cheaters never prosper

Well, I'll be fucking damned...

I'll never complain about my parents arguing, because despite their frustration with one another, they remain loyal... and adhere to the commitment they made, contract they signed: I'm sucking this shit up until one of us croaks of natural causes.

I never knew how tight wound I was as far as infidelity is concerned. I mean, I knew I was a stickler-- it's why I'm single as good ol' dollar bills... well, you know, partly due to that. But yeah, I don't feel capable of sticking with a dude for the rest of my life... at least I haven't felt that way about any of the guys who have shown interest in me (again, because the guys I've always liked have wanted nothing to do with me).

Dealing with this couple has made me fall into some despair, because I had never dealt with infidelity/marriage deterioration in such proximity. I'm just an observer, but goddamn, is it heartbreaking.
I've spent more on the two daughters of this fucked up couple (I don't like referring to them like that, because the girl is such a sweet person... but in the last five days I've seen her transform into a jaded, cynical woman. It devastates me) in the last week than I spent on myself the last half of 2015.

At Disney, I'm pretty sure I was the only person frowning. I couldn't muster the heart to smile because I kept watching this family interact and my mind couldn't stop thinking about the sadness this trip will carry for the kids in the future-- "the last trip as a family we ever took... and it was to Disney."
They'll think of it as "remembering the good ol' days," a time when their parents' marriage "might have" been salvageable in the children's eyes, but to the rest of us observing the scene, it was blatantly... painfully obvious that there was no turning back-- hatred finally entered the heart of the mother.

The wife, Mom, Pacemaker (she joined us and caught on to what was going on without me telling her), and I watching this fucking imbecile man buy HIS LOVER all sorts of Disney shit, while his daughters and wife just wished to own something from the place (I tried buying them stuff, but they adamantly refused because we had already paid for their entry fees and hotel... and we drove them out there. By "they" I mean the wife and kids... the husband doesn't mind taking as much as he can).
This made me SO sick to my stomach... to see this fucking asshole behave this way... but opted not to make a scene... because it was motherfucking DISNEYLAND. The audacity and shamelessness of this piece of shit irked me to the point of giving me a headache that lasted two days.

All this observing has made me incredibly resentful of the man. I go out without inviting him, but I take his wife and kids EVERYWHERE. When he asks me a question, my reply is ALWAYS "I don't know." Always. I am NEVER alone with that guy, ever. Fuck that motherfucker. The good guy I met in CR died the day he decided his wife and kids were a burden... when he decided he "wanted to experience what normal guys" his age experience... when he decided his dick was more important than the self-esteem and comfort of his children.

Fuuuuuuuuck that guy, man. Fuck. That. Guy.

"Gabby"

There is no reason for me to be overly sentimental, biologically speaking... but these last two days have been me either crying my eyes out, or me biting my bottom lip in public in order to keep from bursting into tears.

I didn't think I'd be this messed up over what happened in Paris, but boy, I have found myself crying at random times of the day since receiving the news yesterday afternoon.
I didn't think I was this attached to the city... but my heart is seriously broken.
My mind juxtaposes the serenity and love I feel when in Paris, with thoughts of the sheer horror they must have been feeling yesterday... and then I think back to being the incredibly ostracized, lonely 9th grader, sitting in my French class instead of being in the school cafeteria, and how I'd just sit in class, doing homework, or writing letters I was never going to send... feeling so infinitely lonely and anxious, only to be soothed by my teachers stories of his childhood in france, all while listening to his favorite French oldies music... those 20 minutes being both my day's reprieve, while also the most anxious part of my day ("here comes the same loser to sit in a classroom for 20 minutes without eating anything because she can't handle the thought of the ostracism she'll face in the giant cafeteria... faaaantastic... I hope he's in the room...").
--The serenity I feel when present in the city
--The thought of the horror and panic of the victims of yesterday's horrible acts
--The nostalgia/dread/sadness of some of the worst moments of my adolescence
ALL swirling in my mind.
These conflicting thoughts and feelings mindfucking the shit out of me... and it just makes me cry quite inconsolably.
I don't know if it makes sense, but I don't care if it does. It's too much feeling... too much thinking... too much reminiscing.


Not only am I hypersensitive thanks to the attacks... but today I had to put a brave face at the baby shower of my childhood crush's girl.
He was the first guy to give me butterflies in my stomach.
My summers in Mexico were spent day-dreaming about him... finding any excuse to walk past his house in the mornings... then talking the night away at the infamous alamo of Hometown.
I remember being eight, helping my maternal grandmother peel charred green chilies... looking up one of the times, only to make eye-contact with this kid who looked my age... his green eyes looking into mine, his smile revealing braces... then both of us shyly looking down at our busy hands.
That's my first memory of him-- the moment my heart first skipped a beat for a dude.
My youth spent wishing, hoping for the day he'd ask me to... be his girlfriend... and then practically running away when he was inches away from saying something.
"Oh, no... now with this Europe trip, she'll be even more unreachable for... the guys," he told my parents after my first Europe trip.
Unreachable... ?
Never unreachable-- quite the contrary, actually-- just within grasp, patiently waiting, watching you choose everyone BUT me... watching you watching ME wither away.

And so... I went to his Baby Shower today. I... put on that same fucking stupid brave face I put on for the goddamn motherfucking world... and congratulated him, and assured him I was stoked for him... all the while feeling my childhood dreams fade into oblivion. Memories which helped get me through the difficult days of my teens, completely disintegrating with every minute I passed sitting at my pink round table... the only single, childless girl in the vicinity.

He is always so nice to me, so genuinely happy to see me... and it breaks my heart. I smile in return, hug him tightly... but feel something inside of me break loudly, irreparably. Each time.

If you always found me so interesting and rad... why did you let me slip away without a single word? Why didn't you even TRY? ... You didn't even TRY...

I often find myself wondering if they, these guys who have known of my feelings (they always know. I always tell them. I told THIS guy... everyone told this guy... EVERYONE KNEW), ever observe me at events and feel sorry for me. It's always the same story-- I am alone, quiet... and smiling when listening to others or answering their questions... but I am alone. Nothing ever changes. Does that make them feel sorry for me?

Before I make myself cry, I remind myself that I should never ask questions whose answers I'm not ready to hear.


... Having a hardcore Brave Little Toaster moment. I hope I get better soon.

betrayal of betrayals

You know how I tend to keep quiet when a bad situation is aggravating the shit out of me... and how it only snowballs out of control until I'm fucking irate and ready to start destroying my own property?
Well, that is sort of happening now.

I was quiet for months, and now, it seems more information is coming to light which is only WORSENING the situation.
Of course, this is all my fault, and only my fault (said sincerely. No sarcasm here) because I always place people on pedestals. I never learn my lesson about never putting my hands in the fire for anyone.

The gist goes like this:
I went to Europe at the ends of May.
I paid for my trip AND my godson's trip-- all of it, EVERYTHING. So, it was basically one Euro-trip for the price of two.
Being kind, it turns out, is always a bad idea... because people are terrible assholes.
People have heard stories about this Euro-trip... and they're mostly bad... about ME. IMAGINE THAT! Does that shock anyone?

These stories have gotten back to me, not all... but many. AND, at the end of the week I head over to the Bay where I will hear them straight from the people who my good ol' godson talked to.

