I picked up my laptop and walked over to my bed to write this lol. She just looked over at me oh my gosh, how does she know? I really could have picked a more secretive title but nahhhhhh. Honesty is the best policy or something like that. Anyways, yeah this blog is inspired by my overthinking and UMBC dorms, shoutout to you all.

Okay, so I’m quite a curvy woman. What can I say, it’s in my genes. Naturally, this means I take up more space as I have some meat on my bone. Surprisingly, this is something I am still getting used to even though I’ve lived in this body for a while. I digress, my roommate is skinny WHICH ISN’T A PROBLEM but it means we take up space differently. I need to give you guys a visual about what I’m about to get into.

Here is our marvelous bathroom that we share with two other people. Pretty neat right??? Wrong. It’s incredibly small. And yes, I sound ungrateful for having a working bathroom and all but…who the hell were these bathrooms made for? I for sure have gotten used to it as it’s almost the end of this semester and I’ll continue to live here next semester but oh boy… it was an adjustment. You can’t see it in the pictures but we have a shower holder thingy that has all of our soaps and loofahs hanging in the shower. I can’t tell you the number of times, I’ll be showering and I move my arm to wash another part of my body and I accidentally elbow the shower holder and, thus making it fall. Not to mention that it is METAL and loud as fudge.

There are so many unspoken things that go into having a roommate. Of course, we talked about all the usuals at the beginning of the semester: guest policies, renting a minifridge, not having sex in each others’ bed (this is a joke btw). All of those are great and all but no one ever talks about *cues dramatic music*

Where the hell are you going to change? This is something that is inevitable and going to happen every day, probably more than once. I have never liked changing in post-shower bathrooms because it makes me feel sticky with the humidity from the hot water but I would do so if I knew I had a roommate to be courteous. HOWEVER, there is like no room to manuveur into shirts and pants in there without something getting wet and/or banging the doors when you move. There’s even less room when I am avoiding my feet touching the floor mat as it is dirty and wet. I am so squeezed up in there, it’s such a stress-inducing activity.

This is why I change in the room, regardless if she is in there or not. I still am mindful and make sure I have the towel wrapped to cover up my girl parts but I get the sense that she doesn’t like that. Since she changes in the bathroom, I feel like it’s a guide for me to change in the bathroom, but I physically can’t and that kind of sucks.

I am gonna write this post as if you’ve never heard of this lobotomization of a garbage reality TV show. I say that in the best way possible, but also coming from a place of heavy critique. Dr. Nassif and Dr. Dubrow are both A-list plastic surgeons and TV personalities straight out of Beverly Hills, they work, at least in this show, EXCLUSIVELY on people (oftentimes obnoxious) who come in looking for corrective surgery from previous procedures that left them “botched.” And it’s true, some people come in looking like a whole mess, but the extent to which they put plastic surgery on a pedestal is insane to watch.

LOL to this picture, it’s so heavily edited ☠️😭

There are a good amount of episodes of truly the sweetest people who got fucked over and are so desperately seeking care from these doctors so that they aren’t “freaks” or social rejects anymore. I lost track of how many episodes are centered around a timid, wimpy person with a low self esteem who truly wholeheartedly believes that getting surgery will allow them everything being “botched” denied them. Don’t get me wrong these are some DAMN GOOD surgeons and they’re really good with their patients BUTTTT my god the language around every corrective procedure kills me inside. So much talk about making this and that “normal.” Maybe I’m just sensitive and assume the patients would get hurt at comments like “change this to make it NORMAL.” I understand doctors can be cold and oftentimes very blunt, but why is that normalized??????? I get the need to be concise and clear in a field like theirs and patients really do love these doctors, so it’s not like they’re shitheads, but idk I feel bad. There was one episode in specific about a trans female sex worker coming in to get her boob job and vaginoplasty corrected. It’s episode called “Vagina bomb!” please watch it. Anyway, the doctor that initially did her sex changed fucked her UP. I’m talking her labia majora was way too meaty (lack of better word) and for the inner components all she had was a clit, no inner lips. Both doctors brought in another doctor who specializes in genitals and is also a man. This episode bothered me the most. I understand that the initial vaginoplasty was abnormal, but IT SITS WITH ME THE WRONG WAYYYY I CAN’T HELP IT. It hurts my feelings to hear these doctors keep reaffirming that her body is not NORMAL AND THEREFORE NEEDS TO BE MADE NORMAL TO BE ABLE TO BE A NORMAL ACCEPTABLE BODY. Ugh I hate and love this garbage show and I’m only writing this because I’ve been stuck in a weird rut and just need to babble about SOMETHING.

really craving pizza and panera mac, mmmmm…

I feel that being neurodivergent in any and every environment is way harder than it should be, but being in a disciplined environment such as dance, can be excruciating for a neurodivergent person. In that world, it is near impossible to unmask for a minute and express yourself. The fact that dance is an art form makes this fact ironic, but true.

