Thursday, February 26, 2015

Bull fight

Listening to both sides of a story is a fucking headache.
I understand when someone chooses to be a judge or whatever the fuck... but dragging me into a heated argument? No, bro, I'm too busy over here trying to recover from the worst case of depression I've experienced in over ten years to be concerned with your fucking petty argument.

Back in August of '08 I documented the worst argument in my history. The bomb that exploded a huge part of my childhood took place that year. This was the fucking argument that cause the irreparable damage to my brother's relationship with our childhood best friend he was willing to one day make his wife.
This argument made me even less trusting of others, and much less inclined to befriend females... it bumped me to probably 85% anti-female.

The two girls, who are cousins (with one another, no relation to me), responsible for causing the drama and spreading the hateful MISinformation are at one another's throat now.
The moment I found out things were getting rocky between the two, I made it clear I lamented their falling out, but refused to take a part. Shit, I did everything in my power to stay AWAY from both girls, even avoiding their texts and calls.
But of course, they both have found a way to get a hold of me... and listening to their stories makes me both scoff and... feel shitty.
The way one girl words her shit to me varies greatly with the way the other one does. Of course, in both sides, the girl talking to me is the innocent dove who is being mistreated.
Do I think one party is guiltier than the other? Nope. They both have done things that are shitty and not very well played. They have both said some nasty shit about the other (though one did cross a line I never would have). They both have made vary valid claims against the other. They both are arguing about THE STUPIDEST SHIT.

"I KNEW she did this sort of shit... I just never thought she'd do this... to ME."
"They always told me to watch myself with her!"
"They always told me not to trust her!"
"She has always been so fake!"
They've both uttered similar sentences, and each time I sit quietly on the other side of the phone in complete silence, shaking my head in amazement.
These two girls banded together one summer and used similar tactics to destroy a lifelong friendship of mine which to this day we (me sister and me) struggle to maintain cordial. These girls knew my lifelong friends for a month, and found it acceptable to inject their venom to wreck everything.
And now these same girls are using their tactics against one another.
Fucking astonishing.
It's like watching two bulls go at one another... and you're trying your best to find some sort of cover and not get trampled, shooing them away with a ten foot pole when one starts creeping closer to you. It's not that you went LOOKING for the bull fight... it just somehow found a way to your front door.
Nah, Holmes, you stay the fuck over there! FUCK! Is this contagious?!
And yes, that behavior is contagious... especially when it has been used against you.

So, I'm sitting here struggling to find purpose in living... and simultaneously trying to dodge this giant snowball headed in my direction.
Good shit.

Monday, February 23, 2015

Horse doodle

Yesterday I attended a friend's babyshower (the couple whose wedding I was in back in December of '13).
I'm actively trying to dig myself out of the horrible, mean-ass depression I've fallen victim to these past... almost three months... so attending this social function was a must.

This party, as predicted by the pessimist in me, drained me. I ended up sleeping for twelve hours last night... after crying myself to sleep, of course.
This shit sucks, man.
I can't really pin-point what it was... but... I get so tired trying to act as though everything is ok. I'd catch myself at the party spacing out, usually with some innocent bystander observing me with a worried look on their face.
The party started out fun, in a way I had never experienced before-- we were given crayons and a sheet of paper, and asked to draw an animal or fruit or some other object for the letter given on the sheet of paper. There was a sheet for every letter of the alphabet, so after everyone was done with their work, the sheets would be put in order and made into an alphabet book for the baby.
This, of course, cheered me the fuck up, since I have a tendency to doodle in the first place when I'm in a social setting, just to calm my nerves. Give me paper and crayons so I can doodle ON PURPOSE? Well FUCK! No need to ask me twice! Give me five different letters if you want!
What letter was I given? H.
H... as in HORSE.
So, there I sat at my table with my mother and some other ladies, and doodled my heart out... for an hour. Because FUCK talking to people.