I will pay any price to learn the true nature of a person... and I just paid a pretty fucking penny to learn that this kid is the biggest piece of work yet.

bullets

Today marks my big television debut...
Hahaha... no, not television... I mean, it's on a certain streaming platform... not like people with shitty internet connection (like I do) would be able to see it.
And I'm pretty sure I'll be seen in only one episode... well, I hope that's all... no, in truth, I hope they somehow found a way to crop me out, or just deleted the scene... but no, I'm pretty fucking prominent... so... I'll more than likely show up... and I REALLY hope no one who knows me watches (hence why I won't give more information here).

I'm a little more alert now. Last night I found myself falling asleep in the middle of my typing. I finished the entry feeling like I do when I embark on a driving mission from Hometown, and we hit the horrible hell that is the area between Phoenix and Las Vegas-- that stretch of road is the worst torture of the 20+ hours of non-stop driving (your brain tells you you're almost home, and it gives you a little buzz... but the road is dark and desolate, nothing to stare at in hopes of keeping your mind busy, so your eyes begin to feel heavy as lead. It's horrible).

Anyway, the young man I wrote about last night was none other than good ol' MGH.
His cousin called me to complain about his behavior... hoping to get me to somehow fix the situation.
"AnoMALIE, he got KICKED OUT OF THE CASINO because they caught him in the bathroom with some girl doing... well, you know!" she said.
"Blow?" I asked.
"...Job... Among other things. Not drugs," she said.
"He's always had those tendencies... randomly fucking girls, regardless of his relationship status. I learned that... umm... five years ago, when I took him to Cancun," I said.
"All I could think was about how terrible I feel for *HisCurrentGirlfriend*!" she said.
"Yeah, he has always been putting me in the predicament. We'll be hanging out and I'll suddenly see him doing some shady, dirty shit with a complete stranger. I'll have to look away, because I feel guilty, but I'm not his mom to chastise him or try to correct him... so I choose not to deal with it at all and just let him fuck up his own life."

His cousin (Pacemaker) was discussing this subject with me for a good half-hour. I had to try and help her shake off the guilt.
Like I said last night, this whole situation had me thinking back to the huge explosion I had with this guy, MGH. The painful heartbreak I was in for SO fucking long. That weird-ass relationship of ours. I told that dude stuff I've never told other guys. I was closer to him than I've ever been with any guy. I was seriously moments away from moving out there for him.
I had some of the most entertaining moments of my life with that guy... and some of the most sour. I don't think I've cried so much thanks to a guy than I did with MGH. Homeboy had me fucked up.

The heartbreak I have with Darcy is SO NOT like the one with MGH-- for one, Darcy never EVER ever acknowledged me as... even a romantic POSSIBILITY. He has absolutely zero fault over my heartbreak (well... ummm... I do get upset over how I'm PREEEEEEEETTYYYYYY fucking sure he knew of my feelings for him and how he STILL tried to pin me onto a dude I repeatedly told I had ZERO interest in... but whatever. Bros before hoes, right? Trying to do his buddy a solid. Whatever. But still, all of that shit PALES in comparison to the fucking BULLSHIT stunts MGH deliberately pulled on me). It's just shit that happens when you're a shy, quiet idiot who yearns for someone she'll perpetually hold a candle for, but never actually go for... mainly because it's totally unrequited. It's what we shy folk do... because we're fucking dumb and don't know how to fix that tendency. It's the life of an emotionally fucked up introvert. Whatever.
But MGH lead me on. And used me. Shamelessly used me. He'd hold that proverbial carrot in front of me and watch as I'd faithfully follow in hopes of catching it. I was a blind moron and he used that to his advantage... just handing me crumbs the moment he'd catch me moving on, just to reel me back in.
I kept him company during the difficult time he had readjusting to life in a foreign country when he was a teen. I kept him from feeling alone... the kid's a social butterfly, "alone time" kills them. I encouraged him when he needed it, made him laugh when he had an extra shitty day, and stroked his ego when he was feeling ugly and fat (not to mention I physically massaged his back for HOURS almost every time I saw him). I'd stay up until four in the morning sometimes, video-chatting with him until one of us was completely exhausted.

I'm not going to sit here and act like I regret all that stuff... 'cause I'd be lying if I said that shit wasn't fun, or that it didn't help ME feel better... because it was fun, and those laughs/smiles are memories I'll cherish.
But man, was that shit draining... and... well, it fucked me up to watch him flirt and fuck all these girls, just random, forgettable girls... indiscriminately... and I'd have to pretty much beg for him to HUG me. Today, I hug that cat left and right, but back then? Homeboy acted like I had some contagious skin disease... or I was made of some deadly high voltage or some shit.
The years of the back and forth finally led to my angry outburst, demanding to know WHY he treated me the way he did... why he never gave me an honest decent shot, the title of his girlfriend, when he knew and SAW how much I loved him. "AM I NOT A GIRL?! I fucking love you! To me you are perfect!"
And his response is one of those sentences that is burned into my memory:
... I don't know what to say... ?

Nothing. You don't need to say anything.

And I cried. I cried for fucking months.
I couldn't stop crying because I felt so... unloveable. Here I had this guy, who had known me for the majority of our lives, and who knew things about me that no one else knew... who knew me better than any guy on the planet... and he STILL was unwilling to give ME a shot.  Still unwilling to go give me a shot knowing exactly how strongly I felt for him, and how much I was willing to do for him. The same guy I spent years watching as he hooked up with the ugliest, dumbest, sluttiest, trashiest, grossest girls... patiently waiting for him to finally call me next... was turning ME down. I was considered LESS than these LEGITIMATE whores. At least, that was my thought process at the time.
Nothing feels shittier than that. Nothing had ever made me feel so insignificant.

But eventually, I picked myself up, and chose our friendship over everything.
And I continued to watch him go back to his ways of random hook-ups... this while he was now dating a new girl. I'd see his lovey posts to her... all that corny, love-struck bullshit, only to later watch him become a dog once he was in Vegas, away from his girl.

I thought he had finally changed with this new girl... but I guess I was wrong.

So yeah... a few years back I was distraught over this rejection. My sense of self-worth was non-existent.
Now I... well, I'm glad it happened.
Painful as shit to experience, but MAN, I sure fucking dodged a giant bullet.
This was just... stubbing my toe on a corner, really.

Now I really hope his close friends don't think I'm his side-piece, because what kind of fucking idiot hangs around a guy for 22 years without ever fucking him, right?
(This idiot. This idiot who apparently wasn't a girl until about... three years ago)

in deep

Ten years ago I knew I was done.
I was in deep.

And I still couldn't keep eye contact. I still stared at the table directly in front of me... but instead of being directly across from me, he was now directly to my left. I did everything in my power to avoid looking in that direction... because I'd feel my face go up in temperature at the mere thought. I knew I'd probably blush like a dumbass, and that was obviously the worst thing I could do.

The belt-buckle semester.

... I'm... I can't write.
Not today.

sooooo bad

I lack expertise on many things... actually, I'm pretty bad with most things.

But knowing how NOT to wreck your life? I'm an expert... mainly because I've been so motherfucking GREAT at fucking shit up for myself. All you really have to do if you want to succeed at something, is do the opposite of what I did.

Knowledge on how to deal with heartbreak? Girl, I got you.

Today's relationship issue was my sister's. While we're not on the best of places in our own sisterly bond, I still don't like knowing she's out there alone in the world crying over some douchebag.

