I’m Lost

Memories are having their way with me. I’m back in the city that once felt so foreign – that once felt like home, to being the worst place in the world. And now, I’m back. With absolutely no support system. No idea what I’m doing with my future/next two years. Thoughts of you weave and bob their way through my heart and mind. Tattooed images pass as quickly as thunder on a summer’s day.

How did I get here?

I thought you were the one. I thought we would make it. You hurt me. You caused me pain. I gave you everything I had and you beat me like a dog on the street asking – no begging – me to forgive you and take you back. Manipulating my mind and heart to molds that fit your mood. Why am I having these feelings? Why did you ruin everything from the beginning. Why did I stick around!

My Freudian fate.

That must be it.

The words, spit, memories, pain and suffering can’t be undone nor un-erased. With my Dad’s passing I learned that I could no longer wait. I was tired. I told you for a year straight before anything with my Dad ever happened. Why did I fucking stay! I should have left before it even started.

Life is too short. Regret nothing. Learn.

Suffer only for those that share your blood and sacrifice only for those willing to do the same, and more, for you.

I’m trying to find comfort in whatever way I can. I first found it in the bed of another. Sharing pain with someone who understood and knew that all I needed or wanted was warmth – both in body and soul. It was time limited, but so deeply embedded in my memory that I seek them out often. Even if it’s just for a passing “Hello, I hope you’re doing okay”. Why? Because they created warmth and safety during a period of havoc and hell. Someone giving you the upmost kindness in the worst most times of need created deep ocean memories that can’t be forgotten.

Fast forward – I then found company in strange conversations and experiences. I needed to expand my mind and push myself to depths that I had never reached. Why? Because I was young, and had the right to date and know what sexual intercourse with someone foreign felt like. I had the right to drink excessively – damn it, I had just lost my dad! My therapist said it was okay, my mom said it was okay – and damn it, I did it.


It’s two months with someone. The conversations aren’t like the one’s you and I had.

What is love?

Where is love?

Where’s the snap on grid to guide my files and categorize my thoughts.

I’m lost.

I need more than a “mhhmmm” and “right”. I need more than two words of agreement and verbal accommodation. I need opinion, passion, feeling in how you speak to me. You have such potential. You could do so much, be so much – but stop yourself. You’re afraid of failure and what they’ll say. Am I wrong? What is it then. Stop making excuses; let me push you. Let me help you.

Here we go again, My Freudian Fate.


Past or Passed

I drive past, or passed – I don’t fucking know – the hospital where the helicopter took you to another hospital every morning. You weren’t conscious, your brain was shutting down and trying to keep you alive. Your heart beating with all of the energy it could possibly conjure. It’s funny how much your DNA wants you to keep breathing and thriving. Somewhere within the nucleus of your cells, however, they knew it was a time. Perhaps it was your brain telling them to give up. To give in to the years of pain that for so long brought upon your undiagnosed depression. Could this have been your demise? The unwillingness to allow your cells to thrive for you? Preventing them from continuing their soul purpose in life?

How could you have known that this is where you would end up. Here in my thoughts that are at a volume to high for me to handle. My ears are hurting from my headphones trying to muffle you out – the volume is too high. I’m starting to find comfort in others – how is that healthy? You would be disappointed, but who else do I talk to? Who else can I  help me to untangle these thoughts that run rampant. I’ve made an appointment to seek help from a professional – knowing that it’s the right thing to do. I see why the concept of seeking professional help was something that seemed so foreign and disturbing to you. How are you to tell this complete stranger all of your inner most thoughts and expect them to help you? All they do is propose surface level questions just to get you thinking passed (see there is it again) your own uncertainty and confront those things that you don’t feel you’re ready for. I mean they’re also there because you might have this chemical imbalance going on and it needs some serious correcting.

Regardless of those facts, you should have found help years ago. Before it reached the point where you lost hope and felt like you couldn’t continue. Why didn’t you talk to me sooner? Why didn’t you think about the effects this would have on all us? Am I entering part 3 of my grief – anger and resentment?


That’s what we crave. Feeling like we’re connected to someone and they somehow genuinely understand us.

I’m starting to fear being alone. Alone with my thoughts because at the moment they feel toxic and addictive in a very harmful way. Boston made me feel connected like I hadn’t felt in years, and now I’m in this city with harndly any connections. Without any to pour my feelings too. They’re kept in, locked away from myself and society and I’m not sure how that makes me feel.

