Republic the summer after Mami died. Consuelo was Mami’s best friend, Papi’s sister and the one responsible for their union.  The day I bought my plane ticket Papi called to tell me she was dead. Cancer got her too. The rest of my life will now be filled with the regret of unanswered questions and one sided conversations with Mami’s ghost.

My grief morphed into depression. The more I tried to stop it, the deeper down the maelstrom I went.  Driving on the freeway felt like an unseen hand was squeezing my throat while another one pinched my nose. I started driving on the exit lane to not add claustrophobia to my anxiety cocktail. I self-medicated with food and Netflix binges. I lost my desire to read, to hike, to see friends. I gained fifteen pounds.

My life became robotic; get up, drive to work, eat, work, eat, drive home, eat, Netflix, eat, sleep five hour, repeat.

My worse fear was that the darkness could lead me to commit suicide or get addicted to drugs even though I’ve never had thoughts of suicide or an addictive personality.  A medicine cabinet full of Vicodin that I rarely used and did not know how to properly dispose of should have assured me that I would not go there.  I excel at worrying about everything including things with very little chance of happening.  I asked my husband and sister to keep an eye on me just in case.

A few years earlier my therapist diagnosed me with anticipatory anxiety because I always think of the worst case scenario, I need to be prepared for it, have a plan, just in case. I thought I was ready to let Mami go while she was dying but I was not prepared for my her death or the aftermath.

I am an optimist, always finding light or a shimmer of hope to guide me through difficult times. After spending half of my adult life witnessing the strongest person I knew battle cancer, suicide and drug abuse were not options for me.  I knew my mother and aunt were dead but self-awareness did not make the darkness go away.  Is this what the road the Cuckoo’s Nest was like? Was I, to quote Ozzy, “on the rails of a crazy train?”

I learned to function with depression. I have a hard time asking for help, in hindsight, I should have gone back to therapy to deal with the initial grief and loss.

My friend Rachel, whose mother has been dead for over a decade, once told me that you never get over the loss of the person that loves you the most in the world. She made me realize my sorrow was normal. When  “the person that loves you the most in the world” dies, you are left with an emptiness that can never be filled.

I gave birth to my daughter almost three years later. My due date was on her  birthday.  I know my baby is a gift from Mami.  She came out of my womb with a piercing cry that rippled through me like a high voltage current. The intensity of the moment made me miss my mother more than I ever had.