So many thanks

Always my favorite holiday.
Always weird, often uncomfortable situations occur.
Still my favorite holiday.

I spend this day with the family I hold closest, the ones who always show their love and share it.

I didn't think this day would come as fast as it did, I was actually dreading the awkward political confrontation that was promised to occur instead.
I never thought one of my closest relatives would be fighting for her life so damn soon.
Instead of political fights, my beloved aunt, Mooney's mom, suffered a massive aneurysm... and has been hospitalized since Sunday morning. I haven't seen her conscious at all.

Life's a blur. I haven't stayed so long in a hospital for any other family member in the past, not even my father. I fucking hate hospitals... yet there I am, not giving a shit... for as long as I can.
I love this woman... a lot... like, I can't begin to explain how much of my happiness and mental sanity I owe to her. She helped rescue my childhood from the doom it was promised. She has helped put a smile on my face during bitter growing pains.

Today was somber... today we all forced the food down... but we also stuck together like the glue we are.
Tonight I saw my aunt open her eyes... and give the nurse her famous annoyed glare... and I saw her squeeze my uncle's hand, and move her index finger when asked to do it... she moved it with desperation... the "I'm here! I'm HERE!" kind of desperation you so often see in movies.

I just want her to come back... and today was a promising start.
Please come back, tia.

Now that's some hatin

So, this happened on Tuesday:

That's my family. I love that dude, he's pretty damn legit.
Call me crazy, but winning an Oscar is sort of... kind of a big deal.

Upon my return to FB, I noticed this photo didn't have nearly as many "likes" or comments as I'd fucking suspect something of this nature to acquire. It's a GODDAMN OSCAR! (HIS second)
Worse yet was seeing how the majority of the likes and comments were from non-family members... non-compatriots.

Here I am complaining about "haters" and whatnot... and this guy, who has legit accolades to his name, STILL doesn't get the props he deserves from his people. (I'd fucking start calling all the streets in Hometown after him, are you shitting me?!)

Ain't that some shit...
Being Mexican-American, A Mexican-American from Hometown is... a mind-fuck... a terrible, infuriating mind-fuck.
Silly.

What does inspire me, besides this guy's incredible success, is how he handles the haters.
Whereas I get worked up into a fucking tizzy, he remains cool. He calmly smiles and shrugs.
"Ni modo."
And continues doing cool shit.
And that's why that guy succeeds.

Thanks for making me sad

Spent my Thanksgiving entertaining a seven year old, and showing my appreciation for a 12 year old... both with equally shitty parents.

For someone who is a self-proclaimed disliker of kids, I sure do go out of my way to keep one from feeling like shit.
The thought of a kid feeling bad breaks my heart in a way I can't really describe... but if I think about it too much, it brings me to tears.
I'm not talking little kids throwing tantrums because they're not getting things done their way... but those who are silently sitting in some corner, observing the scenery-- those fucking kids break my heart.

How do you bring someone into the world... then fucking punish him/her for bullshit his/her mother/father did? You can't stand looking at your 12 year old son's face because he looks identical to his mother, your ex-wife? How is that HIS fault? How are YOU going to make a separate Thanksgiving party for your NEW nuclear family and NOT invite him? Why does this poor kid have to sit here with his grandparents, staring at a television in the living room because he's trying to seem nonchalant about NEITHER one of his PARENTS wanting him at THEIR parties? HOW IS THAT OK?

And this seven year old... where do I start with this seven year old little girl who thinks she's "gross" because she doesn't have her toenails painted? A little girl who thinks she can't eat fruit because "she has to watch her figure." A little girl who whispered into my ear if I wanted to go into the empty living room on the opposite side of the party... so that I could join her in being a NORMAL SILLY GIRL... dancing, singing, making funny faces... then "work out to burn all of this food we just ate." SHE'S SEVEN... why is she worried about working off what she just ate, and why must she feel like she has to hide in order to be A NORMAL, SILLY GIRL?! AND WHY is she apologizing to me when she removes her socks to expose her UNDONE TOENAILS? WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO THIS KID?

This family often thinks I'm so fucking flawed because I'm single and barren... but... I'm the one who sits there and keeps their lonely, sad kids from feeling... weird. I keep them company, I make them laugh... and I let them know they're perfectly rad little people.
I sit there with a smile on my face, trying as best as I can to keep from crying out of frustration for these kids.
I hug them tighter, and I land my kiss on their cheek instead of the air thing everyone's so guilty of. I try and transmit my genuine appreciation of them.

I don't understand how a parent can abandon someone they helped create... someone who is HALF OF THEM. How can you sit at your dinner table to give thanks, knowing one of your little humans is out there knowing you left them out?

While my nuclear family is complete and chill, I haven't felt this sad on Thanksgiving in a while. I certainly have never felt this sad for SOMEONE ELSE.

I hope people learn to be more considerate of others. Empathy-- acquire some of that shit.

The Babes

While I can talk shit about all four sides of my family (dad's maternal and paternal sides, mom's maternal and paternal sides), I'll talk about the one of which I'm least resentful.
Lol, jk. I'm easily equally resentful of all branches (well, my dad's side carries a slightly heavier weight... but hey, there's plenty of time left for my mother's side to catch up!). I'll talk about the group largely responsible for my low self-esteem... or, you know, the ones who made it painfully obvious that I didn't make the cut in the beauty department.

Let's talk about my mom's maternal side.
Those women.
The women with whom I share mitochondrial DNA... the DNA I have a chance of passing down to my kids, if I so choose to procreate (which up until now, is a very firm "NO.").
My mother's maternal side is composed of... I think six women, six sisters. Something like that. And one brother.
They're mestizos. Their father was Spanish and their mother a Native American. They clearly inherited the Spanish elitist attitude-- they worship light colored skin, blue eyes (oh, yeah, the dude had ice blue eyes), and blonde hair.
I've ranted about this shit quite often on here. It's my fucking pet-peeve.
Growing up, my sister was worshipped, I was... lol... I was uh... constantly reminded of how I could "fix" my appearance. For example, if for any reason one of my "aunts" (my mom's cousins) caught me horsing around outside with the rest of the kids, I'd get some speech on how it'd be cool for me to "stay out of the sun, wouldn't want to get any darker than you already are." "Don't you want to look a little more like your little sister? See how she's playing in the shade? Go play like all the little girls over there under the porch."
These women used ANY opportunity to speak to me as an opportunity to "give me pointers" on my physical appearance.
"You look wonderful, mija, but you know what would make you so much more beautiful? If you wore a girdle! And best part of it would be NO ONE would be able to tell you're wearing one with the girdles they make now!" as I stand on the side, minding my own fucking business as OTHER KIDS ARE SWINGING AT THE PIÑATA. (How is that ever appropriate, dickhead?)

