I am shit

Ahhh, Greece. Meeting again.

I arrived Friday morning, Greece time. It was a long haul... sort of. Layover was in Toronto... for nine hours. In those nine hours, I managed to cry in public. That was fantastic, as always.
I guess I should mention I brought my godson with me. It's my gift to the kid, since he's been battling a serious case of depression, unlike myself.
You see, when I really love someone, there's nothing I won't try to get them to feel better... as long as it's in my realm of possibilities.
If you have ever been kind to me, if you've ever made me smile-- you're good with me.
So, I figured I'd do this for the kid.

He's still weird. I don't know how to describe it, but the best I can do is by having others imagine someone who has just been freed from a cult-- the shellshocked, deep disillusionment with the world... that sort of shit.
He was driving me insane with his constant religious talk, which was a bunch of shit... but since I'm a nice person, I'd keep mum and only say "Umm... ok."
He's also very vain... very... umm... flamboyant in the sense that he goes out of his way to call attention to himself. He'll wear nothing but muscle shirts, and talk at a very loud level, so as to call attention to himself. He still has that salesman mentality... and let me tell you... living with a salesman is the last thing I ever want to do from now on. Fucking BONKERS.
"Goddamn it... is he talking to that stranger again?"
"No. No. You stay over here... I'll be right back because this is going to take me a second and I don't need you striking up a conversation with every person there for the next two hours."
It's obvious English is his second language because he uses words incorrectly... or he'll use them in the wrong context... or... he'll use inappropriate terms he learned off the douchebag coworkers from when he worked at the timeshare business.

This leads me to the thing that made me cry in public.
As we killed time in the airport (which wasn't too hard, considering they have an enormous lounge area with an ipad for pretty much every passenger... which is motherfucking amazing. This airport is a gem), we were sitting in the lounge area having a discussion on life... relationships.
I was chastising him for being "stereotypical pig Mexican" because he'd shamelessly check out girls, almost all of them... looking at their tits and ass and even vag. I told him that was inappropriate, and to be a little more discreet. He then says "ALL women like that."
I NEEDED to correct him.
"No. They don't. It's vulgar. Not all women like vulgarity. I'd say most of them hate it."
"You're saying if I like that girls ass, and I tell her 'Nice ass' she's going to be offended and not take it as a compliment or like it?" he asked.
"Most girls would consider that offensive. It's not something some of us are looking to hear at a fucking airport when we're agitated and tired. So yes, she'll more than likely get offended," I said.
"Even if it's me? I mean, I know I'm a good looking man. Girls throw themselves at me," he said.
(I was so outraged by his ego at this point, I wanted to take my carryon bag and throw it across his face. How the fuck am I related to this? WHO DID THIS TO YOU, Godson?! Is this real life? What a fucking douchebag)
"It all depends on the girl... but I'm sure there'd be plenty of girls who'd be put off by the comment and find you offensive," I said.
"You're going to sit here and tell me if Cristiano Ronaldo went up to you and said 'Nice ass.' You'd tell him to fuck off?" he asked me.
"If those were the first words that came out of his mouth when he met me, I'd tell him he's a vapid, disrespectful jerk. That's exactly what I'd tell him," I said, completely enraged by now.
"YOU'RE SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!" he screamed at me.
I noticed damn near everyone in the lounge area stop cold in their tracks and stare at us. I could read some had a look of concern for ME, as though I was getting verbally abused by my boyfriend/husband.
"What you just said... offended me worse than anything ANYONE has ever said to me. ANYONE. And I can't believe it came from YOU of all people," I said.
"What did I say?" he asked.
"You just said I'm SHIT!" I said.
"No I didn't! You heard wrong!" he said.
"I don't care if you misspoke or whatever you were trying to do... but what came out of your mouth, and what EVERYONE AROUND HERE heard was YOU screaming at ME that I was shit," I said.
And then he did what most men have done in my life when I call them on their shit rather than sit down and take whatever fucking stupid shit they're talking: he acted angry and outraged.
"You know what. I'm fucking done talking right now. Let's stop right here before I really fucking say something offensive. I don't want to hear anything," he said as he slammed his face down on the table in front of him.
And I sat there... fighting back the angriest tears of my life.
Doing fucked up things in public... where they know I won't act up because I don't want to make a scene... so not fair.
The words reverberated in my mind... the look on people's faces ran through my mind... and past memories of others being fucking assholes to me ran through my mind.
I tried focusing my sight on the bathroom that was directly to my left... thought it would help me calm down while keeping my reddened face and watery eyes out of the view of nearly everyone who had witnessed the scene.
But it didn't help. Tears started rolling down my eyes and it was over.
People started leaving the scene... visibly uncomfortable... and I just sat there, across from my idiot godson whose face was out of view, and his fucking stupid earbuds (which I gave to him because his own got busted from listening to music too loud) blocking out any sound from the outside world (only pumping out douchebag Bro techno into his ears), crying... sobbing. So motherfucking alone. Again. In a fucking SEA OF PEOPLE at the motherfucking airport.
I mean... all this shit just runs through my mind when I'm crying and it does NOTHING to calm me down. It's such a fucking terrible cycle, I tell you.

