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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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Word Vomit

Dr. Seuss on a couch

The drug dealers are working. The helicopter whirls around my head. The wind is freezing, my one blanket will leave me dead. My couch for a bed is uncomfortable and slanted. I sink in and twitch between the cushions. I claw at myself every five minutes due to a horrible itch. The ants crawl through the window and probably on my unconscious body. The monsters keep me up and my zombies haunt me softly. Its dark and I’m alone. My whole body is now numb. I fell asleep on my limbs. I now think I lost my phone. The passing cars are louder in my head and I hear thunder up ahead.

but…

I am happy because I am now employed and filled with joy.

So…

…zombies, monsters, and ants…suck it!

P.S. I started drinking :]

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I, LIfe Journey

Because…

When you’re 16 and when things happen, you consider it the worst. Then years go by and you’re 18 and the problems at 16 are nothing to what is at 18. Then you’re 21. Then 23. So on and so forth. A mutual exchange for what is important and you have experience to weigh the problems. Each year though the blinders become broader on previous events and this wisdom connects them in place. Because everyone has problems, one or more that creep into their heads. Because everyone cannot run from their problems, especially in their heads.

I can’t speak on your behalf, but only of my own.

I didn’t think so many years later that I’d be once again on a bathroom floor asking myself questions through tears and smeared eye-liner.

At 7 or 8 I was in the bathroom eating my mother’s lipstick as I tried it on. I would drown McDonald’s toys in the sink, and oddly enough I would contemplate life on that tile. I would gasp at the thought of losing my mother and father and write them love notes and slip it to them while they slept. My mother said I was an old soul trapped in a young body. I told her I was running out of time.

When anything happened I would write a note, write some kind of letter and slip it to them. No matter what age. The last letter I wrote to my parents was one to my mother in 2008 when we lived in that hotel, and a MySpace message to my estranged father the same year.

A decade plus later and I’m on the tile recollecting the events of today.

The hardest things I’m going through. Forgiveness. Letting Go. and my sister.

Like I said, I didn’t think I’d be here again, tasting my own make-up in a salty form.

I didn’t want any regrets. That was the intention for any action.

I was in my own bubble. As for my sister, brother, and mother. When we each arranged ourselves on that one bed every night, my mother rest assured that one day we would laugh about it.

We do.

The hotel is a different story, but it brought us closer. I mended most of my anger, not knowing that next to me my sister’s bubble was building.

Today I saw a girl who was angry. Who refused to forgive, who said she let go but clearly this was a lie…yet I don’t blame her.

We yelled at each other, years worth of hostility built up.

She resented me. My own sister was asking me in a disgusted tone, how could I have left to San Francisco, how could I have done that? Leave her holding the bag.

The inside of my head was screaming, “I needed to leave, I needed to escape!” With a million of voices yelling at each corner backing this statement up. “The money, remember how I waisted my financial aid money! The school. You didn’t help me, she didn’t help me. It was you. You went to school. You got the car. You!” This didn’t come out. Just tears.

The thought of me always being smaller resurfaced. Here it was, all said burning my ears and shrinking myself.

I was 8 again. I was hiding in the bathroom. I was playing outside alone. There I am again begging for her to play with me. There she is leaving me. Then I’m 16 and she wants a relationship. It’s too late. I’m 18. No, no. I’m 21. Finally, yes…still no. 23? No, no.

I come back to stare at her. Those eyes. They’re angry, but wounded. She’s blury because my eyes are full of tears and cover my view.

“You talked to dad! Dad!”

One more thing thrown at my face.

I’m back to the tile.

I don’t regret any of it.

My one goal in life was to not have any regrets. To live to the best of my own judgment as I possibly could.

I believe a lot of people need closure, and I strongly recommend every human being to get it. Whatever this “positive” form of closure may be. Because with each action, and reaction we are the ones that are left holding the pin from the grenade, or the ones with the broom cleaning up. And as much as we think we’re doing the right thing for other people, we’re not. It’s not us to decide or judge what another person does and with this, it is the one idea that holds up what I did. Peace.

If there’s no peace with yourself, there’s no peace in your life. No matter how far you run.

I think back to her eyes. I want to tell her that I just needed to close my own box with our father. I didn’t want either of us dead without things being said. I didn’t want to be angry anymore at him because it needed to happen or I don’t doubt that he would have been dead.

I think back to my own eyes. Black smears across my pale face. Dew drops stuck to my lashes. I was angry at myself, or still am. I’m the last one on my list.

And because of this, because of what I know and feel. I do not hate her. I do not wish harm to her. I am hurt, but it will pass. Because we all are fighting ourselves and I have no idea of her time on the tile tasting saline, nor her of mine.

Because I’m sorry sister that you grew up too fast, I’m sorry you wanted normal. I’m sorry you wanted your father to walk you down the aisle, and I’m sorry for the debt piling up.

…but I’m not sorry that we matured earlier, and I’m not sorry for being off because we got wiser getting back on. I’m not sorry for our dad missing the wedding in your head because there’s still time, and I’m not sorry for you being pushed and getting promoted left and right.

because it had to happen, because we still need to fight.

…because.

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LIfe Journey

Destroying the time machine!