I could write an anthology on the fucked up shit not to do or say to a young girl, based on all the bullshit I got from these ladies.
However, if I were to remove THAT bullshit, these women were pretty damn badass (and my grandmother NEVER told me a single negative thing. She was a sweet, quiet lady who swore like a sailor whenever she did speak up... clearly I know where I inherited THAT tendency. Anyway, I'm sure she never said a bad word about darker babies because they reminded her of her saintly mother).

Ok, well, yesterday I saw an old photo of one of my family members of this clan (oddly enough, SHE never told me any of that backhanded shit).
Everything made sense:

Baaaaabe!

OK then! Goddamn, well, shit... ok. When the broads look better than telenovela stars, I understand why TomboyMe was such a problem for them.

Apparently, she had a bomb body, too... this according to my mother... who also suffered the same fate as I did, since she too was a "prieta" ("darkie").
Mom has a memory of this lovely babe (who is like, three years my mom's senior) and her playing at her aunt's house (the babe's mom's house) when she was around 12. She remembers someone made a comment on how similar looking they were, and the babe's mom said "How the hell is this black (indian) bitch gonna look anything like MY *Babe'sName*?!" Mom didn't make a big deal, because the term her aunt used was one she had never before heard. Mom went home and asked her mom what the word meant, and my grandma became infuriated. An intense argument amongst the women ensued... only to be squashed by the matriarch due to that whole "family is everything" bullshit... and they continued with their merry lives, destroying future generations' self-esteem with their passive-aggressive commentary.

My family's gold, ain't it?
Like I said, they're cool as fuck as long as physical appearances aren't brought up. These women kill snakes with one hand, while saving babies in the other... they'll kill and properly butcher any mammal or fish without a single grimace... and will shred THEIR OWN into tiny little pieces using only their words, sometimes with just one glance (yo, not gonna lie, I actually like possessing this trait. I have been told I throw the worst daggers using only my eyes).
They're babes, with their natural hourglass figures, giant eyeballs, and fine noses... but Jesus Christ, someone put a sock in their mouth (not this lady's, she's fantastic... maybe why I find her so pretty, because I have positive memories associated with her, as opposed to other savages from this side of the family).

Besos!

Probably in the middle of a lecture...

The bile, it is a-building

I really wish family drama wouldn't interfere with my writing, but it does.
I have been SO fucked up these last two weeks... I can't think clearly. I am only ANGRY the whole fucking time. I damn near went to the hospital yesterday because I was SO angry, I was suffering from a horrible pain in my stomach for two days.
I tell you, I'm visceral as fuck... when I feel rage, I FUCKING FEEL RAGE.

I am so disillusioned, but above all, furious, at how fucking shitty my family is proving to be.
I have spent my life thinking that family is everything... I have done MORE THAN my fair fucking share to make their lives just a little bit better. I have swallowed all of their backhanded compliments, "thinly" veiled insults, and downright public humiliations... all for fucking "family's sake."
I have harbored nothing but love for these fucking assholes with whom I just so happen to share ancestors... making myself believe their ill treatment of me and often my entire family, as "learning lessons." I've excused their bullshit as them "having a rough time" or "not knowing better." "Maybe they didn't know they were insulting me... ?"
But seriously... a 16 year old guy slapping me across my 7-year-old face with flour and throwing me against the floor in front of three other cousins who LAUGHED was them "not knowing they were humiliating me"? REALLY?! FUCKING REALLY?!

It's fucking ridiculous how many stories I have relating to these motherfuckers purposely acting injurious towards me, physically hurting me, psychologically/emotionally scarring me... and me just shutting the fuck up and forgiving them because I've been taught to "be a good girl," "to forgive," to be motherfucking empathetic... sympathetic to a fucking fault.
"Because you don't want to stir shit up."

And to all this, I keep asking, wondering, analyzing just what in the fucking hell I have done (I should say we, my parents and siblings have each been on the receiving end of some fucked up bullshit from these people) to DESERVE this.
Did I insult them at some point? What the fuck did I say or do that warranted this bullshit?

I (we) have done nothing. Quite the contrary, we have pulled them out of debt, we have taken care of the ill, we have given their criminal-asses jobs when no one else would, we have bought them cars, homes, VACATIONS, WEDDINGS... but still, STILL they find a reason to say and do some fucking WACK shit.

And it drives me fucking crazy.
It makes the bile in my system just... fucking rise. It makes me dizzy. It makes me faint.
So much rage, and confusion, and disillusionment... goddamn, is this what Don Quixote felt?! AM I DON QUIXOTE in this fucking family?!

I'm also confused... because I don't know how to react. I'm STILL scared I'll be accused of overreacting.
But... when have I ever overreacted? People often think I'm a goddamn mute or just boring because I'm so languid and detached in person. I am a mouse... it takes great effort to get me to say a word.
And still I manage to offend people-- blood-- to the point where they inexplicably hate me and intentionally aim to hurt me.
What in the fuck, man?

I HATE thinking that these people are "jealous"... though I often hear others explain it to me that way. I feel foolish even assuming this is a possibility.
"Don't try to find an explanation to someone's jealousy... it will drive you crazy. Oftentimes, it has NO explanation."
But I mean... what is there to be jealous about? I TRY TO SHARE as much as possible... I try as much as possible not to be selfish about what I have or what I can do. I thought I was making that clear... not "boasting" about it... just... proving that I was ready and willing to share the good stuff.
I give genuine, heartfelt compliments. I feel genuine joy at the positives in the lives of others. I try to help to the best of my ability when it's at all possible. HONEST. Nothing makes me happier than the happiness of others, especially my family's.

When it's bad stuff that is going on, I keep that shit to my own damn self. I prefer others to believe I'm a total weirdo than to clue them in on the fact that I'm motherfucking dying... that I am just fucking dying on the inside.

Is my ability to keep quiet and internalize the bad shit making it too difficult for others to realize that my life isn't all good?
I thought my inability to comfortably stand in a room with more than six people made it abundantly clear that my life isn't all rainbows and unicorns.
My inability to hold eye contact isn't indicative of my life maybe not being super rad? Not indicative of me having poor self-esteem?
Has everyone forgotten the constant, daily verbal abuse I took for being "fat" throughout my school days?