One of the issues I have ran into being both neurodivergent and a dancer is that we are told when we are allowed to step out of the room and/or take a water break. I need to be able to step out of the room, or I run the risk of my emotions becoming something I cannot mask and control. It’s extremely unprofessional to melt down or not giving 100% all of the time. For me being neurodivergent as previously mentioned, if I am told I am not allowed to step out of class, then I will start shutting down, which looks horrible. Even if I am allowed to step out, it is STILL unprofessional because it has been ingrained in everyone’s heads that we shouldn’t step out of class for any reason.

There are multiple traits in neurodivergency that are frowned upon in dance. We have to be able to pick up choreography fast, I need to work at my own pace. We are told to dance freely, except it’s not actually free, but having to interpret what they want you to dance. I do believe that my opportunities in dance (especially in college) were limited due to my disability and the side effects with that. Dance is a prestigious and overly disciplinary sport, but there is no rhyme or reason for that other than that it is encouraged to have that harsh environment. It’s an unfortunate tradition.

That’s what my parents think.

Its hard to understand the mind when there are so many problems that just go unnoticed and uncared for. As I grew up in my household, there was a lot of issues that I had to face alone starting at such a young age. There were things that I did not know how to explain and things I did not know how to fix. A lot of times it was be just thinking I was sad or nervous about certain things that were happening in my life, but when I told my parents about it their only response was for me to pray. They told me to pray and my sadness and fear would go away. They told me I needed to go on walks outside everyday because staying in my room was causing me to feel on edge all the time. What they didn’t know was getting out of my room and out of bed was sometimes the hardest part of my day. No matter how much I prayed to God, it would not fix the problems I was having within myself.

As I grew older, I started to learn words that could help me describe what I was feeling. Words that put a label on my sadness or the nervousness I felt all the time, but I would never want to say it in order to avoid self diagnosing. It was hard because I was having a really hard time with my mental health, but being raised by my parents who thought a prayer was the solution to all my problems I felt like it was not right for me to say I had something without the proper diagnosis. I did not want to use the words lightly and end up downplaying anxiety or depression. When my parents would ask me what was wrong, I could never give them a solid answer. I just knew my mental health was not good, but there was no specific reason why. There were times where I considered getting diagnosed, but I don’t want my parents to feel like it is their fault that I feel this way. I don’t want my parents to feel like they failed raising me because in all honesty they didn’t. There is no specific reason, but I don’t want them to feel like its them. And if there isn’t a specific reason then they are going to think that my issues are fake. That it is all in my head and easily fixable because I did have a good life.

To this day, I still struggle with my mental health. It’s hard because sometimes I feel like I have “no right” to feel the way I feel (as funny as that sounds). I feel like I had good parents, a great life where I didn’t have to worry about much, and I am able to go to school, go out whenever I want, etc. It feels like I am just complaining and its not fair for me to talk about my mental health issues even though my head tells me that shouldn’t be the case. No matter, its an everyday struggle that I am still trying to figure out. It has gotten better over the years, but it is something that still needs to be talked about.

TW//: Borderline ED, Body Dysmorphia

        Welcome one and all to my villain origin story. I’ve spoken frequently on my posts about my vanity and my intense occupation with my appearance and the way I am perceived…Now you will learn where it all began (insert evil laugh). Let’s start with some foundation, I was born to a young woman who was raising me alone, and this woman was beautiful…therefore I had to be beautiful too! We’d be two pretty girls against the world. She dressed in the cutest clothes she could afford, did my hair in adorable pigtails and braids, and I always smelled like sweet perfumes and cleanliness. I was her pride and joy, and I most certainly still am…because once I was old enough to do those things for myself…well, let’s just say old habits never die, in my case. I was your average prissy girl in elementary school, I wanted to look nice, smell nice, be clean and perfect from the inside out; I once threw a fit in the grocery store because my parents didn’t want to buy me mouth wash, “You don’t need that yet!” they told me, but BOY…did I think I needed it. My beauty was first translated to me as my cleanliness, that’s how I understood it at first, the cleaner and prettier I looked, the more people would like me. I thrived on compliments when I was younger, I fucking loved them and I still do, I loved getting affirmations for the things I put so much effort towards…. until one day…those compliments started to change…

