3:48

I'm a magnet for drunk texts, however, I'm a newbie for random "nice" texts... This one taking the cake for... oddly nice/kinda scary:

I woke up to that text yesterday and was a little embarrassed over how confused it made me.

I'm over here having family drama and angst... and this friend of mine is more concerned about me than my "blood." I wouldn't even say she was a close friend of mine... well, she's a GOOD friend, however, I wouldn't say I know her hopes and aspirations... or even any sort of secret of hers.
ANYWAY, I was very touched by this, to see how concerned she was over a dream... my imaginary death (I made the mistake of asking how I died, and she just said it was "an accident" where I died. "An accident"... how vague of an answer was that? Did I get run over? Did I crash? Was it a PLANE?! Did I fall down some stairs? At least it takes out the possibility of some intruder murdering me in my sleep... or me being taken for ransom where my captors get fed up with me and just murder me... though it does not remove the possibility of someone "accidentally" shooting me... "accidentally" stabbing me).
Recently, a number of friends have reached out to me in a very kind way... and it is making me a little paranoid. I don't want to get all superstitious and dumb over here... but it freaks me out just A TINY BIT to see these people be very nice to me and saying sweet things they've never said to me before... it does sort of make me wonder if my death is right around the corner. I mean, I'm even on REALLY GOOD terms with Musketeer's wife... if that isn't a warning sign of my looming death, I don't know what is.
DO THEY KNOW SOMETHING I DON'T? AM I DYING?! Can they sense I'm about to fucking die?! Should I get right with God right now... not that I was too wrong in the first place, but yo, if I can get a couple of Hail Marys and Lord's Prayers in there before I croak, that'd be cool...

I will say it right now: If I DO die anytime soon, and you see ANYONE from my paternal side try to pull this emotional "I LOVED HER SO MUCH!" "SHE WAS THE BEST!" type of drama people do when placing the dead on a pedestal, please, please, PLEASE call them out on it. It'll be total bullshit... and nothing will make me happier than someone telling them just how much I disliked them and how poorly they made me feel (well, unless it's my dad's oldest sister-- only she and her husband get a pass. Their kids, however, are the worst, DON'T allow any one of those three to say shit about me or even attempt to get emotional... I'll come back from the dead and haunt the shit out of everyone if that occurs).

(In all seriousness, I just think people can sense I've been very much depressed lately, and are only trying their best to be very nice to me... that, or they're pregnant)

El aterrizaje

Damn!

And as if by magic or some telekinetic/psychokinetic ability, after posting that last "wtf?" update, I randomly switched to a movie that had just started.

The movie captivated me... I was gone, owned, after these words were spoken:

"C’est l’histoire d’un homme qui tombe d’un immeuble de cinquante étages. Le mec, au fur et à mesure de sa chute se répète sans cesse pour se rassurer: jusqu’ici tout va bien, jusqu’ici tout va bien, jusqu’ici tout va bien.

Mais l'important c’est pas la chute, c’est l’atterrissage."

I can't begin to describe how much this spoke to me.

Straight to my bones.

Unbeknownst to me, this has been my life motto since... I was a child. I didn't know it was a real thing, apparently a real thing since at least 1995.

Fucking French... they sure fucking know how to reach me. 

The Universe will have none of my hate towards them... constantly forcing me to make up with them after showing me some cool French shit.

You win, France.

Jusqu'ici tout va bien...

Don't move

Currently just standing completely still, watching as everything around me falls in the most random order, each piece at different speeds, different levels of violence, but each managing to startle the shit out of me.
I'm only sure of one thing: stand as still as fucking possible if I want to avoid incurring any further injury. The chaos eventually pauses, if only for a couple of seconds... but enough for me to inhale once or twice.

Good god...

Second anniversary

I see him prancing around green fields, or locked in my Mexico home, or under that fig tree... the few times my boy visits me in my dreams.
Sometimes I'm having a great time camping and smiling at once again seeing my buddy, others I'm bursting at the seams with excitement thinking I have finally found him, only to feel the cruel sting of disappointment after realizing it wasn't him.

I just want to see him, touch him... even SMELL him. Never thought I'd miss his smell.
I want to hear him snore in his sleep, snort when he's hungry... do his happy prance when he'd see me carrying his bowl of thoroughly-mixed dry and wet food.
I want to feel him playfully bump the side of my leg with his ridiculously muscular thigh... I'd even be cool with him breaking one of my nails with the swat of his crooked little tail when he'd get overly excited.