I fucking don't get it... and it's breaking me.

This shit is interfering with my creativity, with my peace, with... everything.
My heart is fucking shattered and I have no fucking clue how to pick up the pieces, if it's even worth attempting to salvage any of the pieces.

Feelings suck. Lies suck. People suck.

Ranty pants.

I don't want to be a mopey, angry girl... so I try and find shit to entertain myself.
This time, entertainment has been provided by one of my relatives... who I believe is somewhere around 16 years old (not quite sure because I see this kid probably once a year, on a good year).

Ok, so we all know I'm a girl of few words, yet I still carry this fame (in my family) of being a scandalous asshole. This fame has made me become nearly invisible on FB (god bless Twitter... I really let loose there), heaven forbid I upset one of my asshole relatives who lack the IQ points required to understand sarcasm (have y'all seen that Cara Delevingne interview that was labeled "awkward" because the imbecile hosts didn't understand her sarcasm? This one right here. THAT'S MY FUCKING LIFE! Facial expressions included. If I could be any one celebrity's friend, Cara would be my pick.. she's the fucking shit. But enough of that tangent). So I just shut the fuck up and say nothing... wouldn't want to upset an aunt or uncle or friend of a friend.

Well, anyway, this cousin, the 16 year old, is... interesting. She too has many rants... but I feel they're uh... interesting. HOWEVER, her rants get family support... which... dumbfounds me.
This morning, I woke up to her most recent rant:

I read that and did my usual sighing while covering my eyes with both hands... partly because I find the rant annoying, and partly because it frustrates me to see my family (who find MY rants ridiculous and embarrassing) applauding this.

Please know that when I rant, I am absolutely at my wit's end, ready to punch shit.
AND STILL, I think I craft my shit somewhat thoughtfully (unless I'm about to literally fight a bitch and my brain isn't working properly).
Here's an example of some shit I've been involved in this week:

Like I say in the email, I only wrote because I was encouraged to speak my mind... so I did... as calmly as possible. That's how I complain... almost fucking apologizing for feeling the way I am. Is it normal? I don't know... but it's what I do.

Anyway, my email elicited this response:

For some reason, it really fucking irritated me ("Are you trying to BUY me? Fuck you, son! I don't put up with that shit! I don't need your fucking charity!" When I'm aggravated, I think shit like that. It's the ghetto, yet dignified Mexican in me. You won't catch me accepting freebies willingly-- I'll shove that shit back in your hands), so I responded with this:



That email only made them respond immediately with a request to please speak to me over the phone.
And I did.
And I turned into the demure, submissive, apologetic fucking mute I am (thought I still refused the freebies, PROFUSELY).
Goddamn it.

I never win when I rant, I swear.
Whatever. I know I made sense... sort of. Who gives a shit if I don't gain support, but instead lose it.

... Still makes me laugh, though.
(Want to see me metaphorically "drop the mic"? Don't give me a real mic)

Rainy Day Piñata

It's not my intention to make this entire month... or MONTHS about my godson, but Jesus Christ! No one has done me this dirty. Ever.
I mean, when someone is my declared "enemy," someone who from the get-go let me know they disliked me, and wanted nothing to do with me... I can somewhat accept it. I know, or can imagine, what I might have to brace myself for whenever I deal with this person. If I hear some shit-talking from someone who doesn't like me, I have an easier time letting that shit roll off my back.

But here's this human... this creature I spent the majority of my life LOVING... like... really, REALLY fucking loving and even sacrificing my own wellbeing/future prospects, all in hopes of helping this kid out-- making his life easier, brighter... better.
Why did I love this kid so much? Because he was my cousin. I remember when he was born. I remember when he was an infant. I remember when he learned how to walk.

I remember this particularly rough day, back in June of 1998, when I was sitting alone in the living room of my godson's Mexico house. I was upset because every girl in my group had been flirting with the guys in town and I had been cast aside... by everyone. Guys were like "Ew. What the fuck is that fucking fatass doing here?" and the girls were like "The fatass is not part of our group!"
So, I had spent my day at a 5 year-old's birthday party, alone, under my umbrella, watching a bunch of kids swing at a piñata outside in the rain (Mexican kids don't give a fuck about weather when piñatas are involved. We're gonna swing at that motherfucking shit come rain, sleet, or snow... not that weather gets that extreme to begin with)... free to cry because the rain did a good job covering for me.
Once we all sang the birthday song to the birthday boy in the kitchen, I walked over to the living room, which was on the opposite side of the house, and sat in silence-- alone. No television or radio or people noise... just me, sitting quietly in an empty living room, swallowed by a giant burgundy couch, and observing the surroundings (so much yellow. I remember that the most-- the abundance of yellow colored objects). After perhaps half an hour of being alone, my eight year old godson waltz into the room and turned on the television. He changed the channel to MTV, and turned up the volume when the music videos came on (yes, this was back in the day when they still played music videos). And then he started to dance.
My godson turned into my little jester, and eventually coaxed me into standing up and dancing with him. He hugged me and started dancing Banda music with me... his tiny head resting on my stomach as he wildly swung around... trying to get me to move.
Godson: I may be eight right now... but watch when I turn old enough to dance at these dances... I'm going to take you out and show you off! You're going to get tired of dancing!
Me: Ohhhh am I?
Godson: You're beautiful. They're all just dumb.
And he continued to dance like a little fool... making me smile.

Here was this tiny eight year old I had always thought was just.. a kid... but proving he was as observant as I.
And he cared.
And he kept me company.
And he made me smile.
And he wasn't ashamed of me.
And he was making me discard the suicidal thoughts of that moment.
This fucking little tiny kid was making me live, keeping my hopes alive.

...
I mean... fuck! How can I forget something like that? I fucking can't. I won't.
The memory seems trivial as shit... but it wasn't to me.
And he only continued to do similar things in the summers that followed... my godson kept giving me company and reasons to smile... and kept reassuring me that nothing was wrong with me... and he fucking kept me company.

Now, after everything that has happened in the last couple of months... after seeing this image of the kind little boy crumple so fucking VIOLENTLY and abruptly to the ground... I'm devastated. I'm angry. I'm disappointed. I'm confused.
Now I wonder if all those years where this kid went to war for me, who did so many favors for me... if he did all that in order to gain my favor and just... use me. Was it all false? Did I really not know this kid at all, while he knew ME TOO WELL... and used it to his advantage? Has this kid been playing me my whole life?
It sure fucking feels that way... and it HURTS. It fucking burns.
But I find I'm still reluctant as hell to let it go... I'm holding on this this image I built of this kid, and I'm getting dragged.
I want to believe they're all lies... that what others are telling me are just... exaggerations or misunderstandings... lies. I want them all to be lies.