Does it get better? Meh. Maybe if you're attractive... which my sister is. For me? No, it doesn't get better. That motherfucking line is BULLLLLLSHIT for a girl like me... time has proven it. Repeatedly. I stand here, don't I? I'm nearly 30, and I'm here to say that NO, it certainly fucking doesn't get better for some people. It certainly has never gotten better for me. But my sister is of a different kind of girl... she has always been popular. I'm more of the... odd rarity-- the one poor fool who gets struck by lightning, repeatedly, but never wins something like the lotto.

Does it stop hurting? No... you just become a little numb to it... sometimes forgetting, as long as someone or something doesn't exacerbate the memory. You learn to function, even feel stuff for other people... but the hurt remains there, ready to flare up at the slightest provocation. Feelings of inadequacy will linger, probably forever. You memorize every single word he utters to you. Every single painful letter... of whatever ugly, stupid, hurtful sentence he manages to spew at you to finally dropkick the fucking shit out of your heart.
I don't know what to say?
Just another girl, nothing more, nothing less.
You'll walk past a Margaritaville, and find yourself locked in a bathroom stall five minutes later, crying your eyes out after the memories prove too tough to handle.
Or you'll be sitting in a dimly lit room, watching others drink... and you'll immediately head out in search for a brighter room, all in hopes of not bursting into sobs.
But you'll function... and many normal days will come. Shit, you'll even have some awesome days... numerous awesome days.

Do I think my sister will get better? Yep. Do I think she'll find another love? Of course, it's her. My advice to her is true, I believe in it... for her case.

At least she has that memory, that knowledge, that at some point, he felt something for her.... obviously not as strong as she did, but at least enough for him to give her the time of day... for years. She felt it. Literally.
Even if the feeling never evolved to love from his behalf, at least it wasn't apathy. At least she wasn't "just another girl." At least she had a name. At least she heard him say her name. At least she existed to him.
She has to find some solace in that.
She was something, someone, at some point. That has to count for something.
***

I hadn't thought about this fucking subject in a minute. Now this. Great. Fucking great.
(I lie. Last month I had a very comforting dream. Comforting, just comforting. I was sitting, facing a lake on a summer evening, watching the sun set. Pink sky. Knees hugged against my chest... crying. Then suddenly I feel him gently patting my back. Nothing romantic... nothing... romantic... just compassion. A comforting patting of my back, letting me know everything would be ok. Just that same comforting, silent company. He hadn't crossed my mind for a while until that dream... tumbled everything back to zero. I'm back to zero)

First in three

Espere hasta el ultimo minuto. Preferi dormir y estár inconsciente, en vez de estar despierta y agonizar con cada minuto que me acercaba a la cruda verdad:
Lo que a sido la base de nuestra conversación por la mayoría de nuestra amistad ya no importaba... ya era cosa perdida.
Y así fue: silencio.

A lot of shit happens in four years.
A lot.
Four years ago I was still very fat.
Four years ago I had yet to try my hand at grad school applications (and eventual rejections).
Four years ago I still had Tyson.
Four years ago I was-- incredibly-- less heartbroken than I am today.

Seventeen years were spent thinking that life would get better if I lost weight. Middle school, high school, and college spent thinking that one day, one day I'd actually find a way to drop weight... and when that day would come, I would be treated like a person... even possibly be liked.
Weight came off, and all these thoughts proved to be massively incorrect. Instead of all problems magically dissolving, and happiness magically replacing them, problems only reached a new degree. Suddenly, I had this new problem where some dudes were hating on me for not allowing them to treat me like a sleazy whore. The amount of insults lunged at me rose EXPONENTIALLY. Anything form "slut" (which... how is that possible if I'm NOT fucking ANYONE?), to "bitch" (not a new one), to "crazy," and an extraordinarily high amount of insults along the "dyke" line. I have never been accused of homosexuality as much as I have now at a lighter weight. Public humiliation of me has risen as well... this is definitely something I did not miss from my childhood... and now in adulthood, I find the humiliating events a little more public than they were in grade school-- bars an clubs have many more people in them... people who STILL don't do a thing to defend you. And still, still you aren't good enough, smart enough, pretty enough for the only one you give a shit about.

That grad school thing... well, no need to elaborate. Just that whole thing about me losing so much of my soul. I've seemed to patch that up by simply refusing to acknowledge it... blocked it out of my mind. But you know who did beast that shit? ...

Tyson. I met a new, much more painful version of heartbreak... heartbreak I now refuse to ever endure again. I will never again own a pet. I was also introduced to a different version of loneliness... a new level. A couple of hours after y'all chilled... Boom! Goodbye, Tyson.

There was a tiny intermission in the shitty times... an intermission that can be grouped altogether to less than a week. A week in four years. A single week where I felt as though I was floating on air... dancing on clouds.
But there's that pesky problem about flying so high-- the higher you rise, the harder you fall... the more painful, debilitating the fall.

I crashed hard... so. fucking. hard.
So.
Fucking.
Hard.
"Just another girl. Nothing more, nothing less."
"He told me not to cockblock..."
"I KNOW NOTHING'S WRONG WITH ME! She's the one with the mental problems! SHE needs to work on herself!"

I think of it all and the only thing my mind thinks, and repeatedly asks, is "How could you?"
I know I shouldn't even ask... the answer has always been there: because you never mattered, homegirl.
But my mind can't stop asking... my eyes always implore an answer when I catch my reflection in a mirror.

I apologize for the sad post... I've really been trying to be cheerful... or at least abstain from ranting or venting sad shit when I'm not having the best of day... but you see, he has been present in my mind lately.
He lived up to the hype I always said he was capable of. He reached the goal I always optimistically assured him he'd achieve-- not that I did it often, but when the subject was mentioned, and he'd go off on some pessimistic humble shit, and I'd always tell him to shut the fuck up and cut the shit... well, maybe a little less vulgar than that.
Brilliant, you're fucking brilliant. You always have been, and you always will be. I said it once, and I'll always say it.
He's a badass, officially a badass-- now verifiable to anyone and everyone... not just some timid girl with an unwavering affection for him.

Remembering our conversations of the last ten years has me nostalgic... but I'm especially nostalgic because we're currently in the middle of the only thing I could ever really talk to him about that wasn't school-related-- the World Cup.
Each time Cristiano Ronaldo was involved, I was sure to hear from him.
I lived for these occasions. A single sentence from him would brighten my week. You can ask anyone, they'd be able to tell you how I'd just beam with joy "randomly."
He'd never remember my birthday... or perhaps it was just a lack of caring for it... but major soccer events? That was my thing with him.

I waited until the last second before the game today... and then again until the day came to an end.
Silence.
Nothing.

A lot of shit happens in four years.

Just another girl-- indeed I am.

Department store

Discussing my relationship issues with a guy... that's fun.
I don't normally discuss relationships with others, especially not men... and I especially don't often have men ASK to hear details about my relationship issues. It's weird.
Discussions normally go:
Dude: You single?
Me: Yep.
Dude: Aight, cool. Wanna chill?
Me: Sure.
Ten minutes later, dude tries to touch me.
Me: What the fuck are you doing?
Dude: You're single, what's your problem?
Me: Don't touch me, that's my problem.
Dude: Dyke.
Me: Fuck you.
Dude: You ain't even cute. Fatass.

I feel horrible when I find out a dude likes me... even worse when I learn that after letting him know that I don't do relationships, and that I'm really one really fucked up chick, they still harbor the crush... or whatever I can call that weird attraction they have. I feel bad because I know their crush is not going to take them anywhere, only down a road that will end in their hatred/resentment of me.

