To be me is to be....

To be me is to be...
Is to be thinking of 3 different things at the same time,
It is to be angry and yet a little happy and then again depressed,
It is to think you are no better than trash but then again you are so proud of all the dumpsters you've been in.
To be me is to NOT deserve it not even a little.
To be me is to be worrying even while you are dreaming,
it is to always be fighting against everyone and everything,
And to never look back, not even at the things you've accomplished.
What do I mean?
Ofcourse I know the things I've done. But I never think any of them comes up close to being enough.
To be me is to be waiting for the next problem,
To expect people to dissapoint you,
To be me is to have 1000 times the energy compared to anyone else
Enough to hate everyone and everything
Enough to love the people around you like if they were your own children like if they belonged to you.. Don't forget, this is all at the same time.
No self-pity now, that is only for the weak and besides...Millions of other people have had 100x's worse lives than I.
To be me is to obsess over everything and anything because you don't know any other way to survive and you are afraid that life, like a house of cards, might just crash if you change a thing.
Constant fear of failure yet a tendency to want to destroy it all.

--------------O-------------
Isa placed her head on Carlos' chest while they sat on their big giant couch filled with shaggy pillows. They had just finished eating breakfast and there was a commercial on TV.

Isa: I am so glad it is over. That horrible time of my life.
Carlos: It never happend... You were sleeping.
Isa: A bad dream? A nightmare, thats what it was?
Carlos: Absolutely...
What would I do without him-She thought.
Isa: You are my buffer.
Carlos: You make me sound so boring.
Isa: No. You keep me steady. You keep me from destroying everything. I am acid and you are my buffer.
Carlos smiled.

God it is a miracle that I am here. All of this.. This apartment, these books, this TV, someone that loves me. And then there is school. I am a graduate student. I am supposed to be in Washigton Heights prostituting, using drugs, or at least pregnant with my 3rd child from different husbands, with the current husband being a drug addict and beating me up. Thats what I am supposed to be. Thats what statistics say, thats what family history says and yet...I am here. Right here. Maybe thats why I never liked Statistics class. Cause they are never right....with me.