I won't write what the things I've heard are... I'll wait until I hear them from the horse's mouth.
I don't want to propagate information I've received from third parties.
Come next week, I'll have all my answers, and I'll be free to tell the fucked up, stupid shit form this recent vacation which shattered my longest-held illusion.

I'm the girl

This last week was spent attending my cousins' home to pray the rosary.
Why? I don't know... it was just a random thing where my mom's cousin called her up and said "Yo, I have the patron saint at my house, we're gonna pray to him for a week straight, can you come?" And so, every evening, we'd travel all the way the fuck across town, into the BIG TIME boonies for this pray time.
We'd gather in their awesome living room, pray the rosary, which takes about an hour, then we'd all move the party over to the kitchen, where we'd eat a different delicious meal for seven days.

These cousins are the cousins with whom I tend to have friction... the Euro... guys... remember that from a few years ago? In public, they treat me with a little bit of contempt--I dare say-- but in private, they seem surprised at how interesting and nice I can be.
SO, at this shindig, I'd have time to chit chat with these guys and laugh the night away. We pretty much bonded... since I was the only person under 30 who'd attend.

Yesterday, the last day, the good vibes finally turned to sad times.
What happened?
The boys found out I was the one who upset their friend.
Remember a few weeks ago at my sister's party, where that guy just straight stunned me by suddenly asking me out? Well... turns out he has a lot of friends... a lot of friends who happen to share a gene pool with me.
Now, the guys aren't mad at me, per se... but it's a sad situation... because apparently me turning the guy down really bummed him the fuck out. No, he wasn't bummed because he feels I'm the love of his life, but because he has been turned down so much now, that this last episode with me was the nudge he needed to go over the depression edge.
This has his friends upset because he's such a good dude-- which I believe, because from what I've gathered, and the conversations I heard him having, he was cool-- it hurts them to see him so down.

My cousins were surprised... because clearly I'm such an awkward girl... and I'm very, VERY far away from what the girls in their circle look like, it's surprising for them to think we'd ever coincide.
I apologized profusely... trying to explain myself... but of course, I was so upset with the news, I found myself choking on my words... nearly crying 'n shit.
I eventually acted like I was receiving an important phone call, and excused myself to a hallway.
I looked at my phone for a few minutes, took deep breaths, then worked my way to the empty giant sofa in the family room... where I laid like a corpse until my mother texted me, concerned, asking for my whereabouts.

I feel guilty. And shitty. And stupid.
And so fucking shitty.

I hate knowing that I played a part in making a good person feel bad... that's the last thing I ever want to do.
But I'd still not accept a date with him... and then that makes me feel bad because I feel like a cunt...
Then I ask myself why I wouldn't, and my answer further upsets me: because I can't handle the thought of "learning" to like someone in the romantic sense. I know what I like, I know who I like... and I'll never ever try and force myself to like someone if it's just not there. I can't handle that shit. That thought upsets me... angers me... makes my chest feel heavy with rage... I just can't do it without feeling wildly agitated.

I know I sound crazy... probably hypocritical... or just nonsensical... but... that's what's going on. It fucks with my head, it's all so contradictory.
I'm an asshole.

NEVER LEAVE ME AGAIN!

My left eye has been an unbalanced wreck for about a month now...
My paternal side of the family has been the worst bunch of cunts in my acquaintance for the last month...
My left foot has been healing only to be re-injured for... I don't even know how fucking long...
I've been getting backhanded compliments left and right for the last few weeks ("AnoMALIE looks very good!" Dad: You should have seen her a couple of months ago... face sunken in, bony arms... terrible, just terrible. Now she looks normal.)...

BUT I REGAINED INTERNET! FINALLY.

Something else that has had me smiling lately? My mom's oldest sister is in town, and we've been visiting her every day. She has been retelling some of the funniest stories I've ever heard.
First off, I was reminded why I have such an aversion for people slamming car doors.
"Deja puerta pa' mañana!" The infamous phrase my grandpa would say each time we'd slam his truck door. "Leave some door for tomorrow"... the saying was a huge part of my childhood, I would hear it at least twice a day. Before today, I hadn't heard it in a good ten years. I couldn't help but smile... crazy to see how much I inherited from that man... how much I miss him.
The second story I heard was how he once said he'd eat a shit taco "me como un taco de mierda!" if my grandma would be granted a green card... and when she did get the green card, my aunt took it to him and said "What's up?" and he just laughed and said he was joking. My aunt seriously wanted to see him eat a shit taco. Shit taco... I laughed at the thought... then gaged like a motherfucker. The mental image kills me... ugh.

There were many stories shared, but those two are the most memorable to me, currently.
I'm glad the other side of my family is capable of making me laugh until my stomach hurts... I'd hate to think what kind of human I'd be if BOTH sides were as shitty as my dad's.

Ha-ha! I beat you!

Yesterday at the Quince, I was seated next to my youngest male (first) cousin.
I still remember when he was born, and I especially remember when we went to go visit him for the first time after he and his mom were discharged from the hospital.
This was 1993.
During his baby stage, and toddlerhood, I was his favorite person aside from his mom. I could make that baby laugh with almost anything, and I could also make him stop crying almost immediately.
Then he went to school... and he became withdrawn.
He's very thin, and regardless of what he does, he just can't gain weight. This has made him the target of much bullying and ridicule, even from his own family.
Like many bullied kids, he was forced to gain a personality... a sense of humor.
Hmm... sounds familiar...
My humor comes from my dad. My cousin's humor comes from his dad. Our dads are siblings.
SO, guess who rebuilt their tight bond...

For a good three hours, my 20 year old cousin and I caught up on life... about 15 years of it.
I learned he took French in high school... which made me realize he went to MY high school.
WAIT?! At MY high school?! Since when?! God, I'm a horrible cousin!
I learned he hated high school.
Please tell me you love college...
I learned he loves college, since it's a huge difference from the high school bullshit.

I tried giving him advice. I told him not to be in a rush to get things done, to instead be sure he loves what he is doing. I told him to explore. I told him my biggest regret about college was not traveling... not seeing the world... and majoring in something I did not love.