So, after about half an hour of crying like an imbecile in my chair, I calmed down enough to climb out (it was a stool) and head to the bathroom... where I did the typical AnoMALIE thing of crying in the privacy of a stall... blew my nose... walked out to the mirror to fix myself... and then faced the world again.
I motioned to my godson that it was now time to walk to our gate and I was mute for the following fourteen hours (we waited at the gate for an hour, the flight was ten hours, then we headed to the embassy to get the house keys from my Bro. Got home, unpacked, and showered).
Once in Athens, as I was ready to take a nap before the haul to Mykonos for the weekend (we were going to leave at 4:15PM for the ferry to the island), Godson walked in and tried making things better with that bullshit line of "I'm sorry you felt offended" then added "But I'm offended you thought I MEANT it that way." Ummm... ok, thanks for that bullshit apology?
"When are you ever going to see those people?" As though that takes away the fact that was a fucked up thing to SCREAM in an airport in front of a sea of people.
"Now I know you're very sensitive." Excuse me? What? Was I... being too sensitive about getting upset about your ignorant ass SCREAMING "You're shit" at me in a very public setting, in front of men, women, children, and old people who are clueless about our relationship and our conversation? MY MOTHERFUCKING BAD. Fuck. Oh fuck! Fuck me and my extremely girly feelings! I brought it upon myself for being so motherfucking sensitive. My motherfucking baaaaaad.

There's a line... a motherfucking line. I can be ridiculously vulgar... I can drop as many fucking cusswords as you can imagine, in NUMEROUS languages... but I KNOW WHEN to do it. There's a time and a place... and I try my best to RESPECT it. Do I think censorship is silly? Yes, I do... but I also understand that it serves a purpose. I don't enjoy little kids hearing coarse language... or older people being harshly introduced to me by me uttering some profanity. I also understand that different cultures have different stances on vulgarity and more importantly, I RESPECT it-- despite how much or how little I may agree with it.

The key term here, I suppose, is "RESPECT."
Bumping into people who LACK any sense of it... or prove to be ridiculously inconsiderate, drives me MOTHERFUCKING CRAZY.

Ah... good times ahead. For sure.
(This past weekend was something to talk about. The long weekend in Mykonos sure has a lot of stories... one even includes me--yet again-- crying my motherfucking eyes out as I walked to my hotel room all alone at 4:30AM for two miles. Long stretch of highway along the coast where I stared out into the sea, under a nearly-full moon, just bawling my fucking eyes out with both rage and incredible sadness. I even ran into a run-over, dead cat. I mean, who would come up with this sort of shit? Good motherfucking times.)

Deuces

Typical drill.

I'm out.
Hopefully I don't suffer some stroke or other unfortunate bullshit... but come back ripped as fuck and a total beast.

Chances are, I'll return a grumpier, sadder bitch... but eh, whatevs.

I'll definitely miss my mom, though... that little lady.

speak louder

Something  I learned today:
Rather than be upfront with those inviting him to go out, my Gson has gone around using ME as an excuse.

Apparently it's much easier to blame the quiet homebody for him not going out ("Sorry, I'm staying with them and AnoMALIE doesn't want to go out." I don't?) than telling the truth ("I'm broke, so unless it's free, I'm not doing it.")

Last night I was supposed to go to my friend's birthday dinner at The Cosmo. I had told her I'd be there without a doubt.
Gson had been steam-ironing his clothes when minutes before I hopped in the shower he backed out of going to dinner.
Instead of staying home and pouting, I hopped in my car and jetted to the other side of town... anything to keep me from blowing up.

This morning, as I made myself some breakfast in a nearly empty home (only Mom was still here), Mom talked about yesterday. Apparently it was MY idea not to go to dinner.
Great.
Fantastic.
Rad.