As I doodled away, my cousin/friend sat next to me with her 23-month-old. This child was smitten with me despite having only met me that day. She refused to stop crying unless I held her, and she refused to eat unless I held her. She'd mumble weird baby talk, and then shoot me the craziest, most hilarious looks, waiting for my reply (which was always "... oh yeah?" This was always acceptable to her). It was odd. And heart warming. I tell you, kids sense the fear I have of them and purposely gun for me.
So this baby was cool... her mom? Well, she was ok. She kept throwing shade, in her usual manner. She kept taking jabs at my appearance (kept staring at the four gray hairs I have on my bangs... my hair part, my nose... I could just feel an aneurism coming on from the pent up aggravation this was causing me), my single status, my unemployed status... typical shit.

Anyway, after enough frustrating exchanges with this mean girl, I went back to my doodling.
Once I felt the horse was sufficiently colored (the crayons were not Crayola... and so... it was a pain in the ass to get it to stay on the paper), I decided to turn it in to the celebrated lovely couple. This was a mistake. The area was packed with people, and instead of retreating to my seat like my brain told me to do (and just wait for the people to leave), I decided it was going to look stupider if I would sit back down... so I kept walking towards the area.

The look people give me when they learn/realize I'm good at something breaks my heart. The look of... surprise and... how excited they are to see I'm genuinely good at something makes me sad.
... it makes me feel like a loser.
"*GIRL*, I'm sorry, but AnoMALIE just beat you."
There they were, a group of seven women and three men gushing over my horse doodle... and all I could do was stand quietly, avoiding eye-contact because their look of... surprise with my skill was bumming me the fuck out.
"She's actually GOOD at something?" That's what I feel goes through their mind, so I'm shitty at handling the attention because I'm too busy trying not to cry.

I should have taken a photo of the horse so I could have proof that it really wasn't much... but meh, just take my word for it, it wasn't much.
Nothing I do really is.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

We're not old enough for this conversation

Random phone calls from far off lands brighten my life.

I have a very fuzzy memory from my time in Athens where I had a little too much ouzo and wine, and not enough carbohydrates.
Everything was fine and dandy... I remember a lot of laughing... and feeling good.
Then it was time for bed... and everyone retreated to his or her room.
I decided this would be the time to profess my love for someone... all while crying over the tragedy of the whole scenario.

Like I said, it's fuzzy as shit, and quite frankly, I have no clue what the fuck triggered this weird confession, but I just decided to say (on loop) "I love him. I fucking love him. I sit and think about it... and realize I fucking love him. And I RUINED IT!"
Who was I talking about? JC.

Only one person heard this confession... at least that's what I think happened.
Today, I JC randomly called me in the morning, and after a few minutes of small talk, he let it slip that he had spoken with Pacemaker before calling me.
Pacemaker was the one person who heard my confession.
Coincidence? I hope so. I hope she's a tomb as far as my idiotic drunk confessions go.

But it sure was nice hearing this kid again... he made me laugh again.

Do I love him? Not like that, but I will forever be grateful for being the person he is with me... for making me feel like a fucking person even when I was at my fattest, for (sometimes forcefully) coaxing me out of my shell.
I'll forever love him for being my most random friend who intuitively knows what to say and when to say it.

And may he never hear of this drunk indiscretion of mine. Fucking embarrassing.

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Blowing kisses

This summer I met this odd, older man at Hometown. The guy was my mother's age, never married, never procreated, never dated anyone.
At first, I was irritated by him, having no idea about his life. I found him odd because he avoided people, avoided eye-contact.. but was fascinated by these three sisters who are 15, 17, and 19 years old. Men would mention how he was looking to make a wife out of one of the three girls, and he would laugh... but agree, wholeheartedly.
This irritated me, because I thought he was just a perverted old man... typical man from Hometown. I'm not too keen on these men.
However, I continued observing this man, and his interactions with others. I quickly noted he was... well, mentally deficient somehow. He seemed to be suffering from some sort of arrested development... I'd say at a ten to twelve year old level.
He was kind, he was polite, he was religious... he was shy.
He greeted others while looking at the ground, but smiling... blushing.
It made my heart hurt. So much.
He was a ten year old boy, forever trapped in the body of a middle-aged man.