I loved seeing his little eyes twinkle when I'd say something that surprised him, in a good way. Apparently he thought I was a total shy wallflower with no personality... which is fair enough, since he hardly ever hear me speak after he was about five year old. Can't blame him for suspecting I'm that quiet girl who is only quiet because she can't form any type of opinion.
I felt sad thinking this poor kid knew so very little about me (he actually refuses to get a Facebook. I told him I have crazy respect for those who have cut ties with social networks), and that I knew so little about him... when our relationship started off running, practically from the moment he exited the womb.

There was ONE story which upset me... in the sense that it pissed me off.
He told me about the day our mutual cousin, C, announced her pregnancy back on Christmas last year.
I told him how D and I had to hear the story from my brother, on FB messenger, because D and I were in Mexico for a wedding.
"I heard that my dad was frozen in disbelief... and that the rest of you had no idea what was going on until Vickie (our littlest cousin who is 17) screamed out 'OH MY GOD! YOU'RE PREGNANT!" I said.
"Ha. Oh yeah... she did say that. All I really remember is that I was in a different room from where the action was happening. I was there with my mom and your mom... and I just remember my aunt (my dad's IDIOT youngest sister... the idiot who asked for a house a few weeks ago... A HOUSE!) going up to your mom and saying (while pointing at Mom's face) 'HA-HA! I BEAT YOU AT BEING A GRANDMA!'" he said.
I felt my blood boil.
"Oh yeah! I remember Rafa told me! I didn't know she made it that public, though..." I said.
"Yeah, it was THE FIRST thing out of her mouth. It was... odd," my cousin said that last part while raising his eyebrows and opening his eyes as large as possible.

Our conversation changed to a different topic, but I held on to that anger that I felt brewing inside me.
It ruined my night (well, you know, besides my whole crazy low self-esteem/social anxiety/depression issues. This shit added "rage" to the mix).

The fact that my cousin only remembers my aunt saying this shit to my mother tells me this is something his family must have discussed at his house... and not in a good way. No, I don't think they talked shit about my mom, but quite the contrary... they must have talked about what a crazy idiot sister my dad and his dad must have... to be more concerned about BEATING my mom at something rather than the fact that she was going to BE A FUCKING GRANDMOTHER.
Maaaaaaybe they might have laughed a little.

My mother must have been fuming about the whole issue when it happened.
I brought it up to her today, and she looked... sad. She did not look angry or annoyed... just SAD.
So, I did what I do best: I turn snobby and cunt-astic.
"Next time we see her, I want you to point in her face, laugh, and say 'HA-HA! ALL THREE OF MY CHILDREN ARE COLLEGE GRADUATES!' or 'HA-HA! MY HUSBAND IS NOT AN UNEMPLOYED LAZY ALCOHOLIC!' or 'HA-HA! NONE OF MY CHILDREN ARE DIVORCED!' I give you permission, Mom, I'll back you up. I'm done being nice."
She only smiled.
:(

I hate bitches publicly mocking my momma, making her feel bad. Poor lady.
Cry all the way to the bank, Momma, all the way to the fucking bank.

NOrmal

I am officially retiring from quinceañeras for a while.
No, not in participating-- that ship sailed long ago-- but attending.

The last quince I attended didn't hit me this hard... maybe because I'm not as close to that family as I am to tonight's family.
Maybe I wasn't as upset then because I basically just went in and out.

Today I sat at the party from the very beginning. I had time to sit and admire my surroundings.
And then the nostalgia monster attacked me-- violently.
Maybe I had a worse time because many of the teens present reminded me of my friends, family, and me at that age... we all do look alike, after all.
I was transported to the early '00's... which hit me pretty hard. I thought of the style, the music... the slang of the time. I thought of what it actually felt like to be a hopeful little 14 year old girl... excited about the years to come.
Excited about the upcoming years dating and flirting with boys.
Excited about finally growing out of your awkward chubby stage.
Excited about how cute your crush(es) is (are) going to get.
Excited about the motherfucking future!

God, I was so jealous of those kids and their youth... like some wicked witch in a fairy tale (now I understand why they do all that mean shit).

I was fine, smiling for most of the party... memories do make me feel warm and chirpy for a minute or two.
But the MEAN nostalgia monster takes over... and everything goes to hell.
"AND LOOK AT YOU NOW!" it seems to scream at me.
I lose all concentration and stare idly at the ground as two thirds of the room hit the dance floor-- my conscious paralyzing me with its crippling insults.
"How many of those teen dreams came true for YOU, AnoMALIE?! How much advantage did you take of your youth?! NONE!" it continues to abuse me. "You are A-L-O-N-E! Your dreams are D-E-A-D."

And I finally lose my cool and beg to go home.
And so we do.
I get home, and can't even look at myself in the mirror as I power-walk to my room. I feel like the oldest, ugliest spinster in the world, I fear seeing an old, wrinkled catlady in the reflection. An idiot who wasted her life.
I wash my face and sit in my room in darkness, only my television occasionally illuminating my room, my laptop illuminating my face.
This is the only way I can calm myself down. This is the only way I can silence the self-loathing thoughts.

Others can be extraordinarily mean to me... but I am definitely the most vicious of all-- to myself.

Pre-party, knowing all too well how psychologically fucked up I will be returning.

Somehow, I always manage to make this girl feel like the stupidest, ugliest, oldest, and most useless creature to inhabit the earth-- like the worst waste of space.

I don't think I'll ever be able to stop-- I've tried, but it only worsens with the passage of time.

At least everyone was nice to me at this shindig, not a single backhanded compliment was given. There's that.

Sweetness leaves the Earth

I know I have wild mood swings... and I can either be irritatingly joyful, depressed to a worrisome degree, or in the middle of a blinding rage. I try to be rational and calm for the most part... try to find an explanation for things, after all, it's how I try to calm myself down when I find myself in a scary mood.
How is this helping you in any way? How is screaming all these profanities at an unsuspecting lady driving down the street helping in any way?
Ok, and locking yourself in your room in complete darkness is going to uplift your spirits... how...?
I know this is fun... but take it down a notch... you're getting a little too loud and obnoxious, homie.