I feel like a freak because of the way my heart works. It seems it's terribly uncommon to like people the way I do... it makes me feel crazy, actually.
Is it normal for someone to like one person... well, to only feel with one person? One person for a very extended period of time? And that when you realize this feeling for the guy will never be reciprocated, instead of looking for someone who will make you forget... or almost match your feeling for the one who scorned you... you just feel yourself go numb? I'm talking... absolute numbness... where you feel absolutely NOTHING for anyone... where in the place in your mind where everything was bright and chirpy and hopeful, it's all just this huge blank... absolute darkness, where you don't have happiness or sadness, just... nothing.
There's no desire, no need... no hope, no... no memory... no idea of what it's all supposed to be like.

I've been entertaining Mario this weekend. He's in town for the famous tournament that's in town... of the addictive activity I had to quit a few year back...
He came to town on his own, and knows no one, and since we've agreed we're adopted family, I took him in.
It's been a chill time. We've really just hung out in his room, chatting about life. He tells me his future plans for his career and love life... he even discussed his past relationship.
M: Guess who told me to say hi to you! You're going to laugh!
Me: Ummm... is it a guy?
M: It's a girl. A blond girl...
Me: Your ex?
M: Yeah! Can you believe that? I told her I would, but that you were going to burst out laughing.
Me: Why would I burst out laughing?
M: Because it's Heather!
Me: So? We're friends in real life...
M: Come on... we all know you don't really like her... you were only nice to her to not make things awkward for me... because you...
Me: No, I really like her as a person. She's great. And I'm glad she thought of me.
M: You know she only said that to piss me off, right? Come on... everyone knows you...
Me: No. You're my brother.

I have moments where I just admire him as he irons his clothes... or brushes his teeth... or reads his email... or answers a text... or even switches the television channels.
I love this kid... I know his mannerism... his quirks... I can predict his movements... but I'm not in love with him.
I loved this kid for so long... I was so in love with him... and now, I search for the feeling... and it's like it never existed.
You know what does exist? The particular pang of pain (writing the alliteration killed me more than it killed you to read it) his rejection inflicted. That feeling is still there, raw as ever.
When he hugs me, it's tight... but it... it's so fucking apologetic... it hurts.
Yesterday, as we walked through the poker tables, smiling and laughing as we people watched, our hands bumped into each other. I quickly apologized, but he, instead of removing his hand, grabbed my hand. I turned to look at him as he stood to my right. I smiled, and did not remove my hand.
M: Walk behind girls. People will always make way for girls.
Me: ... you do understand I AM a girl, right?
M: I meant sluts. You're too polite and get manhandled easily... let me show you how it's done.

As he walked me through the crowds of tourists, all I could think of was how badly I wanted a tiny gesture of this nature five years ago. Now, it just feels like... a guide, you know, what it really is. It's not a man shielding the woman he loves... a man showing society his concern for this particular woman... it was just a friend making sure his idiot shy friend wouldn't get trampled by the glittery hoes decked out in six inch heels.
My heart wasn't fluttering, my cheeks weren't flushing... I was just quietly following my friend who wanted to exit a casino. I was following like a lost little girl follows a store employee in a department store.

The moment I got home, I broke down into violent sobs.
I don't feel anything... I don't... I don't have anyone. I don't love anyone. I don't feel anything.

I never thought being numb would be so damn terrifying.

Plans? What plans?

I honestly hate complaining... despite what this blog might suggest.
I rant like a bitch here, but in person, my issue is that I hardly speak up when something is just not OK with me... when the subject is ME, of course. I'll speak up-- downright violently-- when someone else is being treated unfairly, when it's me? Nah. I just lower my gaze and become a mute-- it keeps me from bursting into tears if I'm in public.

Complaining, even when it's justified, makes me feel like an asshole... and ungrateful, annoying asshole.

These last few weeks have gone form bad, to worse.
It's not a serious subject, but serious enough for me to go to bed crying from the fucking frustration.

I had been planning two separate trips since January. In January, I just set aside the weeks I wanted: the final week of March for Costa Rica, mid-May to first week of June for Europe.
Simple enough.

Costa Rica was the first issue.
I mentioned the trip to my sister, and she agreed to join me since she has never visited the country. Sister then went ahead and invited Clemson (without my consent), the girl we traveled around Europe the first time around back in 2008. I didn't object, since 1. Clemson was going through a very fucking terrible break-up with her pro-NFL player boyfriend (who is a total fucking piece of shit, in my opinion. A fucking disgusting excuse for a man, that soulless fucking prick) and she desperately needed to keep her mind away from the shitty scenario. 2. She's a cool girl... as long as you don't eat her fucking bread (yeah, it's that girl with the bread story. My entire month in Spain was spent listening to this girl grow outraged each time she retold the story of how her roommates ate her two french bread rolls without her consent-- story she never failed to bring up EACH AND EVERY TIME I saw her... each and every time. Made for a maddening Spring Break trip with the girl... especially when we were trapped for that traumatic week in Paris).
Well, all was well, up until I asked the CR family if they would be available for that week in March.
Speed bump: No, the parents would be unable to take days off work, and the girls would be in school.
Solution: Americanas, visit for Holy Week, April 14th-21st, and you'll be GOLD. CR citizens get the Holy Week off-- mandatory, no school, no work. Oh hell yeah! Perfect!
Speed bump: Sister could not take days off in April because her lazy coworker's vacation request for the first two weeks of April had been approved a month in advance.
Solution: No Sister, still Clemson... and Mom, since she's the one who controls the religious zealots in the CR family... because she cares to talk about Jesus (whereas I just avoid acknowledging ANYTHING religion-based by remaining awkwardly silent).
Speed Bump: My folks' work only has two important dates each month, the first of the month, and the 16th... therefore, we had to leave on the 16th, at the earliest.
Solution: What the fuck ever, can we just buy the goddamn fucking tickets already?!

I am NOT kidding you when I say I had my laptop's browser set on Kayak, flights selected, ready to purchase my tickets, when my mom received Rafa's call.

Surprise! I just bought tickets to visit you guys in Vegas starting Good Friday until Easter Sunday!
WHAT?! WhatWhatWhat?! WHAAAAT?! Just like that?! You didn't even care to ask if we were doing anything for that fucking week?! What. The. Fuck?!
Of course, since he's the fucking golden child in this household (rightfully so, I must admit), Mom set her mind.
Put that laptop away! We're staying home and receiving your brother like he deserves! Easter is for family!
So, since Mom's personal Baby Jesus dropped the news on her, he dropped the fucking bomb on my CR travel plans-- completely obliterated any and all chances. (late April is when CR's rainy season begins, which is also their winter. I have ZERO interest in getting stuck in Costa Rica for their rainy "winter." FUCK that shit. Rain ruins everything)
I didn't bitch... I didn't (I only had that angry meltdown in my head. I didn't speak up-- ok, I did scream "What?!" two or three times... and I scoffed, but not enough to consider it a hissy fit). I convinced myself that this was a good outcome, the main selling point being "Well, I was going to start my stupid period on the 16th anyway... who likes to travel while profusely bleeding between the legs? And I'm not fanatical about the beach in the first place... add bloody issues to that shit and the beach might as well cease to exists."
So... I calmed myself down and swallowed that tough pill.
Cue this past Thursday, the 10th. What happens? Flow decides to pay me an irregularly early visit (I'm clockwork. This sort of irregular shit happens maybe once every two years). I am officially clear for the next month (I'm in that blissful phase where I'm not moody or bloated or tired or greasy... just fucking elated over the fact that I have an entire month to fuck around without worrying about bleeding all over myself like some fucking bitch in heat). This pissed me off, of course... because this might have been the best fucking vacation to Costa Rica EVER... since that period issue would be NON-EXISTENT.
Cue TODAY: Brother calls to say "You know... so I technically have Friday off... BUT if I STAY in DC and go to my class, I get paid extra, and paid extra for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday... even if I won't be at work, but my house instead. So... I canceled my flight and I'm staying in DC. Sorry."
Livid, guys... I was FUCKING. LIVID.
I heard the news and felt the worst fucking headache coming on. I still have that stupid pounding in the back of my left eye... I've spent the afternoon squinting because I swear my eyeballs will bulge out of their sockets. I think it's me subconsciously trying to keep the fucking tears at bay... giving myself a headache instead.