Gson has backed out of at least four social events this week... and people aren't very happy about it.
But guess who's getting the heat for at least three of those events-- me.
L.O.L.
D-ohhhhh-pe.

It's pretty remarkable how EASY it is to blame a quiet, shy person and have others believe that quiet person is wrecking the life/fun of the "extrovert."

I'd probably cry about it... but after a few minutes of chill time, I'm left sort of entertained by the observation... even if it all happens to be at my expense.

The manner in which physically beautiful people manipulate others sure is fucking mesmerizing. 

golden

Still going crazy.

My godson has been living with me for the last week... and I'm ready to jump from a skyscraper.

I have done and seen so much bullshit in the last week than I have in... years.

Saturday night I attended a party (mostly to give my 25 year old godson a nice Vegas experience) where, in my attempt to be NORMAL and SOCIAL, I took a seat on the closest bed to the group of people (this was a hotel party at the Wynn). It took me about two minutes to realize the seat I had chosen in the entire room also happened to be the spot where the prettiest, most popular chick in the room, had decided to set her eight ball of yeyo.
Seriously.

Moments like those make me realize just how fucking WEIRD I am.
While everyone in the room was acting as though this was normal as fuck, not batting an eye, I felt sick to my stomach.
Is this normal? Does EVERYONE have fucking COKE at their parties?! Am I really THAT weird for fucking hating drugs the way that I do? IS THIS NORMAL?!
Shit like this makes me have a massive existential crisis. It makes me feel like I'm living a lie. Am I really that much of an anomaly... such a rare human being... that my parties, and my example of fun is just... good music, laughter... games... a nice alcoholic buzz... and that's all? Like... is being "clean" really that fucking weird?
Even before stepping foot in the room, the smell of weed permeated the air. I walked in, and so much drug paraphernalia was in plain sight, I found myself staring at the motherfucking alarm clock the entire night... because I felt like shit if I saw the activities taking place.

As I sat ON the fucking cocaine, I saw as all the girls in the room swarmed my godson, and offered him an orgy. Right there.
Wait, wait, wait... what, what, WHAT?!

I still feel a little panic attack just remembering.
This can't be fucking normal. It just can't. No, man. No. I can't be THAT anomalous. I just can't.

Am I suffering these horrible depressive episodes because I'm one of the few imbeciles NOT doing any sort of drug? Would my life be THAT much more fucking bearable if I just went ahead and aimlessly fucked any and all guy who wanted to? Is all of this the secret to NOT wanting to put a bullet through your fucking brain nearly every day of your adult life?

It was hard to keep my composure... not burst into tears the moment I realized I was such a weirdo.
I don't do drugs. I don't smoke. I don't fuck. I hardly drink.
I don't like any of that shit. And this makes me a weirdo. A loser.

So, as we were going home... and I was driving my very lit godson down the strip... we started a conversation on this subject.
I came clean to him after he made a comment on how all girls are whores and all girls love some drug (his words, not mine).
Not all girls are whores-- I have yet to fuck ANYONE.
Not all girls love a drug-- I have yet to do ANY.
And then this ensued:
"OH MY GOD. You're like... a fucking... you're a GOLDEN..."
Me: Unicorn. I'm a unicorn. A mythical creature.
"But... OH MY GOD! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH POWER YOU HAVE RIGHT NOW?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT I'D DO IF I HAD THE POWER YOU HAVE RIGHT NOW?"
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHA. AHAHAHAHAHA. "Power." HAHAHAHAHA! No. None of that.
"Do you know what any man would give if he found you?"
Me: Apparently not a damn fucking thing. I AM perpetually single. I'm 30 now. 30.
"But you're the.... you're the... you're the top... the maximum. A good looking, athletic, intelligent, tall, kind, funny, selfless, rich, chill, drug-free, VIRGIN. It doesn't get better than that. It's what all men look for."
Me: No. No it's not. It never is.
"If I were to find a girl like you right now, at this second, I'd marry her instantly. Instantly. I would give her the world."

... Marry her. Marriage. That's the ultimate prize? I'm supposed to be... to feel... to uh... aspire to MARRIAGE as the ultimate reward? Marriage? For real?
I sat in my car, once again, fighting the urge to cry... the urge to "ugly cry" with screams, violent trichotillomania... all that shit.
I don't want marriage. I never have. I don't want a commitment of that nature.
I just... want company. Kindness.
In a world where I can't find a guy who literally wants to hold my motherfucking hand for a few seconds, I want something as fucking SIMPLE as kindness. Simple company.
Just stay. Just... stay.
But that has proven to be difficult... damn near impossible... definitely undesirable.