For the last month, I've been dealing with this inexplicable sense of fear-- not dread, but fear.
The scariest moment was a couple of weeks ago, when I woke up in the middle of the night, scared out of my mind, with my heart pounding in my chest... and just KNOWING something was standing in the corner of my room, to my left... I just KNEW something or someone was there-- a masculine energy-- staring at me. It was a dark figure, and I saw it when I opened my eyes and looked over-- heart pounded so hard, I swore I was going to suffer a heart attack-- then I closed my eyes and told myself I'd keep my eyes closed and act as if I was asleep.
It can't do anything to me if it thinks I'm asleep... act asleep... breathe slowly... don't move... DON'T open your eyes.
It was agonizing... so fucking agonizing.
I sat paralyzed in my bed, trying to stay calm as I felt my left leg grow BURNING hot for a good five seconds, then immediately ice-cold. Then again to the burning, but this time up to my stomach... where I could have sworn my bed sheet was catching fire (no, I was not thinking of the Hunger Games), and again the scary cold on the leg. It was so goddamn terrifying and befuddling.
WHAT IN THE FUCK IS GOING ON?! DON'T open your eyes, AnoMALIE!
After what felt like an eternity, I finally opened my eyes and reached for my phone, turning on the flashlight function.
The time was 3:36 AM. I wanted to piss my pants... I HATE waking up at three in the morning... because I do believe that's a bad hour... fuck 3 AM.

This sort of shit happens to my sister all the time-- she's the one who sees "dead people." She's the one who suffers those paralyzing moments where dead family members come up to her and speak to her (in her latest episode, she saw Tyson, happily wagging his tail and licking her face, which removed all sense of fear in her... and that's when my paternal grandmother appeared. Sis was embarrassed to tell me about it because she thought I'd laugh at her because of a dog "speaking" to her, but it was totally the opposite. I'd fucking kill-- not literally-- to see Tyson one more time, my love). My "ability" is to sense when someone close to me is going to die... which I think is better than that petrifying shit I felt.

Anyway, after that scary shit, I kept getting perturbing dreams. I kept waking up and telling my mom "Someone's trying to talk to me... a dead person... or... do you know of someone who recently died or is dying? Because that homeboy or homegirl wants to talk to me. Someone has some unresolved issues or some shit."
Then last week, as I was driving to the gym, I tried changing the radio station as I backed out of the garage, and my car refused. I'd be able to turn the nobs, but when I'd press enter, either on the steering wheel or the MMI (multi media center... Audi is a classy bastard), I'd get nothing. Then, randomly, the station switched to a non-existent station, where I listened to white noise. I could not switch on or off or to the satellite radio, or CDs... my car was forcing me to listen to white noise... for the 20 minute commute.
Oh FUCK... FUCK FUCK! I just fucked up my car... it isn't even a year and a half old! My mom's going to fucking murder me!
I spent gym time freaked the fuck out over what I was going to tell Mom about my fucked up car.
When it was time to go home, I turned on my car, and it was back to normal. Instead of feeling relief, I felt another type of fear...
Uhm... is Mr. WillyBoy... haunted? What. The. Fuck? I think I preferred it when I thought it was a mechanical issue...

I came home and told Mom all about it.
Mom: Keep watching your scary shows, AnoMALIE... serves you right!
Me: Mom... someone's going to die.

Tuesday night, as I sat in my room, I was on my way to the bathroom when I heard--clearly-- someone call out my name. Clearly.
I didn't feel scared, since the name was called out very calmly... none of that haunting shit you hear in movies.
I thought it was Mom trying to ask me for a favor... even if the voice wasn't anything like hers (that woman screams like she's at the Superbowl, regardless of where her audience may be, despite what ever mood she may be in).
When I walked over to the living room and asked what she needed, she was surprised I was out there.
Mom: I didn't call you, Mija... it's almost midnight.

This morning, I woke up weepy... a heavy feeling on my chest... and I was just... randomly crying... crying hard... out of the blue.
At first, I thought maybe I was just regrouping from all this BoxingTrainer Drama bullshit of the last days... that I was upset with myself for blowing up the way I did.
Then in the middle of my gym routine I get the text: my maternal grandpa's brother-- the sweetest, gentlest one-- passed away.
And so... there I sat amongst the weights... crying like a pussy.

You know... I try to rationalize shit... to debunk all this supernatural shit... but I can't. So many strange little nothings occur to me... they all build up... and while I can't tell WHAT will happen, or when it'll happen... or TO WHOM it'll happen... it ends the same: I lose a loved one.
I don't know how the person will die, when he will die, or WHO will be the one dying... I just know the loss will hurt me.
I wish I could point to a particular person and say "Hey, you, love the fucking shit out of your grandpa right now... because he's going to die... he has been coming to me at night, scaring the shit out of me... and I think it's because he wants me to tell you to quit being a cunt and go say goodbye to him like a normal person. He misses you... now GO!" but I can't. Instead I sit in my room, paranoid as fuck, hoping these creepy things stop... or for them to just become clearer and tell me how I can help out or whatever the fuck needs to be done.

Godspeed, uncle. You were a sweet, caring man. Thank you for proving not only to me, but to the rest of the Hometowners that the M******* men are capable of deeply loving, and respecting women... giving your wife her rightfully deserved respect, and treating her with the endless love you promised her until the very end.
I will miss your stories... your romantic, adorable stories.
Thank you for being one of the only souls capable of, and CONCERNED with, bringing back my grandfather from the dark side to which he always fell victim.

All of it?

Planning any trip has been a complete fiasco this year.
I'd be more upset about it, however, seeing how it has been happening with every single planned trip, I can't help but see it as a sign.

This Cancun trip... goddamn.
It was meant to be strictly relaxation time... with a few friends. Just chill time by a body of water, with the daily trip to the bar to passionately scream at whatever soccer match would be going on... with some more relaxation afterward.

So far, everyone has had to work during the week we have planned for the vacation... all except one, because she's unemployed.
This woman? My mother's sister.
"Just pay for your plane ticket, and your dinner, and you're good," my mother told her.
This seems reasonable, right? We're footing the cost of the rooms... that's reasonable as fuck, if you ask me.
Well, now we're not on speaking terms with the woman because she's PISSED we asked her to pay for her own fucking plane ticket... despite my mom telling her she'd pay for the room and one of her meals each day.

...
I don't get that shit. I don't get it AT. ALL.
I'd be angry about it, but this seems to happen so much with my dad's side of the family, I've pretty much gotten over others feeling entitled to free shit from us (a few weeks ago, Dad's little sister ASKED for a house... no lie... a fucking house). Well, I'm over feeling enraged... that is, I feel sad now, but not angry.
I'm increasingly upset now because my mom's sister is the culprit behind this latest episode of... entitlement... and then for her to act like the offended party.
... What?

So... my mother is sad, because this is something she has always had to deal with since her childhood (her family was the richest in the town, so others were always taking advantage of her siblings and her), which has now reached a new level because it's now her sister who has once again tried this sheisty move.
And me? Well, I'm just dumbfounded by it all. Oh, I'm also frustrated... you know, because nothing is working out.