Eurotrip issue.
Another way I consoled myself about the failed Costa Rica trip was in telling myself I had this trip ahead of me. Now with CR expenses deleted, I had much more spending money for Europe.
It was going to be a trip to London, Paris, Berlin, and Barcelona. This would be done to celebrate Pacemaker's birthday... and mine.
On my birthday, my parents each gifted me trips. My mother was in charge of America, my dad straight up said "Go to Europe for as long as you want... for as long as you can." This made my fucking life.
I told my sister, asked if she wanted to join. Her response? "Why would I spend money seeing places I've already seen?" Ummm... because it's FREE and we didn't see it all (well, in Barcelona yes... but everywhere else? HELL NO. And STILL, I'll visit Barcelona ANY time I'm given a chance) and it's A FREE FUCKING TRIP AWAY FROM OUR MONOTONOUS LIVES!... AND IT'S FUCKING PARIS AND LONDON AND BERLIN AND BARCELONA! Places too many people can only DREAM of visiting just once in their lives.
So, after all was said and done, it was mid-March when Pacemaker and I decided it was just going to be the two of us. I was in put charge of looking up our lodging arrangements, since apparently I'm good at that.
Well, I spent a few weeks tweaking the itinerary, calling my folks' timeshare company and asking questions like a total dickhead.
That whole time, Pacemaker was silent. I didn't hear a peep out of her... not a single peep.
"I don't know, AnoMALIE... this all seems fishy. Don't you think Pacemaker would have contacted you by now? I have a feeling she's going to back out," said Mom.
"Nah, she would have at least texted me. But... now that you mention it, I'm going to text her and let her know I plan on booking everything today," I said, the date being the 9th, exactly a week ago.
So I did.
Me: Mademoiselle, when are you free so we can start booking this trip? :)
Her: any time

I should have known from that second, with that poor response... but no, I was a hopeful fucking moron.
I had been daydreaming about Paris for days, I could physically see myself strolling the streets... eating the food... people watching while sitting at a park, snacking on a crepe as a light breeze blew through my hair.
You know I'm balls deep (poor analogy, since I don't have balls) invested when I allow myself to fucking DREAM about something.

So what happened when I called Pacemaker? She started crying on me. She pussied out... and pussied out hard, by bawling over the phone on me.
I'm such a fucking sucker.
She didn't say she didn't have the funds for the trip, but alluded to it instead... because God forbid she can't afford something... because everyone knows she's so fucking loaded and high maintenance with her $80 shampoo, $100 mascara and $3000 piece of fucking luggage. A week stay in Paris is chump change for her... yeah. Of course.
She just said "I was looking into flights and saw they were very expensive... like... they have to be taking advantage of the Grand Prix and everyone who wants to go out for it." (Uh... fuck the Grand Prix... in case you're unaware, Roland Garros also starts at the end of May. Ding ding ding, mystery solved)
"I think it's best if we leave it for later in the year," she said.
"... Don't you... start college in the fall, though? Flights aren't going to get any cheaper during the summer..." I said.
"Yeah, well, we'll see how it plays out," she said.
She then went on and put the waterworks on full display. She began thanking me for being so understanding and always hearing her out... told me some more personal shit about some falling out with her sister and her best friend. That was around the point where she was pretty inaudible due to her sobs.
So... I felt bad for the girl, and told her it was all good. That it was all going to be ok. That I wasn't upset.
And then I changed the subject in hopes of making her laugh-- which I did.
And like a drunk girl, after a few minutes of the giggles, she forgot about her dramatic crying scene and she slipped up.
Pacemaker slipped up and mentioned not ONE future trip, but TWO.
She was flying out to Mexico City THAT Friday... as in, two days after this phone conversation, then in May she was flying out to New York.

Betrayal. Such a horrible sense of betrayal.
I did not say a word. Now I wanted to cry over the fucking phone... go into hysterics... make HER feel bad.
But I stayed quiet.
After a few pleasantries, and I bet after she caught on to the fact that I might not be too happy about her complaining about flight prices after she admitted to TWO plane ticket purchases, we hung up.
I sat on my bed, completely catatonic, toppled on my side, and just let the tears fall.

To add insult to injury, after texting my sister with my complaint over how shitty I felt after Pacemaker bailed on this birthday trip, Sister found it sensible to let me know how the day before, she and Clemson had booked a trip to the Dominican Republic. This after those two bitches had been hounding me about going on a group trip. I had not heard a damn thing about the Dominican Republic.

So yeah... I cried. I cried a lot these last few weeks.
(Monday, Pacemaker uploaded a photo from Teotihuacan with the caption reading something like: Visiting all 3 Latin American empires! Mayan: check. Aztec: check. Inca, you're next! My blood boiled. Peru?! A trip to PERU?! NOW you're a jet-setter? QUIT FRONTING! QUIT FUCKING FRONTING! When do I blurt out your secret? When can I tell all these people you're full of shit and you aren't baller for fucking shit? POSER! But I just turned my phone off)

I'm no longer crying, I'm just really angry. And hurt.
Finding out just how fucking low I chill on other people's totem pole truly sucks. It stings.

chamomile

This girl has not been doing so well.

I've been crying since yesterday. I went to the gym with my swollen eyes and coarse voice, always having to clear my throat in order to respond to any questions from my very kind gym buddies. This pathetic sight is becoming all too common, now that I think about it-- me kickboxing or lifting weights with pink, puffy eyelids, permanent frown plastered on my face... gym buddies trying to get me to giggle, only to have me sound like some... chick who has been wailing for days.

I've been downing cup after cup of chamomile tea, trying to calm down long enough to finally just fall asleep.
I tried reading, but the books are too exiting to entice me to sleep... and it's not like I'm willing to bust out a biochem book any time soon-- FUCK THAT SUBJECT... I want to sleep, not traumatize myself.

All I remember when I wake up from naps are nightmares.
I'm not having a good time.

The only thing that has gotten me to put down the kindle is when I find myself unable to stop my tears. Reading's pretty useless... and difficult to do when giant tears are continuously blurring your vision.

That feeling, the one where it seems as though I'm being held under water against my will, is stronger than ever. I can't shoo away the discomfort... or quiet the mean voice in my head.
You're NO ONE. NO ONE, my friend. If he gave a shit, HE would let you know. Now shut the fuck up, cut this nonsense out, and grow the fuck up.

My heart just wants to see him... be near him... hear him.
But my brain wants to keep me as far as possible... to not bother him... to not be that pathetic girl.
Don't be that pathetic girl... even if you ARE a pathetic girl... keep it in the privacy of your room.

