lizzhuerta.bsky.social
Author of The Lost Dreamer
& worker who likes to watch the sun rise.
52 posts
809 followers
494 following
Regular Contributor
Active Commenter
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I’ve been influenced too! I love it. I do tret every other night and butt paste slugging the off nights over my moisturizer. I’ve noticed my neck is so much smoother when I use the butt paste, the crepe texture has totally minimized.
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Happy and feeling whiplashed. I was fully facing my coming dopamine drought with resolve and now it’s just back?
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It felt like the last place on the internet where play was allowed and celebrated, organically and in fully unexpected ways 🥺
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I have a story featuring a dystopian dentist called “mouths” at @lightspeedmagazine.com
Dentists and plumbers keep showing up in my short fiction, the insides of things fascinate me 🦷
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😍 If you want to try the best vegan tacos EVER, check out Herbívora. I’ve thought about their oyster mushroom milanesa every day since September 🌮🍄🟫🌱
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🫶🏽🙏🏽🫶🏽
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Love and ease to all caretakers. I see you, I love you. This is a sacred act, hard and holy. May we one day be cared for with as much love as we offer.
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Things will ease up when we start hospice, we’ll have more support and even thought I look forward to more support it’ll mean he’ll be closer to joining the ancestors and I’m not ready for that either. It’s all emotional whiplash, I feel like I’ve stepped outside of time.
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I’m tired. I’m lonely. I’m unhealthy. I think this is called ambiguous grief. I had another heartbreak this week when a close friend told me “pain and suffering” is repellant to them. Noted. Another door closed.
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I’ve been forcing myself to write a little. When I can, I get to the gym, when I move the words come, I get so excited then I get home and all love, all creative energy goes back to care, to cooking, cleaning, laundry. I used to cook/eat very clean and immigrant parents want their food, their way.
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I’m living in a death portal and it has completely changed me. I love my father so much. I’m grateful I have the ability to care for him and my mom and I feel lost and scared every day. I have no fucking idea who I’ll be on the other side of this. I’ve gone so inward I’ve disappeared.
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There’s this awful feeling of not being allowed to share what I’m living. I don’t want to be the crisis friend but I’ve become the crisis friend. Friends have quietly eased away, family members say it’s too hard see him like this. Only one friend of his comes by anymore. I feel so bad for dad
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Moving back into my childhood home has brought up a lot.
Old wounds have opened up and my inner child is showing me how much I still carry: religious trauma, invisibility, judgement, being too emotional and sensitive for those around me so I’ve gone stoic, silent, dishonest about my feelings
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I depleted the little savings I had and had to quit therapy, my one luxury expense, because I couldn’t afford it anymore. The support groups are hard to access, either online during active care hours or across the county during rush hour. I feel like a vortex of rage and grief and frustration.
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He’s choking a lot, which is terrifying. I’ve learned to use a suction machine, on top of the other machines, to clear his throat. He’s scared and pissed off all of the time, and he wants to be here. He isn’t ready to die and I admire his will, even as I grieve. I haven’t been working.
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Navigating the health care system is 😫. Example: we needed new masks for his ventilator, were explicitly specific to which ones. Xmas eve we got the wrong masks but we’ve had to use. They cut up his nostrils and face. Now there’s wound care on top of everything else. Still waiting for right masks.
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I don’t think I’ve had a day without breaking down in tears in six months. I don’t recognize myself in the mirror. I love my dad so deeply, we’ve had a complicated relationship my whole life, we enrage each other and also have a deep connection through our love for creating.
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I feel very much like Tita in Like Water for Chocolate, a magical bitch stuck in some bullshit not of her choosing but culturally required. When I do get out I jump every time my phone rings. I’ve reached out to friends for support and…I get it. It’s a lot, I’m a lot these days.
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I lived alone my whole adult life. I shaped my life, solitary, childless, so I could create. He was diagnosed with ALS 3 weeks before my book came out in 2022. I have been unable to create and feel like I’ve lost everything that makes me me. And my suffering is nothing compared to his.
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We have hired a couple señoras to come a few hours a day but it adds up and only one is consistent. We’re at the point where one person isn’t enough so either my mom or I have to be around. My mom struggles and her frustration/rage needs somewhere to land. I am a landing place.
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My dad worked 6 days a week for years, he loved his business and interacting with people every day. He was a charmer, funny, he played his guitar daily, he gardened daily. His life is now bed or his chair. He cannot move. He watches r-wng news 24/7. The soundtrack to caring for him is constant hate
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And they’re killing me. My mom is also disabled and deeply depressed. My sisters have young kids and are busy running the family business. The care work is hard and people have stopped coming around to help. I get it. It’s devastating seeing the way the disease has altered him. And he’s still him
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Thank you 🙏🏽 It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever lived.
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So many sea friends hiding and scurrying. It was a super low tide and I was like a little kid hopping around 🦀🐚🪨🌊
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Do it. I made friends with my local murder and one morning earlier this year I was on a sunrise walk & they began circling above me, cawing wildly. I turned and saw a huge coyote running toward me. My murder friends warned me. They got many peanuts later that morning 🖤
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We watch out for each other 🫶🏽