nysylc:

I Survived…Now it’s time to Stand for Yanelli

I am undocumented, unafraid & survived depression and suicide.

I came to this country at the age of 5. Every day and night I saw how my parents struggled as undocumented immigrants ; I saw how they were exploited and at points dehumanized not only at their place of work but in a country they considered home. I grew up learning and experiencing that I was not welcomed here. In media , in books , in laws I was consider an “illegal alien”, my humanity was constantly challenged. I was always dealing with depression but after graduating from High School I became suicidal; I went to sleep crying and began to cut myself. I am very thankful for the community that has shown me support. Resources for undocumented youth in forms of mental health, therapy, access to clinics and counseling are limited.

When Joaquin Luna, an 18 year old Dreamer from Texas, who thought he too had no future took his own life their was an outcry from everyone and the question remained “How could we have helped? How could we have prevented it?” 
Yanelli is also suffering. Here we have a case where YOU can HELP and PREVENT!! 
You have the choice to help someone like me.
PLEASE TAKE ACTION & make a call, sign the petition, spread this amongst friends so that Yanelli can recuperate. 
We have until Tuesday to stop this deportation and possibly save Yanelli’s life.
So the question remains: Are you with us? Please Take Action!!! 

Suicidal and Undocumented

Family bonds cut with sharp window glass
Household drenched in his red liquid despair
I could not understand why he would do that to himself
I made him cards shaped in hearts
Read to him my poems
Maybe I could remind him of his value
“Daddy you are beautiful”

I could see his pain in his eyes
He water marked my pages with his tears
Exploitation
Being called “illegal”
Suffering
Depression
Daddy was not the same anymore

Hieroglyphics appeared on my wrist
Household drenched in my red liquid despair
I overflowed my journal pages with tears
There was no bed time stories

Instead of counting sheep, I counted scars
My white sheets covered in red
I wondered if this was as close I could get to an American flag
Family bonds cut with sharp window glass
Household drenched in his and mine red liquid despair
I now understand why he would do that to himself.

Crossing into what was suppose to be freedom
Razors kept crossing my wrist into what was suppose to be death
Broken windows into undocumented pain
Childhood was lost , my humanity challenged
I tried to color but everything was coming out in black and white

Exploitation.
Being called “illegal”
Suffering
Depression.
Deportation.
I was not the same anymore

Family bonds cut with sharp window glass
Household drenched in red liquid despair
Our surroundings tells us that we were not meant to survive
Lack of resources.
Denied access.
No health care.
No status.

Our community tells us that we are People
Recuperation.
Calling myself “undocumented”!
Empowerment.
Unafraid.
I was not the same anymore.

But…It continues.

On undocumented wrists

No numbers but scars

Hoping razors stop crossing back and forth!
Family bonds cut with sharp window glass
Household drenched in red liquid despair
Community drenched in red liquid despair

-Sonia Guinansaca

*Poem discussed my growing up in a household where depression and being suicidal was common. It eludes to my personal experience and show urgency in matters of depression, suicide, and mental health for undocumented community specially as the numbers of undocumented youth and suicide rises.