How I Met Jane

January 18th, 2017

“You’re going to regret this,” she said. That’s all she cared about saying. Nothing mattered to her but my wrong doing. Nothing mattered to her but the tone I was crying in.

“You’re going to regret this.”

Through the tears and raised voices I couldn’t understand this. How can she tell me this? I’m asking for an ear. I’m asking for her to listen to me.

That’s all I wanted.

“You’re going to regret this.”

These were my comforting words. These were my thoughts to keep me going through this hell.

I knew I shouldn’t have asked yet I still did. I just wanted to talk. I wanted to talk so bad. By far the worst thing is being alone with your own thoughts. The sound of your own quiet.

She continued to yell at me in a voice that I haven’t heard since we lived with my dad – I bring out the best in people.

“One day you will know the why. You will know why you are so angry. You will know!” She didn’t want to hear anything anymore. She went on how she wasn’t going to feel sorry for me, that I didn’t have a right to be tired at 26, not even at 27 that crept in closer this year.

I had no right? That was all I had left. Once you hit rock bottom, there are so few things that a man holds on to, rights being one of them. I would be damned if these were to be taken from me as well. This was all I had left.

I began to mock and sarcastically bring up my sister’s needs and brother’s, and how wonderfully they are treated. How we can’t bring this up to my sister because it would hurt her, and not my brother…oh no. The sarcasm continued. I began to shake because I can’t believe I was saying this. I held it in so long. It had nowhere else to go.

“Because this is your fight! This is mine. And this is yours!

“You don’t think I’m tired? I’m tired. I have a right to be tired,” she continued.

Emphasizing that the right was hers, not mine.  Again, I had no right. I was just tired. I didn’t want harm. I didn’t want to fight. Why couldn’t I be tired? Her bringing up her own issues just reissued how much of a loser I was compared to the rest. I never felt so small and big at the same time. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

She looked at me in disgust. She looked at me the way she used to.

When all I wanted more than ever was the comfort of my mom.

I didn’t want to be strong anymore. I didn’t want to cry anymore. I just wanted to be tired in my mom’s embrace.

“You’re going to regret this.”

That’s what I got.

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Expectations

I wrote a couple of lines and it wasn’t what was inside. I figured maybe I should explain what happened this time. Maybe I need a disclaimer before I undoubtedly spill my heart and my mind on these keys. I figured I’ll do that tomorrow. 


With so much love in this world, why did I love you? With so little time that you had, why did you agree on loving me? I don’t need a philosophical good-bye. I don’t want your speech. Spare me how I will appreciate this later, and do away with how good of a person you are. Don’t remind me that this was for us…this was for you.

It will pass. Everything always does. The echo of my mom in my head.

I can be bitter and throw back how selfish and insensitive it was to throw me away at my hour of need. I can curse your name. I can cry all night…again.

And I will, because I am human. I’m not afraid of my feelings, and contradictory to your belief, this is how I handle them, and I do it well.

There’s nothing wrong with me. I am not damaged. I do not need to be needed. I do not need to be validated for my growth. I am a wonderful being, and you will never take that away.

I will be wanted.

One day by you, then I won’t want you.

And one day by another, who never see me in a dim light.

As much as I try to understand, some words can never be forgotten.

I will handle my illness on my own. I’m sorry I reached out to you for comfort. Actions really do speak louder than words, ironically you would always tell me.

And as I cried, fear of what the doctors would say…you walked away.

I will not wish harm. I will not wish this on you either, because I am stronger than you…I can take this.

It will pass, everything always does.

So have my expectations of you.

But never of I.

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How I Met Jane

This is to.This is for.