I just want to be far, far away... disconnected from everyone and everything... occasionally laughing in the company of strangers... but all signs point to me staying put in my good ol' hometown.

Blahhhhh.
People are interesting.

Can we quit it with the herd issues?

My brother was in town this weekend. What was more surprising was that we did not fight a single time during the four days he was in town... not a single instant.
We just laughed, discussed GMOs, talked about his roommates and their good/bad habits, and watched tennis... a lot of tennis.
We're getting old, man.

My weekend's interaction with my little sister was not this smooth.
The girl is depressed... so very heartbroken and disillusioned by everyone.
These instances are where I'm sort of... thankful for the difficulties I faced as a kid... how I was so young when I learned that people can be absolutely horrible... and that physical aggression is much easier to deal with than psychological/emotional abuse.
Get your ass beat by a crazy bitch, be embarrassed and hurt for a few days, but you'll live. Sure, the ass-kicking can leave lasting physical scars... bruises... cuts... black eyes... missing teeth... bald spots... shit of that nature, but I'll take that shit ANYTIME over having to deal with the everlasting trauma of psychological/emotional abuse some fucking cunts are so masterful at administering.
While I do have to live with the PTSD-like symptoms these abusive moments left in my mind, it does makes me pretty good at helping, or at least consoling, others when they deal with similar instances.

The trouble Sister has is that she's unable to enjoy (or be comfortable with) her alone time. She just can't be alone without her subconscious lobbing insults of the "You're such a fucking loser!" kind.
I always try to educate her in the art of people-watching... but she's a hard study.
Just shut up and check out your surroundings. See those bees over there? What are they swarming on? That chunk of crepe? Now... try to invent a little story in you head of the type of person who dumped a bit of crepe so damn fucking close to the trash bin, in the middle of this pretty park.
Check out her shoes. Would you ever wear those? Do they look comfortable? Do you have outfits that match that shit? Why would anyone buy those fucking shoes? Do people wonder that shit when they look at my shoes? Of course they do.
Did you catch her accent? Where do you think she's from? Why haven't we traveled there yet? Can you imitate that accent? Try.
Look at his face-- he totally likes her, and she doesn't give a shit... she's checking out that hot dude over there instead. Ufff.
I liked her nose, I'm going to draw that nose in my next painting... that shit is fucking interesting.
Sister's reaction to all these pointers seems to be the same: that's stupid.

Sister needs to understand that it is perfectly normal, and acceptable, to think your family is the best company... because they are, after all, the first friends you ever make. You are not weird, or a loser, if you prefer to chill with family... and you definitely don't HAVE to be part of a fucking HERD to be happy.

Needs to

These first couple of months are the busiest I am throughout the year.
I do all of the on-line bullshit required for my dad's businesses... for free.

This on-line back and forth with various entities has me logging in and out of my dad's personal e-mail account... because that's how he wants it to be done.

I think it was last year where I had that unpleasant surprise of the Cuban hussy who'd email my dad shady shit.
This year I had a different surprise.

Today, as I went to my dad's email (on his insistence. I never just think to myself "I haven't checked my dad's email... let's see if there's anything FOR ME." He usually says something to the effect of "I got something in the mail about that thing," which of course, frustrates the fucking shit out of me. Could he be any more vague?), I saw his Mexican buddy-- the one from Cancun-- had emailed him.
Dude, I cried.

It's one thing to have strangers, and even so-called friends... even distant relatives talk shit... but another entirely when I catch my close ones talking shit.
There, in front of my eyes, was a discussion about ME... their concern for my lack of motivation. How I NEED to choose something to study.

Need to? I'm sorry, but if I'm not mistaken, I DID study something... something I fucking hated and that made me physically sick for so many years of my life. I vomited, cried, and stressed to the point of losing my hair, all the way to a degree in Biology. Give me a fucking break.

I HATE how my dad speaks of me as if I were some fucking... high school drop out. Some fucking burn out. The worst fucking failure to exist in the entire family tree.
Maybe I did burn out... but that was AFTER I completed what I set out to do: get that fucking science degree to hand to my folks and finally say "I'm DONE."
But I guess the fact that I'm a girl who doesn't work OR is involved in a promising relationship means I failed at life.

And I totally feel that's pretty damn valid and true.

But you know... sometimes a girl gets tired of pleasing others. So damn tired.

I could be having a fucking amazing week, where all I have been doing has been smiling (that's all I've ever wanted in my fucking life. I just want a goddamn reason to smile. Ever. Fucking EVER)... and then someone like my dad goes off and depresses the fucking shit out of me.

My sister flies in tonight, so HEY! Brave face, everyone!

Just so happy

During this vacation, we had a very limited number of hours to spend as a complete family.
My parents showed up Friday morning, the wedding took place all of Saturday, and Sunday we had to drive D to the airport at 10 in the morning.

Friday the 27th was the best day we've had in a very long time.
We spent a good five hours in the car (total), and for the first time--possibly EVER-- we did not fight. We laughed... and laughed... and cried.
We reminisced about our toddler days... we talked about the future... and then, finally, once Mom was too overcome with a weird combination of joy and sorrow, she started to cry. Rafa was driving, Dad was co-pilot, and Mom was sitting between D and I in the back of the MitsubishiWhatever that my folks rented.
"You're crying?" Rafa asked, mimicking a toddler's voice.
"Yes..." Mom said.
"Aww... don't cry... this is a great moment... we're all together having a laugh... in Mexico!" I said.
"I'm just... so happy," said Mom.
And so, there we were, driving down a quiet Mexican road... all five of us shedding some tears.

I don't know if this is normal... I don't know if every family is this... close... but mine is.
We have INTENSE fights... we're always screaming... we're always threatening one another... and did I mention we're ALWAYS screaming?
But good God, separate us, and we turn into sad motherfuckers. What's worse is that we don't notice just how SAD we are until we are once again reunited.
"Savor the moment. Savor THIS moment!" was all I could think, it was all that was in my mind.

I'll always have that car ride burned in my memory... it has become one of my favorites.

Averting Disaster

I spent Mother's Day weekend diffusing a bomb.

Mexican Mother's Day was Friday, and that day went rather smoothly.
Then yesterday happened.

