the hardest things abt breakups.

i had a breakup. I would take back that night in a second.


The hardest things about breakups, I chose blue. It’s your favorite…as well as red

I have never met anyone so insecure about themselves, somehow I always end up with the ones with no self esteem issues at all. I don’t get that. You are so perfect in every single way. From your hair, your teeth, your skin tone, your lips, your arms, your collarbones, your legs (hairy btw ahahha), you are insecure. More so than me, and I want to kiss you everywhere. I miss telling you I love you. I miss sending you hearts and affection. I miss when you didn’t call be bro and I didn’t call you by your name.

For me, the hardest part about this breakup is the fact that we still talk, we are still good friends, we talk for hours everyday. Now, that doesn’t get me mad. It’s the fact that it feels like I’ve been shot. I feel like I’ve been shot every time I call you by your first name, instead of calling you amor. I would be lying if I said I don’t sometimes accidentally type am–, then realizing what I’m writing and translate to your first name.  

please, don’t touch my back.

sexual abuse + child abuse

My parents had me at 23. At the time they were incredibly inexperienced in English, still are but they have the hang of it…sort of. My mother was new to the country when she met my father at the laundromat 2 blocks away from where we live right now. Eventually, they started dating, following speeding police cars attending crimes, they had me. Perhaps a year post my birth, I was the witness to their elopement. I am 1/3, excluding the long lost half sister on my dad’s side, I am the oldest. Being the oldest is a lot to say the least. At times it was brutal. It hurts. It hurts to remember when I was in the 1st grade, coming home to the homework of using crayons to shade in a farm. It hurts to remember tears streaming down my face when they couldn’t understand what the word “crayons” meant, it was like speaking to aliens.

It hurt like hell to know that this was the beginning of having to be self taught in everything. I learned my own anatomy, I read puberty books like crazy, I taught myself the things I like. I taught myself when the people who loved me couldn’t understand me and I couldn’t understand the people who’s purpose was to teach due to my lack in knowledge of the english language. It’s sad when STILL at 15 years old, everyone knows certain words and concepts and I sit there out of the loop. It sucks when I feel so idiotic at times because of what I experienced at school couldn’t come to use because the last thing I wanted was for my parents was to feel embarrassed and bad parents since they both never passed middle school in Honduras in order to support their own homes. It hurts that I went along with what my parents knew and COULD teach me that it set me behind in the educational scale.

At age 9, I was touched. He was 17. He was my cousin. I swore to God (who deserted me a long time ago) that if I were to see him, I will kill him. To this day, I’m not too sure if I wouldn’t, which is bad, I don’t want to see myself capable of doing that. But I do. He led me into his bedroom to play, there he took off my shirt, first playing with the little strings of my pink top with little flowers. Then he…he put his fingers in my pants. I never told anyone that. How I got out of it? My sister, 7 at the time came into the room, she didn’t know what was going, she hopped on the bed where he stopped, interrupted. Anie, you never knew what you did for me. In my opinion, you saved my life for me. To this day, you shine 13 and I don’t, I can’t have the heart to ever tell you what went on in that room, no one should ever know. We are complete opposites, we don’t talk, we’re too different but for this I will die for you.

This incident occurred when I was in another country, my parents weren’t there. Once again, I was alone at 9 to deal with the fact I had my first sexual non-consensual incident (eventually, at this point in time, definitely not my last. I don’t blame them though, many weird encounters are by men who genuinely think I’m older, and when I tell them I’m 15 they run for the hills.) My parents at the time were going through a secret divorce, which is why I went on the trip I just didn’t realize. Coming from a broken home is awful, when you witness the love crumpling, especially with kids. I thought for the longest time, that it was my fault. I spent nights crying in my room hearing them argue.