Instead of a marriage proposal, the only thing this girl gets is heartbreak, humiliation... disdain.
I am forgettable... meaningless.
I am the lame nerd who sits on the pretty, cool girl's coke at a party... and spends the night observing the boys swarm the coke fiends... as she quietly drinks water all night by herself.

What all men are looking for... lol lol lol.

"Anxiety" my fucking ass

There is a feeling that I hate more than any other feeling in this world-- when someone I hold in high esteem fails me... and fails me HARD.
Disappointment sucks dick.

While I AM crying with rage about it, I can say I'm still relieved at realizing these tears do not carry as heavy a weight as they did a few months ago.

This is how I know I'm no longer depressed...
I'm just really fucking pissed.

Clearing visible

Not that I want to jinx anything, but I honestly feel it this time, and doubt I can jinx it...
I think I'm out of the woods.
I feel pretty solid about that statement.

It's not that I no longer think about suicide... but more like... I don't feel it's a threat... I don't "fear" it will happen, if that makes sense.
I'll once in a while wonder what life would be like without me... or I'll catch myself enjoying something, and think something like "See, imagine if you would have actually followed through with your thoughts back in January and not have been able to relish this moment!" The thought actually makes me enjoy little pretty moments that much more... I'm much more appreciative.

It really does feel like someone has woken me up. I have no idea who it was... or how it happened... I just know it was a semi-slow process... like watching a sunrise... watching the rays of sun slowly take over the darkness and reveal the beauty that had always been there-- just like that.

I still feel rage. I still get sad. I still cry.
But it's not... it doesn't have the same... weight. It doesn't burden me as much as it did a few months ago-- it also doesn't linger as long.
Just like I mentally beat the fucking shit out of myself to the point of extreme depression, I also forced myself back up. I reached the point where something inside me, that same little part of me which kept me going as a kid when all those bad things would happen to me, that relentless optimism that hides in a corner of my being which has yet to be destroyed... just slapped me across the face and told me to chill the fuck out. Like Bambi's dad commands his son to "GET UP!" in the movie after Bambi gets shot... some part of me commanded me to do the same.
"Goddamn it! You're going to enjoy this!"
"SMILE, you fucking imbecile!"
"NO! No! You fucking stop that motherfucking negative memory RIGHT NOW!"
"LAUGHT, DAMN IT! LAUGH!"
"GET. UP."
And after much inner-turmoil, daily struggles with myself to NOT be sad... I eventually began to genuinely not feel sad. I began to enjoy things.

I'm not going to sit here and act like I'm fucking elated, because I'm not. I'm not a ball of energy, either.
But I feel strong. I'm not drained. I feel grounded AS FUCK. I'm present.

I'm taking things a day at a time, and allowing myself to enjoy things.
I still don't look forward to the future-- I don't dread it either-- but I sense this is a more optimistic thing for me. When I think too much about the future, that's when my issues begin, it's when I begin dipping my feet into those buckets of fresh cement, waiting for them to dry so I can throw myself into a deep body of water.
I actually give thanks at the end of each day, even the shitty ones. "Thank you for allowing me to smile today! That was nice." "Thank you for the learning experience today... I'll try not to do that again. Let it go, AnoMALIE."

There's nothing worse than feeling like an invisible "entity" just floating on by... I didn't even feel like a person the majority of the time... just an invisible, meaningless ghost.
I've never felt as horrible as the dark shit I'm just now leaving behind. Never. And I hope never to revisit that shit again... EVER.

Maybe I'll talk about the bad days further down the road.
But right now? I'm good. I'm sturdy. I'm ok. I'll be ok.

Tres Dias

This past weekend was one of the best I've had in a very long time. I laughed more over the course of three days than I have in the last three months.
Most instances required me to break away from the nagging negative thoughts, and forced me to get out-- actually PARTICIPATE, not just do my typical zombie shit. Each day was a battle with myself... I even cried one of the times before leaving my house... but by the end of the day, I was always happy I refused to listen to the depressive shit, and fought my way through the paralyzing fears.

Now the trick is to hold on to the feeling... or to at least not lose my grip and slip back into the land of misery.
I haven't mastered that shit yet.