                “¡Sos pura muñeca!”, “You’re just like a doll”, “You’re just like a Barbie!”. Yes! I was like a Barbie, because I looked so cute and put together, right? “¡Puro modelo! ¡Mírala!” …Huh? “¡Que cuerpazo!” ….Oh. They aren’t talking about my braids, or the outfit my mami picked out for me, or the way I was sitting so poised and quietly…they talking about my body. This was a thing for me since I was born, mind you, I was always on the smaller side; but it wasn’t until I was in 5^th grade that I noticed this type of language being used around me. I was coming out of that “cute phase” for the adults around me, EVERYBODY GIVE PUBERTY A NICE WARM “FUCK YOU!”, so my appearance was…confounding. Big doe eyes were being replaced with eye bags, my silky straight hair was suddenly becoming curly and unruly, and prissy gracefulness was becoming something more defiant. What was there left to compliment? Because God forbid, they mention my success in school or my efforts in looking pristine, no…compliment the hourglass figure coming in…yeeeeeah! I had always been on the smaller side, thin and almost a bit sickly looking, but had caused my doctor concern was now becoming a hot topic with the tías. In my culture, fatphobia is so real, you even get a nice little nickname that sticks with you til death if you so much as have a little baby fat. My cousins would say I lucked out with getting the nickname “huesitos”, little bones. And let me reiterate for the millionth time, I’m an attention whore, so if everyone was going to take focus on me having a thin body THEN BY GOD…I’m gonna have the thinnest body around. That right there, is the origin, so let’s see where it goes/went.

               I created a routine for myself after this revelation came to light, a very strict routine that was more a set of rules, one that lasted in my head up until now. Here’s how it went:

• Shave my body in its entirety at least once a week (twice during the summer)
• Choose between Breakfast + Lunch, Lunch + Dinner, or Breakfast + Dinner; never have all three meals (only consume 2,000 calories or less daily)
• Snacks must only be fruits or vegetables
• ONLY DRINK WATER
• If I can’t feel the perfume burning my nostrils, put on more (this also applies to deodorant)
• If an activity has the potential to make you sweat in your nice clothes, don’t do it
• Remain consistent with full body skin care routine, nightly and morning regime (must prevent blemishes before they begin)

      There was plenty more to that list but that was what my life consisted around for the longest time. If I strayed from my routine, even just a little bit, I was ugly. No one cared if I was smart, no cared how hard it was for me to get out of bed, no one cared for my talents and desires…If I wanted anyone to look at me…I needed to give them someone worth looking at. And listen, I knew my mother loved me regardless of what I looked like, hell, she would beg me to eat more. I knew what my family loved me for who I was, I knew they cared and actually cared about me, but this notion I had in my mind was like a plague I couldn’t dispel. I talk about now like it was a long time ago, but it was only this year that I started to be what I call “more generous” with myself. I celebrate eating three meals a day, I buy myself treats and I do regular exercise for my health, not my appearance. Yes, I am still very vain, that’s not changing about me but I’m not going to damage myself for the gratification of others. I won’t be their Barbie doll if it means I’m hurting, I want to feel beautiful, not restrained.

I come from a county that is pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Anyone that gets out of that area is guaranteed a better life. I left my county a week before school started when receiving a scholarship at the last minute. Before I won my scholarship, my boyfriend of almost two years cheated on me with the person that introduced us in the first place. He cheated on me for two whole months and during those two months he already knew I was going through something. Simultaneously he also made promises to me that he would make sure I was healthy and happy. He said he would protect and make sure I was never hurt again. But he was the one who hurt me. It’s odd though because he also tattooed my name on his body as a grand gesture with out my permission. I took care of him when he was sick and injured, cooked for him, and defended him when he needed it. You can offer a man gold but they will always go for copper. My best friends tell me in Spanish “Las mujeres no lloran. Las mujeres facturan” (Women don’t cry. They make money) After I turned 18 he came crawling back and at the time I thought it was because he loved me. In reality, this little boy doesn’t know how to take time for himself. “Los hombres, regresan como perros arrepentido” (men come back like dogs with no home) says my friend. I stayed with him for another two months and then eventually my feeling dissipated and vanished into thin air. I felt nothing but pity for him that he could cheat on a woman like me, who could cherish and love him for another person that would never do the same. (we don’t like the other girl because she knew the whole time we were still together) I broke up with him recently and let go of other certain personal things and I feel like I’m finally stepping foot into a new chapter in my life.

