Saturday, August 31, 2013

White kitten

Pienso en tu carita todos los días... todos los días.
... en-- apesar de tanto pedirle a mi mente que lo ignorara-- lo bonito que se sentia tu abrazo... la manera en la cual tus dedos de la mano derecha me apretaban... así suave pero firme... de la cintura.

Pienso todos los días... no importa si sobria o borracha... 

Si tu amigo pudo notar mi desdicha con solo una mirada... cómo no pudiste ver mi... infinita admiración?

A nadie miro como te miro a ti... a nadie le sonrío como te sonrío a ti. Por nadie siento como siento por ti.

Y me regalaste... me echaste a la suerte... me tiraste como carnada.
Que manera de destruirle el alma a una chava.
Y apesar de lo sucedido... este cerebro no deja de pensar en ti. Este corazón solo te desea lo mejor que tiene de ofrecer la vida. 
"Que lastima que alguien elija ser un capitulo en tu vida, cuando tu le tenias reservado una historia."

That story my brother told me so long ago... the one about the time he and his friends grabbed that free kitten from that cardboard box... and proceeded to take turns playing that game of bullseye with it... how they'd just throw it in the air and take turns shooting.
White kitten... white defenseless kitten.
Just for shits and giggles.
... it's a horrible story that haunts my memory.

Boys taking turns at destroying a creature that only needed to be nurtured...
I'm an idiot for not learning the lesson of that story sooner.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013


I learned how to walk during the night.
I took a little longer than your average toddler, because Mom said I was scared.

I started out enthusiastic... I guess like most toddlers. I'd grip on to shit and stand up. This would excite my mom, and she would encourage me to walk towards her. Just as I'd take a step towards Mom, my older brother would run over to me and knock me down.

Mom: It was weird. He'd see you stand up, and then just push you with all his might when he'd see you get the courage to take a step towards me. You'd topple over so hard and he'd laugh out loud. It was kind of funny.

Mom tried changing my brother's crappy attitude by telling him he should be a good older brother and encourage me to walk, TEACH me how it's done, not injure me.

They had a little song they'd sing to me in spanish: Andar, andar, patitas de ubar.
Walk, walk, little spider legs.
This only caused an extra issue-- my brother would sing "Andar, andar" just like Mom (well, as harmoniously as he could, he was about 3.5 at the time), which would give me enough confidence to begin walking (apparently, I only tried walking IF they sang this song), then he'd betray my trust by speeding up the "patitas de ubar!" so he'd once again catch me off guard to knock the shit out of me.
This happened EVERY. TIME.
Mom sings the song. I start wobbling over to her. Rafa runs into the room and tackles me to the floor. I cry and refuse to move. Rafa leaves laughing like a maniac.

Mom says I eventually opted for throwing myself onto the floor each time Rafa entered a room, just to prevent him from throwing me.
I'd just chill on the floor-- no crying, no fussing... just chill on the floor and know not to stand.
I finally regained trust by walking ONLY when it'd be late at night and Rafa would be knocked out in bed. I'd cautiously look both ways, make sure NO ONE was watching, and then I'd proceed to waddle around and do my thing. Once it would come time to be awake at the same time as Rafa, I'd spend my time splayed on the floor (to this day, there is nothing more comfortable for me than laying on my stomach on the hard floor)... or sitting like a good baby.
I didn't show Rafa my skills until I was sturdy enough to not eat shit at the slightest push.

THAT is how I learned to walk.

I apply this mentality with everything.
To this day, I am cautious when meeting people. I don't loosen up and show my true personality until I feel safe enough, confident enough that they won't just lunge at me and tackle me to the floor... metaphorically speaking (because, really, PLEASE try tackling me in real life... let's see how that ends).
Often, I just plop on the floor to avoid anyone from knocking me off my feet.
You can't push me if you don't know I can stand.

But then there are those few moments when I feel secure, and let my guard down... and I begin to show people who I really am. Then out of fucking nowhere, here comes the fucking gridiron gang and pummels me to the floor.
I'm left dazed and confused... gasping for breath... tears of rage and hurt streaming down my face... wondering WHY THE FUCK I made myself vulnerable like that.

Trust NO ONE... I know that's what I should stick to... but no, I'm soft. I'm nice. I trust.
And so, I get injured.

"Well... there is one thing. We feel you don't talk enough. Like... we'd really like to know what you think. What little you show is interesting, it'd be good if you shared more often."
And like a fucking idiot, I shared... like the fucking idiot "target" kid at a slumber party.

I'm so angry with myself for falling for that shit.
What a fucking idiot I always prove to be.

Without much fuss, I recoil... and refuse to ever move in that person's presence.
I am never the same towards them. A self-preservation thing, I'm sure. 

Monday, August 26, 2013

This makes it how many times?

