Hey, it's me.
Your favorite extroverted introvert. Living on this little island has helped me accept and understand who I am as a woman. I've grown up a tad bit but I still have got major work to do.
FACTS
They call me Momi now. I think Mona died of tropical heat exhaustion. If I looked in the eyes of my former self I don't think we'd recognize one another. I drink my whiskey neat, smoke Marlboro Red’s, and Red Mango Condado's mixed berry parfaits are my crack. I struggle with major anxiety in social situations and depression. I wonder if people can see the sadness in my eyes and the weight on my soul. My high school counselor gave me a prescription for Xanax and my biggest regret is ripping it up and tossing it. I could've made an additional $400 a month selling them to my white friends who would've paid $60 for a gram of oregano.
I'm generally a pretty healthy vegan minus the chain-smoking. However, once Mary-Jane and I get together all of my health conscious decisions go to shit. La Focaccia guava pizza anyone?
I've sabotaged every loving relationship I've ever had and am convinced I'll end up alone. I spend 94% of my time anxiously freaking out about past mistakes and future endeavors. The other 6% critiquing my body and wanting to be skinnier with fat ol' titties. Which the Puerto Rican men don't seem to like as much *the skinny, not the titties. But it's cool, I can do without Puerto Rican chorizo for awhile.
You would assume an ex-yogi that lives in a tropical paradise would live more in the present moment and be less crazy. Yeah, no. My best friend is constantly insisting that I've got it together; I kindly have to assure her that she has truly lost her crispy chicken fresh lettuce wrapped in a floury tortilla ass mind.
I exist in the depths of solitude; so I've been blessed with the opportunity to observe my thoughts and actions. I'm pretty fucked up. Sometimes I wonder who I'd be, had I not experimented with so many drugs over the years. I'm pondering my true goals. Should I go back to college and complete my doctorate? Make my parents proud? What if modeling doesn't work out? What if it does? I’m trying to find some peace of mind and still preserve my soul. Why do I yearn to be accepted? I hate that I choose my words with people I could give 2 fucks about and spew raw fire at the people I love. Why do the opinions of others hold so much weight? Especially men. My dad says, “define yourself, when you allow others to define you your insides will rot.” No wonder my stomach is constantly aching. I shouldn't give a fuck about what these people think. But I do and I am enslaved. I find it funny when people think they've discovered my inner mystery. I barely have scratched the surface of this tortured soul. So please, enlighten me.
SEXUALITY
Men want to fix you, save you, or fuck you. I can't be fixed and I don't care to be saved.
“she was a rose
in the hands of those
who had no intention
of keeping her”
Rupi Kaur
I lost my virginity pretty late in life. I have been in 3 major relationships spiced with a plethora of rendezvous with beautiful women and heated with a few awkward one night stands that I'd kill to forget. I can still taste my mistakes...and the pussy of course.
I wish I was a whore. I wish I could fuck any and everyone with no emotional attachment. I wish one night stands didn't set my insides on fire and poison my mind for weeks. I wish I didn't walk miles for men who have never held my feet. I wish I wasn't such an emotionally unavailable, awkward turtle. Why do I find the unavailable so alluring? What about the other men like Raul and Carlito. Why did I make them love me until I could not stand it? Mi amor, I didn't leave because I stopped loving you. I left because the longer I stayed, the less I loved myself. I am both needful and flighty. I wonder how both of these women exist inside of me.
I'm an open wound. Lick me.
