okay here we go

it makes me sick. i am going to tell.

i’ve been trained to keep secrets. my dad would throw scraps to the dog and single me to keep quiet. my titi had a friend over and the screaming coming out of her bedroom scared me so i came in and they yelled at me to close the door and to forget what i had seen. my brother made me swear to never tell about the monsters he sees when he sleeps.

my family speak lies and hides the truth. i grew up surrounded by people who wear their heart on their sleeves. lying, yelling, fighting, crying. constantly. big emotions, for any occasion, all the time. surrounded by secrecy. the yelling, fighting, and crying was over lies. lies that multiplied because other people got involved. i’ve managed to become a bit different though their imprint remains with me: i am passionate when i care, i love deeply, i feel strongly. i also have a lifetime of repressed memories, a shot imagination. my body is in a constant debilitating state of tension. i have tangled feelings and struggle to identify emotions. and yet,

i am luis roberto machuca. a puerto rican 34 year old licensed social worker. i have a son, a tricolor corgi named bisoux. i pay my car note and i pay my own bills. i am happy. i am content. i feel joy. i am at peace. i live with complex post traumatic stress disorder. i don’t want to forget what it took to get here. i want to remember my undamaged essence. it saved me from losing my sanity when secrets became too much to bear. i want to share who i am, now. i am going to write what i have lived and never told about.

in the words of ms. janet damita jo jackson’s throb (1993): okay here we go.