Despite being friends with a few autistic people and also being neurodivergent myself, I never recognized that I viewed autism with some form of infantilization. Autism itself feels very “normalized” to me since a large majority of my friends have sensory and communication issues. I myself struggle with socialization and communication with others, so its not like those aspects of being neurodivergent are weird to me. However, I am always pleasantly surprised to see autistic characters in fiction have some sort of sex drive. Of course, autistic people can have sexual feelings and participate in intercourse, but it never occurred to me that I too could witness autistic characters experience the same sexual feelings as non-autistic characters do. Now that I know that this also plays into the infantilization of autism in media, I try to be more mindful.

Working at a pharmacy seems like it should be organized and neat on paper, but in real life, it hardly plays out that exact way.

Just before writing this post, I had to deal with a half hour start to my shift that included juggling multiple phone calls and desperately searching for a patient’s prescription that had not been entered into the system yet. To make things worse, someone was in the drive-thru and I could not respond to them, so they eventually drove away. In reaction, I moved myself and the call to another computer and began to feel anxious about all of that being for nothing.

That is only one example of how my brain sometimes works against me.

From what I know from my mother, I did not speak until I was 4 years old, meaning I had a lot of catching up to do. I was also fixated on doing my own thing, and I still am now. She told me that she took me to a psychologist, and the only reason I was not diagnosed with high-functioning autism was apparently because I was an active extrovert.

I thought learning about this would give me more control and more of a grasp on some of the things I do, but some cannot be explained by that anecdote alone. And it also clarified another reason why my mom acts the way she does. Trying to correct my bluntness, explaining the concept of “normal” as she does, and causing me no scarcity of grief because of the way I phrase some things are examples of how she tries to correct my behavior so I would be a more “productive and normal” member of society.

Nevertheless, I do indeed have a better grasp of some of the habits I have. Singing in the car, whistling and listening to songs on my AirPods at different times, and either drumming my fingers on the desk or some other action such as trying to play a game while doing something else are different attempts to self-stimulate or to ground myself. At least, that is how I understand them in an attempt to grasp my own habits without a formal diagnosis.

But even more than the habits and the fixations and my tendency to ramble, I feel more control in that I can better comprehend the ways in which I do not fit the mold of “normal”. And perhaps that is okay, because if I have to ask what normal is, then in what context is it truly meant to be understood?

Until then, I’m trying to understand myself more one day at a time and find a safe space where I can. be all of me and not fixate on what others think or on how I would define myself in any other context.

Ah yes… the internet, where one can express themselves and share opinions about worldly topics BUT it comes at a price. Now Gen Z is the first generation to have grown up with the creation of most screened devices that we have today (phones, laptops, etc) and I can fairly state that I do not recall a time that I was never in front of a screen of some sort and I don’t see it as a bad thing.

It’s common sense essentially not to outright disclose any personal information to the world and the same goes for what comes out of our mouths. I’m talking about controversial opinions and commentary (yes, I’m looking at you Reddit user0987q3275 lurking about). It’s all well and good and quite wholesome when the internet bands together to create memories or help each other and educate any users. Now here’s the tricky part; the thing is, never believe everything on the internet. Do your own research if you really want proper information (I feel like this is a necessary reiteration…) but there are two sides to this.

Take TikTok for example; there are thousands if not more users using the platform for their own uses whether its to educate, vlog, entertainment, etc. There are hundreds of videos of viral dances, to music video promotions to cat videos BUT there are also videos that shine light on different awarenesses (mainly of mental health and conditions). People just love to showcase themselves of what it is to be autistic, or have OCD or anxiety which is completely okay but going back to ‘don’t believe everything on the internet’ should always be present in the back of your mind. Yes, bringing awareness to different health issues is amazing at spreading the word, but the internet is so buggy in the sense that people love to take advantage of that and use it for their own plight.

There are so many videos showcasing ‘what it is really like to have depression’ or ‘a day-in-the-life of someone who actually has ADHD’ and most of the time, it’s true. But there are also people who fake diagnose just to get views or even spread false information and even go as far as to self-diagnose themselves without professional tests (getting tested and the stigma behind that is a whole other topic but that will mayhaps be a later post-). Spreading false information and disguising oneself as a mental health disorder is absolutely absurd and hurts other people more than it hurts the creator.