To whom it may concern,

Today, (August 17, 2019) Saturday evening. A not so subtle sucker punch came in from the right. As sucker punches usually present themselves it Seemingly it came without provocation.

That sucker punch didn’t stick around long enough so I could say, “thank you.”

Before the aforementioned, I was lost aimlessly wandering, craving the panic, drama, and terror the past 5 years had provided on a daily basis. I’m a junkie. Always have been, junkie for emotional abuse.

Now that My dream was filed and served properly and is in the hands of a third party. This third party is in charge of telling me if I’m good enough.

I was told enough to believe good enough isn’t something I was fit to be. And despite all of my Earnest attempts I never could squeeze into that box.

When I finally stopped trying to fit into their box.

I gave birth to myself. This horrific rebirth,

And surviving the crimes that have been committed, turned into an accidental journey.

I found myself trudging this path less traveled with the unlikely angel “blue.”

Cathartic, I was hard-pressed to find. The daily drive by always brought far to much pain to articulate.

I found myself using a Mac truck as my scapegoat, metaphorical, and symbolic.

Typically Mac describes or symbolizes my grief, pain, humiliation.

But Mac has always in one way or another been synonymous with grief.

I was saved by Mac today, figuratively and literally. Snapped back into it.

I took Macs power away from her today on highway 101 and like that.

My diary of a wimpy woman found its end. And like a weak stick,

I broke Mac in two. 

And like a pissed off teenage girl threw what I broke as hard as I could over the embankment that my Mercedes came to rest upon.

Mac is no longer a metaphor for anything.

I made proper catastrophic acquaintances with Mac today.

she really tried, but failed to kill me today on the 101. She clipped the front of my Mercedes Benz SUV and showed me what I had forgotten.

She reminded me, as she drove away without stopping to check her work. I am nothing like her. I have allowed myself to be incarcerated by lies and believed as I have been told. I am bad. I am not useful. I am disposable. Nothing but a drug test, something that gets expelled and flushed down the toilet.

While I was homeless it finally solidified My brain finally caught up. 

I will never be worthy or relevant enough for my family to call on holidays or any day for that matter. They never wondered if I was hungry or cold. I’m nothing but the dysfunctional spoke.

Only to them.

I’m not a Mac truck, I don’t blindside I am not a sucker-punch. I have said I was the owner and operator of the aforementioned Mac.

I am not.

I am innocent, a crime has been committed.

Mac, that Mac truck. The one on the 101, last Saturday night.

She would’ve made normal people become, far too quickly roommates with their maker.

I, on the other hand, am not guilty. I don’t need mercy, we need justice.

I don’t ask for loss, abuse, or grief, but I don’t back down from them either.

Finally, in this chapter. My final chapter of this saga…

The princess finally saved herself….

Sunday August 18, 2019

Dedicated to my beloved Son Jackson

Humbly written for my family, 

my real family. 

Mr. Marcos Rivera 

He didn’t have to,

But he did anyway.