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.

Joking but not really joking

I possess this special ability... well, I don't know if it could be called an ability... I'm just gifted at being around some place at the wrong time.
I'm gifted at having others express really fucked up shit in my presence, because they know I won't go off sharing the information (unless this venue is considered. I fucking over-share on this bitch).

ANYWAY. Let's take it back to four year ago, when I was attending a baby shower (or... maybe it was a christening?), mainly because my sister didn't want to go to the party on her own. She was going to use me as an excuse for bouncing early... so I agreed.
As the night wore on, (! it WAS a birthday! I just remembered the pregnant girl) I became increasingly comfortable BECAUSE I had a fun app on my phone with which to play. No one was trying to drag me into small talk, and my sister found her niche of ex-coworkers to talk shit. This shit-talking powwow worked well for me because everyone was talking shit about someone I did not know... until one of the girls mentioned another female from Hometown.
Rose: This girl is such a fucking idiot. I tell my cousin to dump her fat ass... we'll find him a new bitch to get him papers, but he doesn't listen!
Sister: Wait... you're talking about *HometownChickThreeYearsMySenior*? She's a legal US citizen? Hm.
Rose: Yeah. My cousin only put up with her gross ass because she's his gateway to legalization. That bitch irritates him so bad... I don't know how you guys could put up with her in Hometown, she strikes me as MORE repugnant out there, since she's now considered a "Northerner." Insufferable bitch. But she'll get what's hers.

Everyone laughed. I looked up from my phone, completely disgusted.
True, I never really liked the girl being torn to shreds, and the mean girl was sort of right to an extent (HometownGirl WAS pretty insufferable back then), but to take such pleasure knowing you were playing with someone's feelings and future like that sickened me.
But everyone laughed... so it must have been a joke, right?

The fact that I didn't tell HometownGirl... does that make me a bad person? I mean... there was really no way for me to KNOW what I had heard was real, right?

I didn't say a word.
HometownGirl married the dude... went through the immigration process which included the dude moving to HOMETOWN-- which wasn't his at all. He isn't even from my state. He lived with his wife's family, and we all tried making him comfortable, always including him in our summer activities when we'd go to Hometown. We embraced that guy and let him know he was not alone.
His now-wife stayed here in Vegas, and would send him money.

Then he got his citizenship (my brother worked at the US consulate in Juarez at the time, was assigned this case, and had to refuse it due to conflict of interest. HometownGirl and all families still think they owe the citizenship to my brother. "Nah, dude, I fucking looked at the name and immediately tattled on myself. 'Nope. Can't do this one. I know the guy.' And I was off the case... but they're free to believe whatever the hell they want"), came back to Vegas, and lived a life where he yearned for HOMETOWN, not his own, but MINE.
Fast forward to last month, when the dude visited Hometown for the patron saint's festivities.
This motherfucker was drunk every single fucking day of the first two weeks of September. Every single fucking day.
This bitch didn't let me sleep at night because he'd sing full-blast in front of my house with a live band and a MOTHERFUCKING MICROPHONE... until 4:30 in the fucking morning. IN A MOTHERFUCKING TOWN IN THE MOTHERFUCKING WILD!
I. Hated. Him.

I kept wondering why his wife wouldn't go looking for him, dragging him home... what kind of careless wife is this woman?!
Often, I'd fight the urge to run outside and get in the drunkard's face. GO HOME AND SING IN FRONT OF YOUR OWN HOUSE, YOU DUMB ASS SON OF A BITCH!
But then I'd remember what part of the world I was in, and remembered about the barbaric atrocities people in that area are capable of perpetrating.

Short skip forward, to last night, as we watched the soccer match between my two countries.
My yelling and tachycardic episodes all came to a complete silence when HometownGirl showed up to the gathering, crying... completely destroyed.
She's getting divorced.
He really did only marry her for her legal status.

I froze in the recliner I had been swinging in, and covered my mouth, averting any eye contact with anyone.

I knew the whole time. I knew before it happened... but I didn't want to believe it was real. I didn't want to think others were capable of doing that shit, let alone BRAG about it.