It shouldn't be this difficult-- to accept my place in one person's life-- but this time, I can't keep from crying... my heart is getting ripped out of my chest.
I'm that chick who WISHES she were invisible, visible to only one other person... and he's perhaps the dude who is least interested in seeing me at all.

Battery acid... this chamomile tea feels like battery acid.

La del medio

Brother: Hold up hold up... is this real?
He holds my first place blue ribbon in his hands.
Me: Yeah. I won it back in 1998...
Brother: What did you do?
Me: I drew a poster. I won.
Brother: For the state of Nevada?
Me: Yeah.
Brother: How come I never knew this?
Me: ... I don't know. It has been hanging there for 14 years.

No... it's ok, really.
I'm a middle kid-- my older brother is intelligent beyond belief (and successful in all areas BUT the romance department, but that's all three of us), and my baby sister is quite the stunning beauty.
I am the stereotypical middle child.
I'm used to being overlooked. I'm used to "settling" and keeping quiet in the name of keeping the group harmony going.
I'm used to getting trampled... embarrassed, humiliated, overlooked, ignored... and all that good shit.

I'm used to it.
But it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

But it's ok. A kid learns to deal.

I'm going to go jump on clouds with some Care Bears and then try to get in some time to walk along the Korean beach in the company of my handsome, young, caring grandfather.
(Imagination-- that's what has kept my heart beating all these years. That's how I can deal. That's how I handle anything. Just give me enough time to dream, and I'm good)

Les etoiles

Knowing we're under the same stars makes me miss him more than ever... constantly... terribly.

It hurts.

What is there to miss? You hardly see him, you hardly interact with him...
I don't know... everything-- his eyes, his smile... even his fucking teeth. I miss listening to him talk, never mind if the words were ever directed at me.
I don't know anything... except that when I think of him, it becomes harder to breathe... I feel that anvil on my chest that makes my eyes sting with tears... and I just... I feel as thought I'm getting ripped apart-- a serrated knife carving away at my chest.

What I do know, is that somehow, this girl needs to keep moving, because those eyes and those smiles and those words were never meant for me.

You're just another girl, AnoMALIE! CUT IT OUT!

I'll be fine.

Because I love you so much

I'm only doing this because I love you so much.

Last night we partied in San Francisco with my gang and the Bay dude I fancy.

Everything was fine and fun and... well, I was enjoying my very limited time with the dude... I had missed that shit.

He very much admired my brother, and they bonded almost immediately.

Jose: AnoMALIE, do you like how I show off your brother?

Me: Indeed, I do.

We pre-gamed pretty hard in Jose's apartment. He was incredibly charming and sweet before the shots started to fly. His undivided attention was for me. I loved every fucking second.

By the time the group stepped out of the apartment (he lives in the heart of the city... very, very stunning place), I noticed good ol' Mario was a little on the defensive side... as in, he was sort of cornering me and sectioning me off from the rest of the people (seven of us). Most noticeably, he was cockblocking THE FUCK out of Jose-- he didn't allow Jose to be near me.

We proceeded to participate in a pub crawl, where the cockblocking only worsened. 

At one point, when I'm sure Mario noted my exasperation/frustration/irritation, he turned to me and wrapped his arms around me. His hug was so tight around me, I could not move my arms in any direction.

Mario: I'm only doing this because I love you so much!

He then leaned into my mouth. I quickly and VIOLENTLY turned my head away from him, as far as I possibly could.

The entire group looked over at us-- Jose included. They were all shocked... eyes were wide open.

Night ruined. I drank like I haven't done in my life. I threw caution to the fucking wind and drank every single fucking drink that was given to me (that was seven jack and cokes... seven. I had taken three Honey Jack straight shots at Jose's apartment. I was fucking DONE).

Love me? LOVE ME? Bro... no. No... no. No. Not fair. Not fair at all.

He had Skyped with his girlfriend hours prior to this bullshit move, where I even "met" her and chatted with her... then he goes and does this? Dude. No.

So much about this upset me... but I would not have been so irritated had this not occurred in front of Jose, you know, a guy who is interested in me as I am in him.

When I'm alone and miserable... and... infatuated with him (Mario), he hurts me with his indifference and that shit of which I complained so much throughout 2008-2010. Then, when I'm on super good terms with him, where I FINALLY truly see him as my brother and move on... even ask him for help to hook it up with his friend... he gets all clingy. The moment he sees that yes, I have a spark with someone other than him... the moment a decent guy thinks I'm pretty fucking cool and attractive, homeboy gets possessive.

I did dance and flirt and enjoyed some together time with Jose later in the night as we hit a club to "dance off the alcohol," but it was no longer the same. And yes, plenty of times good ol' Mario positioned himself between Jose and I... ruining moments and whatnot. The vibe turned more into that vibe of a couple of bros "respecting" the chick of one of the bros... but the WRONG BRO.

I didn't cry, but I did feel this horrible ache in my chest the more I thought of Mario's actions.

"Dude... why? Why would you do that?" was the only thing running through my head as I tried to get some sleep at four in the morning.

That's some fucked up shit. So fucked up. 

I tried for so long, I cried so much, I TRIED SO HARD to get him to love me... shit, I was even fine with just being USED by him... and he didn't take it, he didn't WANT IT.

He was young and stupid, some might say... but... nah, man, nah.

If I can describe what I felt when he said that phrase to me, when he hugged me so tightly... it would be the image of a plain, cinderblock wall under a spotlight... in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of night.

That.

Love and Detached

I am more in love with this city than ever. 

I've bonded so much with my brother... Not because I'm telling him so much, but because I'm listening to him and watching him interact with others, and I'm in complete awe of him. 

He's still absolutely, irreversibly in love with Alo. His music library tells me the sad story of his heartbreak. 

I see so much of me in him...

My heart is shattered for him. 

Mario kept looking at me yesterday as we ate at a restaurant. I would not look up at him.

"What's wrong? WHO is doing this to you? You're sad... You're... Broken... But this isn't something, this is someone." I stayed silent, fought back tears, and looked down at my food. Without uttering a word, I took a deep breath, shook my head and shoveled a piece of sushi into my mouth-- my eyes set on the candle located in the middle of the bamboo table.

It's a trip to hear my loved ones say the same thing each time they see me for the first time in a long time.

I am broken. I am distant. I am dead. 

Made into a bird

Te espero, te espero, te espero...
como la niña estúpida que soy.

Me alegro con cada día que pasa, entre mas se acerca el fin del año.

Te espero, te espero, te espero...

Que coraje.

December.
I've always anticipated this month, for one reason or another.
This year it's a bit of... anticipation and dread.

It's not easy, getting accustomed to this "No Darcy" deal with myself.
Some days I do well, carry on with my life without thinking much about the absence of my heart.
But other days... something like... the sight of a Starbucks cup makes my chest cavity hurt.
I miss him. My heart is his, no matter how hard I try to tell it he doesn't want it. He gave you away like some raffled gift, for crying out loud! How the fuck can you still only beat for him?

What makes things somewhat easy is the thought of him being so far away.
There's no way you'd hang out with him anyway, he's SO FAR AWAY. So chill, AnoMALIE. Carry on!
But now he's returning. Now, he'll be a few minutes drive away from me. How will I handle having him so close... yet... knowing... knowing he's so indifferent to me? So impossible? So not mine.