Since the last time I woke up in a stranger’s bed and wanted to jump out the window, I really haven’t been drinking…that much. I actually was sick in bed for a couple of days with a fever, sore throat,earache, and other disease ridden symptoms. This all being right before NYE.

How did I spend my NYE, you may ask?

Well, I was high off my ass on cough syrup cursing at the world from the confinements of a hello kitty blanket. My mom told me that “God didn’t want me to party.” You know, since my recent debate on this God subject, if he really didn’t want me to party, then I thank him because I’m pretty sure something disastrous would have happened.  If I was well and able to attend this party, the guy that I “woke up” to was there, and in all honesty I am not ready to look at his dumb face. This isn’t embarrassment to some secret crush developing inside me. Hell no. This is disgust that I am and was so stupid.

In other news it’s  “that one guys” birthday today. The one that so elegantly told me to “fuck off.” To continue the psychotic world babble he invites me to a BBQ tomorrow.

Dear guys of the internet, why are you like this? Why are you so fucking confusing. I’m ok with this, I was mad and I’m over it because I know who I am. All I want is a damn apology. That’s it. For him to admit he was wrong and sorry. I am a George Costanza. I don’t care for the issue, don’t care for the person, but care for the principle. If I don’t go down the path of crazy cat lady, then I’m headed down a spiteful path lead by a short, stocky, bald fictional character. I shoot for the stars.george-costanza

On the other hand, I over analyze everything and didn’t want him to think that I am a child holding a grudge (when I’m holding on for an apology),  so wished him a happy birthday. Again, he invites me over tomorrow and in my head I am weighing so many factors. Pride, self-worth, friendship. which weighs more? If I go and pretend nothing happened, like always, I’ll be in the same exact situation. I want change. With change you need choices, and chances. This is my choice and I’m taking a chance of losing a friend, again.

With all of this, and being sick, it hit me that this is the first time in years that I am 100% without a male. I’ve always had someone, whether it be some 3 or 4 guys on the side or a handful of friends,  I always had someone. Someone that I used and they used me and it was fine and dandy.

I cut off all ties and it’s weird. I don’t even want to talk to old friends. I’m over them and feel like every time I reunite with someone I’m thrown down this time machine. A machine where I compare, contrast, and end up depressed. I just don’t care anymore what people think anymore (minus spite situation with “that one guy”).

I’ve gone cold turkey from guys, dicks, and even girls (I’m not gay, not that there’s anything wrong with it.)

I am alone and have to face this dependency that I have thrown on every guy I met that I thought was going to invent something new.

Who needs a time machine when you can discover something new?

Time to depend on myself…

and vodka.

Cheers!

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LIfe Journey

Identity Crisis

I’m trying to make the best out of this whole situation.

I’m living out of my suitcase with two cats and a recently purchased bottle of vodka. I mixed it with more of my magic juices and the next thing you know I have a pretty good cosmopolitan. I never thought I’d be treated like a piece of luggage though. How this dog, who I’m pretty sure feels sorry for me, is treated better.

My cats, in accordance with my sister, are not allowed to leave “my room.” Forgive the reference, but I’m hiding them like Anne Frank, from her and her soft fiance, the nazis.  I actually don’t have a room, it’s a small box unattached to everything where you store items that don’t seem fit to the order of the house. It’s an emotional matter and state I refuse to be apart of if I may talk on a serious note.

Despite me being drunk for the majority of my time there is the reassurance of my mother. Regardless of how crazy I am, what medicine they think I should swallow, or how lost I am, she comforts me in the only way that I’m thankful for being back home.

See, my mother is still unemployed. My father was a heavy addict (I’ll explain daddy issues later), we lost our house, we lived in a hotel, and she worked her ass off. Years passed by and I suppose I was just, and still am, an angry little girl. I deal with this anger in my rough sex. Everybody wins.

With my mother still being unemployed, after getting laid off, my sister took over. I love her, don’t get me wrong, but there’s an emotional attachment she has as well that she throws her power into “money.” If you don’t have it, you don’t have a say so in this house. After I left to San Francisco she hated me. She was angry because I left her. In my defense I had to. She had her fiance living there, he was starting to have more of an influence in the house then us; the family that got closer in that hotel and first step of success was this exact house. We drifted. It happens, I suppose. Now I’m back, and she’s angry all over again.

After all the ridicule of me not “finding myself” and other cliché crap that assholes bitch at me for the sole purpose of bitching, I’m taking a step back. At first stepping back scared me and felt like reverse, but sometimes you need to step back to make a high jump. Which is why I’m really staying away from old friends. I was better off with new ones, because I was new, because it all was new. I was a new Jane.

I still don’t know what I’m doing in my life. According to the social security office my birthday is even wrong, ( I fear I may be adopted), which is another task I must complete. It’s such a bitch.

Yet, I’m not finding myself. I’m not looking for anyone to complete me.

I’m taking time inventing myself.

Because regardless what a piece of paper says, or what people will say, your identity to yourself is the only thing that should matter. My journey begins to stop comparing myself to other people.

Don’t spit up because it comes back down.

…and if you swallow, well, then that’s even better.

Who do you want to be?

 

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