In some weird way, it’s causing a lot of my anxiety and depression. I miss the Boston that made me feel at home, especially one person in particular.

Life goes on though, I hope I find a connection like that again. Soon, I hope.

In this place

I’m in this place, a home, that isn’t mine. I have no memories here – currently. I don’t know when the floor creeks as I step here or there. I don’t know what kind of sounds the bed makes when I go to sit on it. I didn’t place any of these items here, they were already placed here and there by someone. I’m in this place, that’s a home, a home that will be mine for the next week or so. A home I’m trying vividly to remember.

Tonight’s the first night I’m here – alone – trying to soak up as much as I can while I can. For things here are quite, peaceful calm and okay. I’m okay here – and it’s the first time in a long time I’ve felt okay. I’ve gotten so used to moving, going, not stopping that this this is the first time I feel at peace. Free to just be myself – a Cristal who’s new and improved. Who knows her worth and knows she’s going somewhere – doing something with her life – who isn’t going to take bullshit anymore. Not even from herself. I’m 25, I lost my dad. I forgot who I was for someone. I moved across the country. I’m moving back. I’m going to medical school. I’m in this place – I don’t know what I feel, but I want to vividly remember it. Life is crazy – they all say.

Remind yourself that in these dark times, you’re pain and suffering will make you a better person and will help you grow. You will not be broken by any of this – be resilient and kind to others and most importantly to yourself.

Find who, what, and where makes you happiest. Don’t settle. Be happy. Let others help you. Don’t forget. Exercise more. Surround yourself with good people – more often. Be smart and work hard. Think before you speak and think before you act.

Meditations by Marcus Aurelius | Book II

In this – I write those lessons I wish to learn from the great stoic Marcus. I hope that these lessons will guide me through these rough times that I am enduring and will inspire all parts of me. For pain is a feeling that I know not how to endure – nor understand. I seek comfort in his words.

I begin, with Book II.

To resent anything that happens is to separate oneself in revolt from Nature.

How is one to control what happens to oneself? And whoso is to say that one can’t be humbled by what pains Nature brings. For death is a part of a Nature and in it’s pain – lies beauty and balance. One is to accept this part of life and understand it’s meaning in the eyes of Nature. To revolt against Nature is to cause oneself pain and harm – to stunt that growth that one is to have naturally – we continue.

A soul harm itself when it gives in to pleasure or pain.

All things of the body stream away like a river, all things of the mind are dreams and delusion; life is warefare, and a visit in strange land; the only lasting fame is oblivion.

Oblivion and philosophy are the two truths that one should live by. Holding those two truths near will allow oneself to look past unwarranted pain and pleasure. What more can one do but mediate on Nature’s unchanging truth. We are but a spect in the vast world and have no more power or will on Nature than all those before us and after us.

Open Letter To: Winter

Winter I am tired of your cold ass. I am tired of your windchill and dry flaky air. I am tired of how you tease me with 60 degree weather then throw a blizzard into the mix just to taunt me. I am done with the layering and the covering of skin. I want to be free and wear the least amount of clothing possible. Winter my toes need some fresh air! My skin requires vitamin d to survive and to maintain a peaceful mind! And now that spring is supposed  to be approaching, I can’t take anymore of this cold lifeless life! It’s far too dull and I am not accustomed to staying indoors for this many hours. Winter let spring arrive.

Back To My Roots

In the last year or so, I’ve been really trying to reconnected with my Hispanic roots. I’ve been trying to immerse myself in my language and culture as much as possible – especially now that I don’t live with my parents. And although I know I will always be Mexican, I am starting to feel disconnected from my culture – as if I’m losing it.

Since leaving the nest, my Spanish vocabulary has declined and I’ve forgotten completely how to say some words – which is just pathetic. There’s nothing here on the east coast that reminds me of my roots and to top it off I’m getting whiter which doesn’t help. And it’s not like I haven’t had this “white” skin issue before. It’s just gotten worse since moving here to Boston.

So, what have been doing to get me back to my roots? Aside from eating as many conchas as possible – I’ve been listening to a ton of Spanish music and even became addicted a novela. I’ve linked a playlist I curated in case anyone is interested! It’s mostly indie stuff, but overall still really great jams and jellies.

As for the novel I’ve been watching – its about the Cuban artist Celia Cruz and her journey to fame (availabile on Netflix). If anyone loves Cuban music and also Celia Cruz, then you have to watch this show. It’s historically accurate (or so I believe) and it’s like you get a mini concert with every forty minute episode. Here’s the first episode so you can get addicted.