Now to finally spit it out, yes my parents were abusive. I think it’s the most common thing in Hispanic nature. To tell the truth, the last time I was hit was when my father smacked me across my face 3 times calling me a whore and fucking worthless for accidentally coming home with a hickey.. I spent all summer crying over it, not because it’s true but when I was a kid I made my father promise to stop cursing, he agreed. This was the first time in my whole life that I realized I can make a difference, only for him to swear again and shatter what has motivated me for so long. At this moment I realized I could never trust him. Well, I did know prior but this was the last straw.

My parents used to strike my back with a belt. There used to be red marks all over it when I was in elementary through middle school. My parents are playful, they love pushing my buttons, physically. They love tickling me and touching my back/shoulders, little do they know, that’s how the 17 year old got me into his room. My back is a hard limit to me, no one touches it, I feel ghosts when it is touched, I shiver and ugh…it’s my special area of my body. Please, don’t touch my back.


my mental health – coming soon.

It’s currently 12:03PM, I have lunch in a few minutes. But I want to write about my mental health so I will tell you this : A post about what goes on in my head and why it does so in the way it does will be here before 12:03 AM.


but I’ll tell you one thing :

The part of my head is saying its important to release built up emotion. The rest?

Am I ready to stop lying to myself and come clean? Am I ready to expose myself for what it is? Am I ready to break down my defense wall? Have I ever been more vulnerable?


my first fiction piece + a kickass song – selected simply for this one, by me.



You’re probably wondering why I was up this late, truth is, why weren’t you? I was sending emails to clients, asking my assistant Claire on how my tone seems, apparently, I have problems with “Empathy”, in my opinion : Claire can suck a soft dick. It’s fucking 2 AM. No client wants to answer my god forbidden business, well unless you count that tool who prides around a Harvard tenure, Claire can suck his dick on soft for all I care.

Why is it that I constantly feel people watching me? Perhaps they aren’t even people. What if they’re animals? Should I even address them as they? God, can you do your fucking job, write this shit down it could be golden. Quit glaring at me too, I don’t pay you to gawk at me. Jesus, is there anyone that acts like a professional? Well, I applaud you. Therapists on TV shows are different than in real life. You get to sit here and act like a shit is given of me and get paid.

I’m here because my wife, ex-wife. Not really a loss. Yes, put those tissues behind your desk. I’m not going to sob. Apparently, I’m not in the clearest of heads. I call bull. If I called her now, she’d probably be strung out and half dead. Sometimes I do miss her. That time we met at a roller rink, a blind date. She came in with a blue dress. Not just blue. Cerulean. Enough of that, people change. I hate the roller rink.

This chair is uncomfy, you should fix that. I thought you guys made a bunch of money, right? Silence. Okay. You’re full of shit. You make a lot, not as much as me though. How much time is left in our session? Geez, it’s like I’m sitting on nails. I need water, can I get water ? No for fuck’s sake I don’t care if it takes away from session time. Yes, I’d rather to anything that this right now. Right now, I want to snort three lines and sink myself into a pile of money,  judging on the percent of sobriety at that point, won’t be real.

One hour?

Fuck. Me.

my heart hurts so much


I don’t really know what to say here.

My grandma flew in from Honduras on Sunday around 1 AM.

Come Monday morning, she wakes up blind. I haven’t seen this woman in 6 years, and I was going to see her tomorrow. She hasn’t seen me since I was 9. Now that is the last version of myself she’ll be able to witness.

My mom is freaking out, zooming in and out of hospitals with Anastasia (my grandma) looking for a solution – I haven’t seen my mom in 24 hours. That sucks. I miss my mom. My dad put a whole bottle of ketchup in our dinner spaghetti, one thing is for sure : We won’t last long without her. I miss my mom’s sweet voice. I called her, I wanted to cry but my dad was present, I don’t cry in front of people…I’m too tough for that sorry. Seeing myself cry makes ME uncomfortable, imagine for other people.

The boy I was morbidly in love with came back to me after months of disconnection, I suppose he missed me, I was beginning to free fall into his heart again, then he posted a picture on his spam acc with a neck hickey. But that doesn’t bother me.   In fact, I couldn’t give less of a shit for it.