Know what pisses me off most about lies? The fact that my intelligence is underestimated.

I stay quiet not because I'm a fucking idiot... well, maybe I AM an idiot by believing in someone's fucking integrity... that's probably where I go wrong, but anyway, I stay quiet because I want to see HOW FAR you'll take your lie... and how LONG you're going to lie to me.

Mexicans have a saying: Si digo que la burra es parda es porque tengo sus pelos en mano.
If I say the donkey's brown it's because I'm currently holding a batch of its hairs in my hand.
If I'm telling you you're lying, it's because I did my goddamned research and did my fucking homework... I have PROOF... proof you provided for me throughout all that time you fucking lied, genius.

How can you live with yourself knowing YOU are being dishonest with someone?
For-fucking-real. How?

I also love how the "You're a neurotic narcissist" card is played once I call bullshit.

Lies... they're so repulsive. So damn repulsive.
Come on now.
Keep lying to me... and keep telling me GIRLS are the problem.

Fucking pussy shit.

Un arbol

"The heart dies a slow death. Shedding each hope like leaves until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains."

I had always resisted "Memoirs of a Geisha," whether it was the book or film.
I just know that shit will be sad, and while I know I'm one moody little bitch, I try not to subject myself to TOO much depressive shit at a time. Right now? NOT a good time for depressing shit.

Then today happened, and for some reason (well, I was irritated after shopping for three hours with my mother... I purchased some running capris, a tank, and a pair of sunglasses... took me ten minutes to gather my shit. The rest of the time was spent watching Mom rummage through sales rack after sales rack of old-lady clothes. This is all very tiring for me, and I'm vulnerable as fuck when tired) I didn't change the channel when I got home and saw what was showing on my television. Good ol' Memoirs had JUST started.
Ah, what the fuck. I'm beat. Show me what you've got, Geisha.

Of course I fucking cried... not a river, but I shed a tear or two. That quote I opened with made me nod in awe, as a stupid cliche tear ran down my cheek.
As stated earlier, I've never read the book or watched the movie, but I have often said something similar to that quote. Because it's true. So true.
I've spent my life watching my hopes, dreams, overall happiness, crumble to the ground... I watch that shit wither and die.
I tell myself "Come on, dude, it's just winter... spring time's coming up! Get ready for Spring!"
But then I'm left standing there... in "deafening" silence. Completely alone... with nothing to see. Everything's blank.
Feels like I have fucking Tinnitus or some shit.
It fucking sucks dick.
That "Spring's right around the corner, dude!" mentality is what has kept me pushing my whole life. The thought that it's all going to get better is what made toddler-AnoMALIE shake off mistreatments and abuse... the thought that one day I'd enjoy this supposed "Spring" like every normal person, made me get up in the mornings and endure some more people punching me in the stomach, slapping me, and spitting on me... literally.

The passage of time didn't just see the leaves wither... but also the occasional prick who'd break entire branches off, just for the fuck of it.

I was an awesome little girl. I swear. I think back to the person I used to be... and it's crazy. I was bubbly. I was happy... adventurous, curious, kind, funny, friendly... I had my moments of introversion, upon first meeting others, but after a couple of minutes, I was out and about looking for adventure... using my motherfucking AWESOME imagination. I explored nature, admired it... I played with animals, encouraged others to join me on my adventures. I ran everywhere... then people started tripping me and felt watching me sob in pain was more... entertaining, and so it began.
How many times, and in how many ways, can we fuck this girl up before she stops actually getting up?

I did a good job keeping my composure with the movie... then I heard the last couple of lines:

"... to learn of kindness after so much unkindness... to understand that a little girl with more courage than she knew, would find her prayers were answered, can that now be called happiness."

I fucking lost it.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013


A lot of people committing suicide recently...
I was upset by the death of the young man from that Disney show... I have an inside joke about him with one of my cousins because we both had a mad crush on him back in middle school. It broke my heart to hear about his passing.

Anyway, it's interesting to see the reaction to these deaths from some of my friends.
The shock.
The wonder.
The theories.
The judgement.

It's so weird.
I also find myself feeling envious of those who don't... understand, who can't fathom the darkness some of us can feel. I'm jealous of that. I'm jealous of sunny people... of people who think things like child abuse and shit like that doesn't exist.
That's a nice world to live in... a nice naive world to live in... a nice normal world to live in. A nice, lovely world I wish I still lived in.
But it doesn't do much for those of us who have to go through life managing our fucking traumas and sadness and... fucked up shit. Sometimes, these sunny people make it a little more difficult for us to function... because they just make us feel so... freakish.
THEY have their shit together, why the fuck can't I?
THEY don't have emotional breakdowns at the sight of a sky-blue truck... what the fuck?
THEY don't turn catatonic after hearing the sound of a group of people laughing.
THEY don't hyperventilate in the privacy of a bathroom stall after being the center of attention for more than twenty minutes. Fuckity fuck!