Am I a bad person? What do I tell this girl? DO I tell her anything? Man, that felt like shit.

... And this is why I don't like people.

Hugs

"I'm sorry... but I feel you REALLY need a BIG hug."-- Pacemaker.

So, last night I was REALLY losing my shit. I'm talking raging so hard, I was ready to hop in my vehicle and drive up to the bay with my vandalized painting, finding my godson, and finishing the destruction of my painting by smashing his face through it.

The disillusionment I have with this kid is unparalleled. I have NEVER been so disappointed and disgusted by a single person in my life... ever... like... maybe when that whole thing with my grandpa happened that ruined my childhood... but even then, I was seven, and the negative feelings only built up a little later in life-- when I was a bit older to really analyze the situation for the fucked up violation that it really was.
This time, it's was the most abrupt removal of the veil... fucking shit blinded me.

I decided to go to bed on it-- to chill the fuck out before I blamed anyone and potentially ruin our relationship.
I interrogated everyone who entered my sister's room in the last six months.
Everyone was removed from the line of suspects, everyone BUT my godson.

I discussed the subject with Pacemaker, and that's when she apologized for the shitty situation I'm encountering.
"I can't begin to imagine how this must all be for you. I know you really trusted this kid... and have done so much for him because you wanted his life to be better. It's just... I'm really sorry for what you must be feeling right now. What a horrible transgression. I know how personal your paintings are..." she said.
I didn't cry. I haven't cried. I'm so... shocked... and confused... I don't find a point in crying, as angry and upset as I may be. The confusion is so strong, it only gets me to laugh.
What the fuck was this kid thinking? HOW did he do it? WHY did he do it? WHEN did he do it? What the fuck? What. The. Fuck?

And I'm still wondering what the hell happened. What goes through the mind of someone who intentionally wrecks the work of someone else? How do they justify that shit?

... Am I really THAT bad of a person who deserves this sort of shit? Because FUCK! it is fucking astounding how much bad, hurtful shit is done to me intentionally... it DOES get me to wonder if I'm really a shitty person and just don't know it... and I need this sort of shit to happen to me so that I can open my eyes.

I. Don't. Know.
I don't fucking know.

Too much fuckery

You know, this totally ruins the vibe I had going on here. I have two posts already written up, but not published because I was looking to edit them.

However, life happens, and right now, I'm REALLY FUCKING PISSED-- so FUCK vibes, I'm posting this shit instead.

I have been very creative lately-- writing, reading, painting, shit, I've even danced a lot.

The painting streak I've taken full advantage of, because I know it's pretty damn fleeting.

After finishing up two different projects, I decided I'd go back to some old unfinished work. This is where I went to my sister's uninhabited room, and found this:

I am FUCKING LIVID.

No one had been in that room but ONE person-- my godson.

That little motherfucker did this, and didn't tell me about it. I don't even jnow HOW this happened... what the fuck punctured this?

You know... It's one thing to verbally assault me and talk all the mad fucking shit you want... But to go after my work? That shit is so fucking personal... Especially since I hardly ever show it to anyone.

It could have been an accident... And I WOULD forgive an accident... But this? Come on! What in the fucking hell?!

I wasn't going to mention the drama I have with this kid, out of respect for our good years... But this is crossing the line. This really fucking tramples all over the line of respect for me.

I fucking hate who this kid has become.

Chill blue

I've been back for a few days now, however, as has become my motherfucking cutsom for the last five years, I returned with a horrible case of... being old.

Another Mexico trip, another parasitic intestinal infection. Damn infection has left me weak, trembly, lightheaded, and unable to maintain a healthy appetite.
At least I didn't puke on the ride here this time around.

No, rather than spend my few days in the motherland confined to the bathroom evacuating my gut in some form, I spent my days READING (imagine that shit!), writing, listening to music, walking... and crying. Good lord, did I cry. I cried like I would back in the good ol' days... like the good ol' confused, emotionally abused teenager I was 15 years ago.