This is to every person that told me that I had a split personality.
This is to every person who told me that I was a mess.
This is for those people who told me I needed help.
This is for those people who didn’t help.
This is to the guy who said I was playing the victim.
This is to the girl who said “She doesn’t know what she wants.”
This is to the guy who used me for a bit.
This is to the girl who decided what I wanted.
This is for the people I hurt along the way with my anger.
These are for your memories, I apologize…I was young.
This is for the past for taking a bite out of my soul.
This is for my soul, not letting me rest, we wanted more.
This is to the hotel for never letting me sleep comfortable again.
This is to that boy who let me sleep comfortable again.
This is to the innocence that was stolen again and again.
This is for my lover who will make me feel again and again.
This is to the doctor who said “it’s all in your head.”
This is for the nurse who said “I believe what you said.”
This is for the school counselor who said “you can’t do it all.”
This is to my mom, who said “you can do it all.”
This is to doubt, fear, and sorrow.
This is for doubt, fear, and sorrow.
This is for every lost soul.
This is for every person who wants more.
This is for your courage, this is for your struggle.
This is for your determination, believe me, it’ll show tomorrow.
This is to every mile I ran, every tear I tasted, every thought I had, to every thought I lost.
This is for every ill remark thrown my way, every assumption that was made, and stab that was saved.
This is to me.
This is for me.

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Happy Holidays

I am sick and tired of doing this.

Losing my creativity at the cost of what? The gain for who?

Another.

The others.

It’s always the others.

I’m sick of this  shit.

Sick of it.

Believe it or not I would write lovely things.

Poetry.

Short Stories.

Wrote for publications.

The extent of being burned out.

We are not robots.

This life we live is mechanical.

To go faster, to produce faster.

At what cost?

Yourself.

Your art.

I wish not to be a robot.

Wish not for money.

My identity is worth more than anything you can throw my way.

 

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Feel

Goodbye.

It seems easier the more you say it, so they say.

Maybe I am too fucked up for someone.

I don’t disclose many things but at this point I lost it all…what else is there to hide? Not a damn thing.

I am a self-centered, pathetic, sadistic slab of a human that is looking for a disease to save me. I am this mess. This sad pile that is reflecting it all. That wants to know why it got this way. I’m not editing..I’m ranting..it’s 9:14 p.m., and I should be working…on what? On something that ultimately made me alone…?

I am curious how a knife feels.

I am curious.

past thoughts swarm pass to heighten my curiosity…

I was in a bad relationship at 18. I was emotionally abused and sexually assaulted, to the point where I thought that’s how it’s suppose to be. First real relationship with an older guy, this is normal?

Fell in love at 19. Lasted till I was 23. On and off and between juggling my insanity I had people in between. Couldn’t be alone.

Tried again at 23-24. Had more people in between.

Tried again at 25…fell in love.

Fell again I’m alone.

Because I blame 18 for this so much. I blame it all on who I am. I blame it all on the nightmares. I blame it for every single thing.

and I’m curious how it feels on my skin.

if that’s how it is to feel…

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How I Met Jane

Clueless

I have no idea what I’m doing.

The majority of these posts follow this thought.

Not so much of content, but about life.

Lessons later. Heart-aches later. Hell, even small amounts of success led me back here.

I have no idea what I’m doing.

At this current moment I am trying to figure out how to break it to you that I am not that great of a person. My indecisiveness leads me to hide, and suppress everything that is right.

You’re reading this going, “What the hell is she talking about?”

I have no idea.

Years later I returned to this part of myself where I could be free to update you of how I overcame everything. That I did in fact get the dream job. That haircut I was worried about? Yeah, I got it, and I looked fantastic! The cat problem? No worries, I cut it down to one cat. Oh, and the excessive drinking? I drink f*cking tea now!

If this is what you expected, add another notch of disappointment to your expectations in life. This blog is that notch.

I question my job daily, and drink while on the job. The haircut ended up making me look like one of The Beatles, in a non-adorable way. I had 10 cats at one time (currently have 5), and tea is a foreign substance in my life.

I ended up ruining a lot of good things because I couldn’t let things go.

This doesn’t bother me though.

What bothers me is that I forgot to put gas in my car and now I have to wake up early before work.

 

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How I Met Jane

Holy Sh*t

This still exists.

Want to know something?

I’m still the same.

Within the last post, I’ve done things that I can’t express all at once. Karma came back, and why, it wasn’t the best meeting. Cycles of depression, and worried thoughts, and the never-ending fear of the treacherous, “What If’s?”

I wouldn’t change it for the world.

I wouldn’t be here typing if it wasn’t for those events.

I wouldn’t be here lying to you if I said I wasn’t afraid of the next relapse.

But I am here.

So, let’s meet Jane again.

She can control her whiskey, but now she steals beer out of bars.

 

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