Goodbye all –


my college application

me trying to find positivity in a world full of insecurity.

Background : Hello Ivy League schools, my name is Angie. My freshman GPA was a 1.8 at some point, and my rank is 291/out of a little over 300. To be honest, well, to be obvious, I screwed myself over – and I don’t know what to do.

The truth is, Columbia or whoever is reading this – I don’t know what I want to do. I can’t be like my friends who already take looks into NYU and that sucks. It sucks to know that because I spent last year in such an emotionally crumbling relationship that I threw my ivy league chances out the window. It’s funny how the world works. There isn’t much you know about me, but one thing is destined for me : I have a gut feeling that I will be something great into this world. I don’t think I’m a strong candidate, I’m sorry. However, I see myself as something you need – an asset.

I think I’m smart. I always have been a little more than the average intelligence. I took Academically Talented all throughout elementary + aced classes during middle schools. I am quick witted, I think I’m funny, much more prominent in my ability of communications and writing, although writing how I feel like a failure makes me feel sad.

I really don’t know what else to say. I do Field Hockey, drives are my favorite move, it makes me feel powerful. I drove a ball into my wooden backyard fence and now there is a hole into the neighbors house. I play lacrosse, I plan on making varsity probably next year. I do recreational soccer in the Spring, that makes me happy. I love soccer – that sport is the love of my life. An embarrassing confession, I once dreamed someone gave me world cup tickets and I woke up crying of happiness. Perhaps I’d make Varsity Capt. for any of these. Oh! Let’s not forget indoor track. I love running, I am very competitive, I’m trying to lower my mile time to a good 6:00 from a 7:39.

I’m in this club called CYL, it’s an activism non-profit organization in my school. I love it. I get starstruck every time I do something with them. I’m going to go for Executive Member this year, I think I have a good shot. Did I mention I’m in a program at school – called the CGS – it accepts 100 kids across county annually to learn 3 foreign languages, apparently, we’re smarter than the average. I take Japanese, I love it. I made many friends, although that was bound to happen. I like my CGS friends, my McMahon friends as well but let’s be honest…CGS kids are the badass ones. I hope to become an ambassador next year, mentoring the freshmen, it’s sweet.

Next year I plan on taking a few, most likely 4 IB courses.

I am Honduran-American, First generation citizen, first to make a university…that is, if I get in. I don’t make money by the way. My parents combined make around $30,000 yearly so let’s hope you like me enough.

I think I’m a good person, unfortunately that will never be enough would it now?

angie : after dark

i have an idea, we can wing it.


11:17 PM

I have an idea. Well, had. If you know me personally, you know that well – I am humorous. That is something I take a lot of pride on, my social skills and the way I get along with others.
Although sometimes, I feel like I am just used for that ability. Sometimes I feel like the truth it : I am simply not good enough. I will never be smart enough, pretty enough, kind enough. I can’t be anything “enough” to succeed other than my athletics. I don’t want to be known as the girl who can tackle really well on cue but can’t do shit on her report card. Worse, I don’t want to be simply known as a girl who got everything she wanted because she is charismatic.

Being a comedian, intrigues me. I think I’d do better as a screen writer since I love to write although I improvise everything I do (Graphic organizers are my NEMESIS.) We all know, the entertainment business is cruel. Sooner or later I’d have to single handedly expose a sexual predator at an award show, it’s a hassle.

However : here is my concept : I want to make a podcast.

Let me know if this is something you’d like from me! I think it’d be cool. I wanted to create an online diary of sorts, not like a blog – but I want/I want you to see more of myself than “Indoor track is hard. I hate soup. Science sucks. Waaaaa!” because that’s it, there is a lot to me, and the way I get myself into situations, there will be a lot more.

Yes, you guessed it. The podcast name would be Angie : After Dark.

Yes, I’ve had this idea since last year, and people have already said they’d listen the shit out of my podcast.

Have a nice holiday,