I feel ridiculous knowing I could love an animal this much... that I'd MISS him this much... that I'd get so animated recounting one of his stories (I do it every time I remember the simplest little things he did... I think I do it as a way to overcompensate for the horrible sadness I feel knowing I'm talking about my dead little guy... try being overly-happy while talking to keep from bursting into tears... which doesn't always work).

I honestly feel SO STUPID over how much pain I feel over his death... even after two years. Each time, each and every time I look out my window to the backyard, my initial feeling is immediate sadness-- each. and every. time.

I've been told this attachment and suffering of mine for a dog says a lot about ME and how I interact with other people.
But... don't they stop and think that perhaps the fact that I can be this attached to an animal, to love a dog this much... to think that at some point in my life, the ONLY creature showing me any sort of kindness and support, the ONLY thing encouraging me to keep waking up each morning, was a simple, stupid, "soulless" dog... doesn't that say more about PEOPLE?

I'm no longer at that low I found myself in when I was given Tyson, now I DO have kind, loving people in my life... and while my lows are hardly ever as low as they once were, I'm much better at climbing out of the abyss.
However, the fact remains that there was that time in my life, a time where I felt so fucking ostracized and ridiculed and... humiliated... and worthless... and fucking invisible and disgusting... and not ONE person would step up to help me out of it. Of the people in my surrounding, not one fucking human gave ONE single fuck.
That time I walked through school after having some dude dump salsa all over me during lunch break... salsa dripping from my hair... how many PEOPLE helped me out? None.
The times I'd walk past the park in Mexico, hearing boys moo and oink at me while the girls would laugh... how many told them to stop? NOT ONE.
People preferred DISTANCING themselves from me in order to avoid getting swept in the abuse... my siblings included. When I'd be around my family and they'd ask me STUPID questions as to why I was alone and I'd shrug, what would be my mother's response? "Haven't you looked at yourself in the mirror?!"
I mean, theoretically your family's supposed to love and defend you, especially in your time of need... these PEOPLE, yet in my case, they were just fueling the fire by turning a blind eye.
And just as I was fed up with putting a brave face to the world, when I was more than convinced I HAD to end it all in the quickest, most guaranteed way possible... I was given Tyson.

Others' rejection of me wasn't imaginary... it wasn't me inventing stories out of narcism...it. was. real. And SO FUCKING BRUTAL. SO BRUTAL. On a daily basis... for YEARS.
When my own kind was rejecting me, along came this dog... this tiny, ugly, so misunderstood breed of puppy... and gave a shit about me... thought the fucking world of me. A. FUCKING. DOG.
Suddenly, during the summers where I'd still encounter cruelty from my peers and even adults... instead of crying myself to sleep, I had this little creature worried about me, cuddling me the moment he'd see me take a seat in the backyard, licking each and every tear off my face, hands, and feet... a warm little body nudging me... urging me to play fetch with him... SMILING in my face. My ability to pick myself up was increased drastically with the introduction of Tyson.
I also had my little dog that upon seeing me walk in through my front door each day after school, would wag his tail so wildly, he looked like a wind up toy ready to burst. The thought of returning home to my amazing, silly dog was the new, sole, BEST thing that got me through the school day.
He was my anchor in the roughest waters (don't people say this about deities? Man, I'm a wreck-- pun not intended)... and helped me stick around long enough to see a clearing, to meet the amazing people I now thank for teaching me to trust in others and enjoy life. Tyson helped me stay long enough to see many of my former tormentors mature--at least become somewhat subdued.

How could you not love that creature with all of your being? How could you not suffer over the loss of that creature?
A dog... a pit bull, was the ONLY thing on the planet keeping me company, sticking by my side, and making me feel like I was worth a fucking shit, while my peers were either abusing me in any way they could, or quietly watching the harm to me occur without offering any sort of consolation or protection or END from the abuse.

I will never stop thanking that creature. I will never stop missing that creature. I will never stop LOVING that creature. Not two years after his death, not twenty years after his death.
He was my best friend, and many, MANY times my only friend... and now I can only interact with him in my dreams... the rare times my mind manages to conjure him.

So yeah... I suffer over, miss and love a dead dog.
I just had to get this off my chest. I hate others judging me for my feelings for a dog, I hate feeling stupid about STILL hurting about the death of my dog... and above all, I hate that there was ever a time in my life where the sole thing caring about me and keeping me company... and RESCUING me was an animal, a "simple fucking dog."

Sorry for the ramble, I've been crying all fucking day.

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.

Your shocked face is worse than my amused face

I have spent so much of my life bitching about the way my dad is... How he seems to have such a huge heart with everyone BUT us, his nuclear family.

