love, tashi

Somedays not succumbing to the depression I feel creeping up is like trying to stay above water as waves hit, one after another while swimming in the ocean. I fight the anxiety I feel & distract myself for a bit until the next wave comes crashing & I feel myself drowning a little. I know I should just get it over with, cry it out, feel it & then it’ll be done... but I hate the feeling of hopelessness that consumes me during these depressive episodes. The dread of never being loved again, of being abandoned, of never having the future I dream of. I know I should just feel it, or reach out to someone... but I despise the feeling of helplessness, of weakness. So I’ll just write it out, put it in words, expel it, release it here. & hope that when I finally drown in the depression, I find my way back to the surface & just keep going. 

...that was me, a little over a year ago, desperately trying to find answers to how I could possibly overcome this unimaginable heartbreak tearing me up, suffocating me, making me wonder if my life was even worth living. That was the last time I felt like this; like the walls were closing in. I remember wondering who I was without him, wondering what I could have done that was so wrong that he wouldn’t even consider meeting with me. I questioned my self-worth, who I was as a person, especially after receiving his email that listed the many things I had done wrong and how I had hurt him throughout our relationship... all without taking any responsibility on his end. All this, falling a part, while also feeling ashamed for doing so. How was it that I, Tashi, self-proclaimed feminist, strong willed and independent, preacher of how men are trash & how we must find our identities beyond our romantic relationships -- allowing a fucking man to make me break down to this level? I remember hating myself for feeing the way I did and for ever having initiated the breakup, for having lost him and all the ties and friendships I had created during our time together. I remember, feeling like I had lost my future & myself. 

...and now here I sit, awaiting a decision from another man, that could once again shake me. And again I feel panic, suffocated, unworthy ... & ashamed. Ashamed for having bought into this false certainty it provided. I, advocate of “DACA is not enough,” “DACA is temporary,” “we deserve better,” “the next president can take this away...” -- how had I allowed myself to rely on this crumb of a promise? How dare I, knowing better, have allowed myself to feel normal & forget for one or two days that my status was still nonexistent? To let my guard down & plan ahead, actually dream of a future where I was living freely, feel secure in the arms of another false promise? I knew better, & yet here I sit, panicked and insecure about what comes next. Feeling like once again I will lose my future. 

I wish I had words of wisdom, words that I had found through googling “heartbreak,” but all I have is what I’ve learned. A lesson learned time & time again: all systems that exist, all systems centered around cis-hetero-males will break my heart. Because as a woman, as an undocumented immigrant, as a POC -- no systems, including those that include romantic relationships with cis-hetero-males, are set up for me to prosper. And the sooner I learn that lesson, the sooner I’ll stop looking for love, worth & acceptance in any of these spaces. Because similar to the unhelpful advice I got from google, I won't find answers in a system that was built to keep me down. 

I don’t know what I’ll do if DACA ends, I’m sure I’ll have other moments of panic. I’m sure I’ll feel that residual heartache, fear of the uncertain, nostalgia for the security, like I still do now for that man that broke me... those things I know. I guess the most realistic answer to what I’ll do if DACA ends is, I’ll figure it the fuck out when the time comes. Because that’s how I’ve lived my life in this country since the day I knew I was undocumented. 

Will I fight? ... I’ll fight if it feels right. I’ll hide, I’ll cry, I’ll yell, I’ll avoid, I will do what I have to do to take care of me. Because this country sure as fuck won’t be looking out for me, & I’m kind of exhausted of always having to prove my resilience. So if the time comes, and DACA ends & you’re not feeling this tokenized “immigrant resilience” ... do what you have to do for you. The resistance will continue & it’ll be there when you’re ready. For so many years we’ve been forced to be strong, to not show weakness, to fight the good fight & confront the bullshit that is this white supremacist country; if the time comes & you need to breakdown, do not feel ashamed. Because everyone heals & deals differently, there will be those energized and infuriated to launch into protest & strategizing, there will be those ready to campaign, but I can guarantee you that there will also be those that will need to process, to cry, to freak out, to yell, to run ... & that’s okay too. 

I look back on a year ago, & I wish I had been gentler with myself. I won’t make that mistake again. 

The main message I’ve gotten from life is that you'll never be enough or you'll always be too much. I've been told I'm not thin enough, my thickness always ebbing & flowing. Not American enough, my country of origin embedded in me, despite never having gone back. I've been told I'm not woman enough, unmarried, no children, too independent. I've been told I take up too much space, too outspoken & blunt for a woman. I wasn’t enough to fight for, to hold on to, after giving him too much time. I've been told I'm too great, too great for him, an excuse to not be enough for me. Not brown enough; too light to be brown, too brown to be white. Never enough, always too much. 

...& so here I sit trying to be enough for myself. Trying to be enough for myself, while trying to ignore all the voices that have embedded in my head that I’m not enough. 

We fall in love with selfish men

Because we’ve only known selfish love

The world will love us selfishly