First off, my day went to shit since the dress alterations went to round two, and took much longer than expected. I cannot complain of this, however, since I was only charged 15 bucks for the fixing of the garbage I was originally handed.
(I did cry a little in my tailor's bathroom... since I went in there about ten times to try on the dress each time he altered it. Thanks to this blog, I've come to realize I do a lot of crying in bathrooms... that should be my fucking M.O.)
In hopes of forgetting the frustrating business that is dress alterations, we decided to go visit my mother's sister.
This was the bomb.
Her eldest son and she were arguing... fiercely-- tears and snot all over the place.
It was the most awkward entrance I've ever made.
Rather than sit in the kitchen and witness any more barbaric, irrational behavior (I can hardly stand my own, much less other people's), I walked outside and played with the poor dog who was equally confused as I.
I allowed Mom to stay inside and add her voice to the chaotic scene.

After perhaps half an hour, the son left, and we remained with my aunt.
This was where the diffusing began.
While things appeared to have calmed, my aunt remained... irrational. She had made her son believe she was cool, but in reality, she was planning to remain... harboring resentment.

I worked my empathy magic... and left feeling rather proud of myself, thinking I had solved a very uncomfortable problem.

Then today happens.
Auntie wouldn't answer her phone or texts.
Mom and I had two options: remain equally petty, or talk some fucking sense into her.
And so, after some gentle, silly coaxing, she came around.

This is how Mother's Day 2013 was NOT ruined.
Yup.

AnoMALIE who?

These last few days have been hectic. I think my schedule's finally going back to normal after tonight.

Funeral's are always interesting.
A gathering of Hometown people... who spend hours morbidly watching every last detail... critique everything from the lighting, to the casket, to the amount of crying being done.
It's frustrating.
Guys and girls gossip at the same level... although guys also spend this time trying to hook up. Of course.

This time, I definitely wasn't accosted. There was an awkward encounter in the parking lot as I made my way into the funeral home, and that one "AWWWWKWAAAARD!" guy from my cousin's wedding bumped into each other. Had it been up to me, I would have walked away without acknowledging him, but since Mom was with me, she pretty much stopped fuckin' traffic to greet the bitch.
But that's enough of that fuck.
For the most part, I was extremely sad at the funeral. Granted, that's how you're expected to feel... but I felt sad to a different level.
I was sad about my uncle, and seeing my loved ones all bummed out-- obviously-- but I grew increasingly sad as I paid closer attention to my surroundings. I felt SO. ALONE.
Life is so different without my siblings.
Who cares about friends and social lives... I'm talking my identity as a person... who am I without my siblings? Am I worth a damn?
Apparently, to the people here, not at all. I'm a ghost.
This position I always suspected, since I always knew people admired my brother for being so smart and out-going, and admired my sister for being so pretty. I've always been the "Oh yeah, the other one!" Now, without my siblings around, people are becoming blatantly obvious about their concept of me: none.

I sat with Mom and Mooney's family, and watched as my paternal-side cousins treated me like a stranger. They had their clique of girls, and there I sat, alone (Mom eventually moved me to the edge of the bench so she could chit-chat with her homies. I sat there staring off into space, occasionally dealing with a lady who'd accidentally sit on my lap-- seriously, smack-dab in the middle of my lap).

I immediately thought of JC, telling me I should never feel sad about this sort of deal... because it only has as much power as I wish to give it, in terms of hurting my feelings. I only allow them to exclude me. If I really wanted, I could enter the circle at any time.
I guess I could... but as a girl who grew up an observer of human behavior... I find it very difficult to force myself into anything. I just back up and... make the observation: Welp, as suspected, my dad's nieces don't give a fuck about me unless they need to kick someone's ass or they need a baby-sitter. Duly noted.

Not gonna lie, I felt the urge to cry when I saw the cousins went to check out Downtown as a group... and didn't even bother to TEXT me.
I don't care if friends do this, I expect it. It's NORMAL.
But family? When doing a FAMILY outing? It hurt.

Good thing it's over and I no longer have to subject myself to further torture.

I was nine.

"I never... I never fully believed my dad was dead. I thought I was normal, like all the other girls in town-- I thought my dad was one of the numerous dads living in the US. That's what I told myself. I thought I just wouldn't see him because he could never make enough money to visit us, unlike all the other dads who would drop by once or twice a year to see their family.
"I remember when Mom finally purchased our house... and I stood in the empty living room. I walked to every corner and did the same thing-- I thought 'If only my dad could be here. Dad... please... come back. Right now. And see all this. See how pretty OUR house is. See how happy we are. Please show up, Dad.' Then, I remember closing my eyes, and seeing him... I saw him SO vividly, in this pale-blue shirt... his wavy hair parted on the side. He didn't say anything. I didn't say anything. We just looked at each other... then he cracked a smile.
"Mom walked in and called my name. 'Gloria, what are you doing? Are you... ok?' she asked. 'I saw him. I saw my dad. He was wearing a pale-blue shirt, and his hair was curly, parted to the side,' I told her. 'Did he say anything?' Mom asked. 'He's dead. I always felt he was dead... but when he smiled... I knew he was dead. My dad's dead, Mom,' I said. Mom hugged me, 'You're right, honey. I'm sorry.'
I stopped being a kid that day. I grew up. I was nine."

I've never been a fan of Gloria... that woman is one of the biggest offenders when it comes to giving me backhanded compliments... she's the ruling champion.
Tonight, she shared this story with my mom, aunt, and me.

This is why it's so impossible for me to hate people.
That story crushed my heart... and it wasn't the only story of the night to do so.

Teddy Osita

Guess what this girl is doing right now...

I'm sleeping in my momma's bed, right next to the little lady.
She's such a little chicken, she always makes me do this when Dad leaves... not that I can complain... well, kinda, sometimes... when she smothers me-- yes, I'm smothered by a woman who stands no taller than 5'3" on a good day.
It's an activity I've always done, and when we go to Mexico, I always sleep next to my mother.
I guess that's something I can do without much problem since I've slept next to someone since I was about three, and D came into my life. I've learned to squeeze anywhere in order to get some shuteye-- I can sleep standing up.
I definitely don't need to feel someone with me in order to sleep peacefully, but it seems the people in my life DO. I oblige... since I'm into comforting others.
D and I still share a bed when we travel anywhere... We ended up sharing her bed when I visited her in Chicago. Before leaving the house, D still had moments where she'd walk into my room at night and ask if she could sleep in my bed (of course I'd let her... after making fun of her for a couple of minutes).

I'm my family's living, breathing teddy bear. This empty shell of a human manages to comfort her loved ones with just her presence.
... maybe it's because they think I'll be the first one taken out in case something bad goes down? They'll have a chance to run once they hear me getting killed...

... Eh, whatevs. I'd probably be cool with that anyway.