The bitching blinds me from asking the important question: WHY is he like that?

Well... I have never been more convinced of the reasons behind his behavior than I am today.

Why does my dad seem to have a closed-off relationship with US-- his kids and wife? Because that's the fucking example he was given in HIS home. 

And that breaks my heart-- for HIM.

I shouldn't care, and it pisses me off to see that I DO care, I care TOO MUCH, about the treatment received from my dad's family. 

This cousin, the one I so publicly "defended" (on fucking Facebook, like a total fucking IDIOT) a while back from her ex-husband's family... the one who is super pregnant, the one I had NEVER had an issue with, had her baby shower today.

How did they invite my dad? Via text... A week before the party... a PHOTO of the paper invite.

THAT'S the invite they felt my father deserved from them... the man who has time and time again pulled them out of financial  trouble like some motherfucking bank-- only more fucking dependable... the man from whom they so audaciously demanded a house. 

This shit INFURIATED me... I'm talking "made me feel like I had swallowed molten steel" type fucking heated.

What pissed me off more? How this family acted so fucking SURE my sister was going to show up... when she had not heard of this fucking party until WE found out about the party-- on Monday.

"You are aware D has been living in Chicago for two years now, right?" Trying to play as though somehow... some magical, telepathic way, we had recieved an invite at a rational time for my sister to catch a flight/get time off at work.

My sister was upset.

"I haven't heard a word from ANYONE. It's as if I'm dead."

Hearing her say that only further upset me.

"I'm not going. And don't cover for me if someone asks. Tell them the truth: I DID NOT want to come. Why didn't D show up? Because we didn't know of this party until this Monday," I told my mom.

"It's a stupid party. Point is, you got an invite before the actual date" you might say.

But I. Don't. Give. A. Fuck. 

If you don't see malicious intent in this whole invite-drama, you're full of fucking shit. I would have been FINE with a text the moment they had a date set-- TWO MONTHS AGO. How do I know it was that long ago? Preggo-cousin's coworker, who is my close friend, told me that's when she found out. I would have been fine TWO WEEKS ago, when my dad's sister-in-law asked us if we were attending the babyshower-- she had recieved her invite then... that was an awkward conversation.

But since I don't play this fucking "passive-aggressive" BULLSHIT, I didn't cave in and act OK with this. Because I'm NOT ok with this.

But my mom and dad care about other's opinions, so they attended this party... to keep others from suspecting anything being wrong within the family.

It was a big party. In a fucking wedding venue. With lots and lots of friends and coworkers and extended family members... people from Hometown.

I have cried about this-- angry, frustrated tears. I HATE seeing this. I HATE seeing how no matter how NICE we are, and how much we have tried overlooking their "accidental" slights, they STILL go out of their fucking way to make sure to slight us, to try and make us feel so fucking insignificant.

It is SO. FUCKING. INFURIATING. 

I have stuck my neck out for every single cousin on my paternal side, and EACH ONE has fucked up so hard, and has demonstrated to me just how fucking unimportant and insignificant we are (EXCEPT WHEN THEY NEED MONEY! Let's not forget good ol' uncle MoneyBags Jesse is right there to just GIVE AWAY money based on the simple fact that he's him and you are you. He's like a fucking genie! Your wish is his command! Wish away, "family") that I can't help but be DONE with them... I can't help but cry so fucking hard, and full of so much fucking hate for them.

Then I look at my poor dad's face... I see how he is not blind to this... how he notices how shitty his family is to all of us... And I recognize his heartbreak... It upsets him... And he tries to act like he's oblivious to it... like it's fucking normal... but his little heart is SO broken.

How could I ever expect my dad to be loving and doting... when his family never showed him HOW to be that way? He has only been this fucking money-making robot to them... A robot who is expected to have no fucking feelings when he sees the rest of them enjoying a feast in the kitchen as they show him the backyard door, where he's to go eat alone like some fucking dog.

... Even dogs who help with the hunt get a bone or two...

I fucking HATE his family.

They're all...

I was transported to some time around 2001-2008 Mexico summers... the best summers. I was sitting in the middle of a very green field, surrounded by my mom's family... her mom was happy, laughing, incredibly talkative, and chubby.

Tyson was prancing around, tongue out as if smiling, his tail up and authoritative-- my favorite stance of his. 

I woke up, that usual feeling of elation from seeing these people and laughing with them, remembering how great it felt... only to have the first words out of my mouth be "... They're all dead..." and immediately feel the worst sorrow in my chest.

These past few days... I've hated them.