Yeah, I have different versions of crying... there are different vibes to it all.
For the most part, I would say my crying sessions in my teen years, while heavy and heartbreaking, still carried this silver lining to them... a sense of hope. Something in the back of my mind would always calm me down... give me the illusion that "YO! You still have like... so MANY fucking years to fix this shit! It's going to get better! Just you watch!" I also had Tyson to calm me down during that painful time in my life... that little cow was magical.
And so... if I could assign those crying scenes a color, it'd be pastel pink.
My crying sessions in my 20's were brutal. There was intense desperation in them... there was intense, uncontrollable vomiting... so much fucking stress. SO MUCH disillusionment. So much failure. Then when the decade started coming to an end, it all went black... it all fucking died... especially once Tyson died. I felt nothing. Hopes imploded. Dreams disappeared. "WHY DID I STAY?!" type desperation. FUCK. THAT. SHIT.
Yeah... the crying meltdowns in my twenties... I wouldn't repeat those for all the fucking money in the world. Black... the darkest fucking black is what I'd assign those crying sessions. Jesus. I'm uncomfortable just recalling it.

ANYWAY, this time around, my crying was... it had almost the same feel as they did in my teens... shit, the crying was milder. There was never any sobbing, or shaking... or sound, really. I would be sitting back, usually laying face up, thinking or listening to music... and tears would begin to roll down the sides of my face. Quiet little tears. Actually, I did sigh one time.-- the only time I sat outside in my backyard where Tyson would sit beside me as I'd cry bitterly at night. I looked up at the stars-- bright and glorious as they always are in Hometown-- and sighed at the sight... then tears quietly began to run when I looked over at the empty spot Tyson would have been occupying if he were still alive. ("I'm still alone, Tyson... but unlike all the times before... there's no desperation, but instead quiet resignation that no, it will NOT get better... so I no longer feel that sense of urgency for it to 'get better'... it's a peaceful sort of quitting... of giving up. Makes it so much easier to live... to just accept")
What color would I paint these crying scenes that I now begin at 30? I'm still uncertain about the hue... but I'm leaning towards a blue. It's not dark in the sense that I feel lost and frustrated... angry and agitated... but it's also not lined brightly with hope for a positive change. It's quiet resignation that it doesn't get better... it just boils over and pacifies for a while. It's sadness... not desperately begging for an end, but calmly waiting for it. It's watching those around me experiencing happiness, and feeling genuinely happy for them, while simultaneously NOT angrily demanding why the fuck I am refused this same, seemingly common privilege... just accepting that I won't. It's chill sadness... chill blue sadness.
Nice change I welcome... I was getting tired of screaming into my pillows, anyway.

otro año

ARRGHHHH! This month fucking zipped right past me!
I was supposed to post often, and I WOULD start the process... but I'd stop myself. Usual story.

It's proving more difficult than anticipated to share the tale of the ingrate... the manipulator... the... sellout. The liar. I can't bring myself to speak of it, much less write it down.

I can also feel the sadness creeping in. The attack on my emotional health is subtle this time around, nowhere near as random or abrupt as it was back in January. Things are piling up and getting the best of my nerves... totally not boding well for the near future.
BUT! For the time being, I'm doing my best to remain calm.

Tomorrow I take off to yet another place that more than likely will do a number on me... I'm going to Hometown.
Nice way to start September, right?

Here goes nothing.

Siempre me quedara la luz suave del mar

Conflicted.

It isn't the same anymore-- you're missing... and my eyes grow tired of searching for you.

I watch the building pass in a blurr... and struggle to remember the pretty feeling from years ago... when you'd drive me in the unpredictable, rainy Bay weather.

The pretty feeling... "Please remember that pretty feeling... don't forget that pretty feeling."

I could look forward to better days... I'd look forward to being older... I dreamed of the endless awesome possibilities for a girl as talented... and devoted as I.

Pero todo cambia. It's all different.

Everyone and everything's different... except me.

It's like... I fell through the cracks, into a moment in time where only I remain constant while my surrounding wilt and wash away... everyone leaves and grows... everyone but me.

The Bay... It's so much harder to do the bay without the company of either of my favorite dude companions... My partners in crime for the past 7 years.

Hopelessly searching for that pretty feeling.