When he'd see the girls--the three sisters-- he would pause, look up, and blow a kiss at each one. He would gently kiss his right hand, and even gentler "throw" the kiss at the first girl, then direct his full attention to the second, do the same for the second girl, and the same ritual for the third girl. He would then continue walking to where ever he was headed. No words spoken, no attempt at getting closer to girls... just... that weird blowing of his kiss.

Mom then told me his story, his lonely, sad story... and I felt horrible for ever passing such harsh judgement on the guy.
He was gentle. He was kind. He was simple. He was... he was a kid.

They found his tortured body today in Hometown.
He was tied up, throat slit, buried by the river-- his right hand the only thing sticking out... frozen by the river. He had been buried there for about a week.
He was murdered by someone he thought was his friend. A fucking monster who had been his neighbor for over thirty years. A motherfucking piece of garbage.

I think about his life-- his quiet, sad, lonely, simple life... and I want to cry. My heart breaks.
I think of how horrible his last minutes must have been... what was running through his head... the horror of seeing this guy you grew up with be the one who is going to betray you in the worst way, HURT you in the worst way.
Why? He did nothing... hurt no one... OFFENDED no one.... WHY hurt him like this? Why him? He was kind, gentle... simple. He was a gentle soul... a special needs soul... and he met his end worse than... shit, you don't even slaughter pigs that way.

He was in Hometown because it's supposed to be safer... no one there is supposed to hurt you, they all know you, they all care for you. It's supposed to be better there than in a "special needs" home. It's a close-knit community of few people who may be gossip-machines, but definitely take care of those in need.

We are all stunned. We are all furious.

I hope he didn't suffer. I hope he wasn't scared. I hope he didn't suffer.
I hope he wasn't scared.

Thursday, February 12, 2015

just better

I'm not doing so great.

When I say I'm "desperately" trying to get better, I mean I'm fucking trying DESPERATELY to get better.
I've been lucky enough to have a nice batch of good days recently, but last month was brutal.

I've tried my hand at writing, and while it sometimes starts off pretty promising, it always ends up taking a turn for the dark... sometimes, a little too dark, so I nix posting... because... it's pretty alarming to see how my mind is currently working. I don't feel it's fair to subject anyone else to that shit, to have them hear these terrible thoughts that have been inundating my mind.

I'm forcing myself to go out into the sun... try and fix my problems like that, and it seems to be working. I've actually laughed a few times this week (unlike last month, where I literally injured my throat after laughing out loud for the first time in a month... all thanks to a Key and Peele skit which my brain found to be ridiculously hilarious... and led to me having a weird, embarrassing "laugh attack." Me, sitting alone in my living room, laughing out loud at how pathetic I was that I actually managed to hurt myself with the act of laughing. "How PATHETIC! You haven't spoken or laughed for so long, the act of making any noise HURT YOU! BAHAHAHA! LAAAAME!" Then it all led to me crying for a while... and it was just all bad and embarrassing. Luckily no one witnessed it).

I'll now shut my mouth/blank my mind before I ruin my progress.

I'm just... doing better. Not great, but better.

Thursday, February 5, 2015

con cada palpitar

I sat there for four hours.

Four hours trying desperately to hold on to every detail.

Trying to forget everything else.
Trying to remain there, forever.

But it never lasts.

Hold on to this, AnoMALIE, hold on. Remember. Cherish. Hold on. Stay like this... forever like this.

I try to build my positive, calm memories and vibes... but they only last so long.
A month back and I'm already running on fumes.

"Remember this... please remember this..." I tell myself, as I try to take in everything I see... as I try to see EVERYTHING there is to see... as I try not to miss a single detail... as I try holding on to the feeling.

Do normal people do this? Do they have to make these memories in order to just... survive? Because I do. It's the thing that keeps me going. It's what calms me down when I feel like... well, you know...