I feel this ache in my heart when I think too much about it... when I think of his return.
I know when I last saw him, I felt this wave of serenity... I felt I was fine. I enjoyed everything.
When I look back, it all feels so... airy... like I'm on clouds... but everything is silent... or like the lull of the ocean.
But... I don't feel fine now. I gave myself these month to let him go, to let the idea of My Darcy fade away, to go to rest... and it hurt, and the hurt never left.
I think of the feelings I will have to knock out if I'm ever again in his presence, and I feel sick.
He's right there... the one person your heart races for, your sight blurs, ears deafen, and room spins-- is right here, in front of you, feeling ABSOLUTELY NOTHING for you.
The thought kills me.

So I did the only thing I know how-- I planned a getaway. I am running away.
I'm leaving for a good chunk of his return to the states. I will be road-tripping during the first few days of his visit (ok, this is questionable because I still have shit to fix over here), and will be visiting Mexico from the 21st until the 30th. I will return the day after he has left.

It won't be necessary to learn to withstand the agony his indifference causes me, because... you know, "I'm not even there, so I couldn't even get an invite anyway."

... Delusions that help me go about my life-- they help me smile on good days, they keep me from crying in others.
You're not seeing him because he's not here, not because he doesn't want to see you.

It's the best I can do when trying to explain to my stupid heart why in the hell it's impossible to be loved by the person it chose to belong to, and was instead returned to sender.
(But no worries, my brain knows the truth-- He. Never. Liked. You. He. Never. Will. My heart is the only idiot that occasionally needs that tiny comforting lie)

Todo para que?

Wasting away.
Pining.
Lost cause.
Game over.
Hope, gone.
Defeat.

No sirve de nada...

All of it, I was thinking all of that and more here.
I caught a glimpse of myself on my camera, and immediately felt my heart break.

Multitudinous-- the meanings to this year's costume.

It earned me a number of compliments... even a handsome legit military, country gentleman was trying to get me to flirt... and as always, I froze and turned catatonic. I tugged up on my dress until I gave myself a rash.

"Even as a corpse you look stunning."
Thank you... but I don't feel it... and quite frankly, it no longer matters... it never did.

"Is your Romeo showing up later?"
No sir... not at all.

Podría ser todo suyo, solo suyo, y no lo quiso. Que más da?

No-just-Me

I first met the ocean in 2005.
I had seen it from a distance a few times prior to '05 (as in: from inside my car as we drove past it on the highway), but never walked along a beach until that summer.
My cousin, who is also my godson's mom, took my sister and me to Mazatlan.
First thing that occurred when I walked down to the beach with my godson and his brother? A fish flopped onto the sand and wobbled wildly... completely grossing me out. My godson's 11-year old brother grabbed the fish by the tail and flung it back into the ocean.
After removing the thought of that crazy fish from my mind, I proceeded to dip my toe into the water and said "Hello, Ocean, it's nice to finally meet you. I'm *AnoMALIE*"

I'm a Pisces... according to astrology, I'm supposed to like the ocean. I do like the sight of it and all that shit... but to say I constantly yearn to go to a beach would be pretty farfetched.
Typically, all I really do when I visit a beach is walk up and down the shoreline (making sure the water always touches my feet... unless there are jellyfish present. Fuck those motherfuckers), sit at a comfortable spot on the sand, and listen to the sound of the waves. I am not a fan of swimming in the ocean.
But... there is always one thing I have done when I visit a beach, every single time: I doodle on the sand.
Besides my own name, I have always doodled a single other name/initial. Same person.
I feel dumb as fuck admitting all this... but hey, it's a little secret of mine... a weird little ritual... an embarrassing, pathetic (of me) little ritual.
The only time I've been caught doing this was that first time I went to Cancun, the debacle with Mario... the time he caught me writing the initial in the sand in the middle of a giant heart. "Hey! My name doesn't start with a J!" he said. "I'm in love with Joe Jonas, didn't you know?" I responded.

Even his fucking name is pretty. My brain even considers the string of letters that identify this dude... it even finds that aesthetically pleasing, and melodic in sound.

Year after year, visit after visit, I find an opportunity to jot his name in the sand, and sit back to watch the ocean wash it away. I watch the waves erase the letters, leaving no trace of it ever existing... the ocean helping me keep my corny, lame, grade-school crush-behavior a secret.
Last year in April, on my first Costa Rica visit, I got remarkably, embarrassingly silly and wrote some very corny shit in the sand... hearts everywhere and all that shit. I got a little brazen that time. I even took a photo of it... to admire it at my leisure... like a dumbass fangirl.
This year, on my last visit to a beach prior to this Mexico trip, I jotted down a phrase: Goodbye, *Darcy*
I wrote it many, many times... and sat there, each time, watching every last trace of the phrase disappear, then starting the process all over again. I did it until I could finally watch the letters fade away without shedding a single tear.

On this recent trip to the beach I only wrote once... and it was this single word:

I'm here... on this continent. I'm on the land where my entire family was born and raised for centuries. I'm here, on this land that taught me to love nature, to enjoy solitude, to laugh, to be playful, to listen to the subtleties in... everything, to love music, to be kind, to help others, to find solace. I'm on the land that has always had a firm grasp on my heart and soul. I'm bound to this land, I'm part of this land... this mysterious, warm, wild, abused, marginalized land... this third-world.
And you're way past those waves... so, so much further away. In a land of so much advancement... a cold, rainy, but very civilized first-world... a historical, awe-inspiring land. Way past those waves-- unaware, unaffected by what happens here.
I was a fool for believing I could ever possibly, in the words of my favorite Disney movie and character, "be part of your world."
I've waited so long. I've hoped for so long. I've dreamed for too long.

It's just me. It always has been just me. It always will be just me.

Accepting the truth of a situation.
Just another girl... nothing more, nothing less.

I sat on the sand and watched as the waves made my name fade away, fade away, fade away.

-1 +1

I've been dreading this post.
I don't even know how many breaks I've taken before typing anything.
I've been extremely sentimental, straight fragile, for the last week... knowing Tyson's anniversary was coming up
Yesterday, I kept replaying the events that had gone down exactly a year ago.
Monday morning, eating breakfast, walking outside... seeing his body under the fig tree... going to the gym and trying not to burst into tears at the gym...
And then today...the 23rd of July...
I've been crying on and off throughout the day. Sometimes just tears, other times some sobs get in there.

There's hardly a day I don't think of Tyson... I usually have to TRY not to think of him.
I miss that guy with every. single. fiber of my being.
Mi corazón. Mi amor. Mi vaquita. Mi corazoncito. Mi enano. Mi travieso. Mi feo. Mi bebe. Cabron. Babe. Love. My babykins. Honey bun. Asshole. Jerk. Jerkwad. Dumdum. Dummy. Silly. Little punk. Baby cow. Tontin. My love.
My best friend.
My baby.
My fucking love.
My heart.
My little guy.

I think of touching his face... caressing that giant head of his... holding his snout gently as he stared into my eyes... adoringly.
Yo tambíen te adoro, mi enanillo... más de lo que pense. How could you love me so much, babe?

I remember it was February, and I was running on my treadmill when my mom told me about the litter of puppies.
Running would be the best way I could clear my mind from the day's events at high school.
Sophomore year wasn't as difficult as Freshman year... I'd only think of suicide a few times a month... unlike Freshman year... were I'd pray to not wake up every single night.
I had three friends Sophomore year... three more than Freshman year... so that was ok.
But I was still getting bullied... it's the year they poured salsa on my head and in my eye... no one helping me to wipe it off... or even informing me I still had chunks of it in my hair.
I was still the target of ridicule and... mercilessly ostracized.
Though those three "friends" existed, they ditched school often... I had perfect attendance... so I'd still have many days where I'd sit alone in the hallways during lunch... counting the seconds until that bell rang for class to start.
I had zero reason to trust anyone. Zero desire to like anyone.