They're all just so fucking normal... baffled at the thought that others out in the world would prefer to no longer exist than to carry on another second breathing.
They look forward to doing shit like... getting Starbucks in the morning... choosing an outfit for the day... I don't know... I'm not normal or bubbly, so what the fuck do I know? Do they enjoy the thought of shopping for new toasters at Macy's or some shit? Is that normal and sunny? Looking forward to power-hour sales at KOHL'S? Labor Day 48-hour sales at Macy's? I don't fucking know.
They don't freak out over shit like... having to be in a group of people for more than ten minutes... or at the possibility that FUCK! Some random person is going to try and TALK to you... because SHIT! He thinks you're cute... uh oh.
They don't convulse themselves to sleep after their brain decides to take them on a stroll down Really-Fucked-Up-Memory Lane at two in the morning... all because someone wore a red flannel shirt that looked a lot like that red flannel shirt your tormentors tried ripping off your body that one day in 4th grade... that's fun shit to remember at two in the fucking morning.

I'm jealous of that naiveté.
"What sort of inner demons must he have been battling to find that to be his only solution?"
Don't ask that question... the answer's usually... horrible.
Live in your bubble for as long as you can.

Depression's like a virus... once you contract it (often from some mentally disturbed individual), it never leaves your body.
There are periods of remission... where you can function in a somewhat normal manner... feel "normal" shit like happiness and curiosity... but then there are the outbreaks... varying in severity... triggered by random shit. Outbreaks suck dick... take out large chucks of your life... turn it into a big blank in your memory.
What do you mean I only lived for two month in 2011? Most of it is blank? Oh... oh yeah... I spent 10 months locked in my room, laying on my face, crying until blacking out... that's right.
For the most part, times of remission are spent praying to some deity your next outbreak won't be the fatal one.

I can't speak for everyone, but in my case, that's the best I can describe it.
(It's ok guys, I'm ok. I'm a notch above "I just want to be alone, ok?" status. No worries. Promise. Just, like I said, this recent string of suicides has made me think of my own grapples with depression. I also had a late dinner and find myself wide awake, fighting the urge to puke)

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Las del rancho

"I wish we KNEW we were in the 'Good Ol' Days' before we left them..."

Of course that photo would make me feel a horribly aching pain in my chest.

2008... I made a promise that year and broke it...
I was an asshole and thought I had gotten away with it, since it was really a promise to myself.
But no... todo en esta vida se paga. 

Monday, August 12, 2013

Corre, corre, corre


Again, I meant to update sooner, and I do have various entries saved... just not posted.
I had been puking for three days straight on my last update... and still puked the next day. Four consecutive days, in total.
It wasn't my usual vomit-fest, where I throw up for hours, non-stop. This time around, I'd just randomly find myself violently vomiting ONE time, usually during workouts (that Thursday, August 1st, was particularly brutal... I puked in the middle of some jumping jacks during kickboxing. They should just nickname me something having to do with barfing, since I've puked in that class at least three other times. I'm classy).
I hate that I have to be so visceral. I wish I could control it... but I know something has truly affected me when I find my head stuck in a toilet after something upsets me... or I'm fainting all over the place like some histrionic little bitch in victorian novels.
It's not that I want to-- it just happens. This is what happens when I bottle my rage... when I take a deep breath and walk away from something that has driven me completely irate... when I am "zen" instead of doing what my body really wants to do: break someone's face against some concrete.
This is what happens when AnoMALIE tries to "act like a lady."

It takes a lot to get me to that point-- to make me physically ill.
It takes even more to lower me from that state.

I tried meditating, but after thirty second of being unable to turn off my television in order to concentrate properly, I became agitated and broke the remote control... so I gave that shit up.
I drew... but they all ended in me scribbling everything off in a fit of rage.
I read... and that calmed me down, I guess.
I went on a MEAN retail therapy session... and purchased my first ever diamonds. And no, it didn't make me feel any better... I actually have the worst case of buyer's remorse right now... I might return them tomorrow... because... I learned I don't even care for REAL bling. At all.

Then we had work drama... THAT was interesting. Apparently a couple of employees got involved with a certain... criminal group... who... well, you know what part of Mexico I hail from, and what they're famous for... I guess these employees TRIED ripping THEM off for 200k... and I mean... good luck with that shit... dumb motherfuckers. I don't know you, you don't know me. Goodbye.

Then I did what I always do: I escape.
I booked another trip to a distant land... to be alone... away from everyone.

That's all I really know how to do-- run away, hide, and avoid feeling ANYTHING... it keeps me from projectile vomiting and becoming any more disillusioned with humanity... with the luck of my draw.