Crying in the Bathroom (Poet E. L. Sanchez)

Andrea Gutierrez (It's Been a Minute, NPR); Crystal Quintero, CC Liu (eds.), Wisdom Quarterly

I feel a bit cuckoo, too! (Erika Buenaflor)

Mexican-American author Erika L. Sánchez was making her dreams come true in 2017, her young adult novel I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter earning critical acclaim.

But even as she rose to fame, Sánchez found herself struggling with her mental health. Her new memoir, Crying in the Bathroom: A Memoir, captures the tension between her public success and her private suffering — and more.

Erika should meditate. Right, Dick? - Yeah, Lisa

Princeton University Professor Sánchez talks with guest host Anna Sale about sharing some of her darkest moments with readers (like being a bipolar poet), caring for her mental health, and what she's learned from her personal cartoon role model — Lisa Simpson.

If considering suicide, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1(800) 273-8255 (En Español: 1(888) 628-9454; Deaf and Hard of Hearing: 1(800) 799-4889) or the Crisis Text Line by texting HOME to 741741.

POEM: Kingdom of Debt

ERIKA L. SÁNCHEZ | Poetry Magazine (poetryfoundation.org)

According to a report from the University of San Diego’s Justice in Mexico project, 138,000 people have been murdered in Mexico since 2006.

They call it the corner of heaven:

a laboratory, a foot at the throat

of an empire. Before the holy

dirt, the woman with the feline gait

waits with tangled hair, mouth

agape — the letter X marked

on what’s left of her breasts

and face. Nuestra Belleza

Mexicana. A roped mule

watches a man place a crown

on her severed head. Tomorrow

the queen will be picked clean

by the kindness of the sea.

Shuttered shops and empty

restaurants. Stray dogs couple

in a courtyard. Under a swaying

palm tree, a cluster of men

finger golden pistols, whisper,

aquí ni se paran las moscas.

Two boys, transfixed, watch

a pixelated video: a family fed

to a swarm of insatiable pigs.

A butcher sweeps blood

from an empty street. Death

is my godmother, he repeats.

Death is a burnt mirror.

When the crackling stereo

dithers between stations — amor

de mis amores, sangre de mi alma — 

a gaggle of silent children

gather before a sputtering

trash bin. Together they watch

the terror hover like flies.

Source: Poetry (December 2015)

This episode was produced by Andrea Gutierrez. It was edited by Jessica Mendoza. Engineering help came from Stuart Rushfield. Executive producer was Veralyn Williams. Follow on Twitter @NPRItsBeenAMin and email at IBAM@npr.org.