Then Tyson came into my life... and I finally had a reason to give a shit. Something depended on me... and in return, gave me its undivided attention, love... loyalty... admiration.
I had a little creature to come home to.
The thought of his cute vulnerability made me smile to myself throughout the school day.
It didn't matter who had taken a cheap-shot at me at school... who had shoved me... who had ignored me... I had Tyson... HE thought I was awesome. He loved me.
This tiny... loud... sarcastic little dude kept me looking forward to the next day.
This... animal... this creature that supposedly doesn't possess a soul saved my life... kept me alive-- not the fear of going to hell, not the fear of the heartbreak my parents would feel... but this dog... this silly dog kept me alive.

Seeing him under that tree that Monday a year ago... is indescribable. My homie, my love, my companion... my motor, my savior, my angel... my best friend... died alone... and left ME the job of... finding him.
The only creature who knew my deepest, darkest secrets and feelings... the only one who knew just how BADLY I had wanted to die on so many nights, whose warmth kept me from ending it all... beat me to death.... left me completely alone.

The creature responsible for anything positive that ever happened to me between the years of 2001-2012 is outside... buried as far away from my room as possible.
A year later, and I still feel as though I suffer from that phantom-limb syndrome... because Tyson wasn't my right hand... or left hand... he was my heart and my soul... my hopes and my dreams.
All buried outside.

I don't know if anyone will understand all of this... I don't CARE... it's just what I feel... and what is true. I don't care if they think I'm being dramatic with my unrelenting grief for A DOG... I don't care if they laugh at my tears, my deep heartbreak... after all, that's all I've ever been for some people-- some sort of entertainment... causing pleasure, enjoyment at the sight of my mortification and pain and humiliation. I don't fucking care. Laugh, judge, belittle to your fucking heart's content.

I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Tyson... the little guy who taught me to trust and enjoy the simple things in life... my loyal, fierce defender.
... and now I've carried on without him for exactly a year.

I miss you, my love. I still love you, bebe. I always will.

Encender los días

Que seas muy feliz estés donde estés, cariño. 
No importa que ya no vuelvas jamas conmigo. 
Deseo, mi amor, que sepas también que te amo. 
Que no te olvide, que nunca podré, te extraño. 
Que seas muy feliz, que encuentres amor, mi vida.
Que nunca, mi amor, te digan adiós un día.

Que seas muy feliz, mientras que yo te sigo amando. 

"You had your chance Monday..." someone told me Wednesday.
Did I? Did I really?
No. I did not. Because I respect. Because I don't matter.

I was numb for the time Darcy was back in town... numb to crying.
I was happy to see him loosen up and show us the great girl he has found.
I was happy to see him happy... and I appreciate anyone who makes him happy.
My face once again hurt from smiling all day. I laughed a lot. I was a friend.

But that shock thing... when the numbness wears off... and I'm left to sort my feelings and thoughts... it's all bad news. I crumble.

Monday night, we stood outside for a bit, by the pool.
There was a slight breeze... very warm air occasionally blowing at our faces... my hair getting fucked up, since it does not just blow in the breeze all romantic like on normal girls, but instead flies erratically and unflatteringly.
Blues and whites... those are the colors that I noticed most. Blues and whites flooded my field of vision. Everything white... with the occasional blue square. White cushions... foamy jacuzzi bubbles... white tiles... dark blue, almost black skies... sky blue buildings... a chlorinated pool.
The giant white cushions.
There he was to my left... smiling... chatting about Chicago, of all things... smiling... bright, white teeth.
Calm, quiet admiration... like when staring at the Hope Diamond at the Smithsonian-- so pretty and amazing. You can only imagine how fucking wonderful life would be if it belonged to you, but you're fine staring at it from behind the glass... you're fine walking away from it... because it will always be there if you ever want to admire it again... you just can't touch it, much less take it home with you.
A ti que con lo que te sobra me darías la luz para encender los días...
Your scraps give me enough light to ignite the days...

I was happy. I was calm. No heart palpitations... but knowing for certain that yeah... este corazón, it beats for you... I'm not this comfortable with anyone else. No bells or whistles or... crazy spinning room... just quiet recognition of my heart's situation.
It's yours... though you will never feel the same for me. I'm just a common person to you, but to me... there is no equivalent to you. And it's ok... it's ok... some feelings were just never meant to be reciprocated. Your girl... lucky, lovely girl.

Not all stories have happy endings.
Sometimes, the protagonist's love walks off into the sunset with his love... as the protagonist walks in the opposite direction, kicking rocks, resigned to the fact that she'll have to swallow her feelings... bottle them up and shove them into her darkest shelf.
But a smile will slowly creep across her face as she thinks of the happiness displayed by her love... happiness not provided by her as she had always hoped... but the happiness she had always hoped for him.

That silent understanding-- You don't belong to me. This whole time, I've only belonged to you, I still do, and I always will... but you never did belong to me... you never will...

Hyena bait

My friends... my close friends, all knew what was going down these last two weeks.
They never admitted it, but I'm sure they felt sorry for me (not the type of pity I hate, but that... head shake you make when a friend tells you of a terrible idea of theirs, but you just let them do it... because you know trying to convince them otherwise would be futile... so you just... shake your head. Oh... baby... bad idea... but... ok...), because I'm an idiot with poor luck.

I did not cry a single day in these two weeks. I think it was two weeks. I attribute this to that initial shock I have to traumatic events.

Wait... no... I did cry last week... when... I... was cornered at a pub by a moron who does not understand no means NO... a manipulative, lying idiot.

It was all too much.
I would look around and note no one would try and get this blubbering moron off me... and it would sometimes make me laugh out loud to see how BAD everyone was at noticing my discomfort... some of them even encouraging it. Then I grew upset thinking that maybe it was because no one CARED about my discomfort... and once that idea entered my mind, I spent the rest of the night trying my hardest not to cry.
You're alone. You're a stranger. All you have is this creep who is hounding you like a vulture does a dying animal... and all you want to do is kick and scream and disappear... as everyone around you has a good time, has a partner, is part of a group... group that occasionally turns around to watch you squirm... with zero intent to help you out.
I'm just a piece of meat for this hyena... that's all I've EVER been. I don't matter... I NEVER DID!

I ran to my car that night... I jogged through the casino, and once I entered the parking lot, I burst into a sprint. The tears flowed the moment I started the sprint... the sobbing didn't start until I entered the safety of my car.

Obviously this reaction stems from my childhood.
I grow agitated when someone pushes themselves on me... regardless of HOW MANY TIMES I've told them no... regardless of the DIFFERENT WAYS I've told them NO. Hmmm... I wonder why...
When I see people apathetic to my distress... well... that just... devastates me. Few things hurt more than this... very, very few things.
These are things that will always hurt me, for as long as I live... I know it.
The fact that this all happened in Darcy's presence... killed me.
Just another slap across the face from Life, trying it's damn hardest to cement the fact that I am, and have been, rather meaningless in his life.
Just another girl. Nothing more, nothing less.

(Ohhhh shiiit! Look at me on my Kanye rant flow! I think I have juice for another story before I go to bed... perhaps two if I stay focused)