“Suddenly I’m overcome, dissolving like the setting sun…”

July 19, 2017 at 11:48 pm (Uncategorized)

You say don’t hate me.  It’s hard to believe when you won’t speak to me, you won’t even acknowledge my existence. and you maybe on purpose sabotaged my relationship with your mom. She acknowledges my existence only a teeny bit more than you.
God, it hurts.  It really fucking hurts. You were one of my best friends.  One of my favorite people.  I don’t know what happened. Is it really over what my boyfriend did for a living five years ago?  That’s enough for you to hate me?  I know, you said you didn’t.  But, do you know how emotionally manipulative it felt when you responded with two somewhat cryptic sentences after more than two years? It ripped out my heart.
I hate this.  I don’t want to lose people.  I’ve lost so many and I can’t stand it anymore.  I keep hoping that one day you’ll miss me and reach out, but maybe it’s time to accept that, for you, love (any type of love) is conditional and I do not meet your conditions.  I’m not worthy anymore.
I’m moving to Tacoma in ten days and it kills me that once I do my chances of running into you on one of your visits will be zero.  I feel like I’ll never see you again.  I think that is how you want it.  I feel like I’ve been grieving over your death for two and a half years now. I miss you so damn much.  Any time I see anything Ghostbusters-related I want to cry.  Isn’t that ridiculous?


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Happy Groundhog Day! ( I have nothing better to title this)

February 2, 2017 at 1:40 am (Uncategorized)

Someone once pointed out that I only seem to write when I’m sad;  when I’m doing well I don’t really produce any blogs/journals/poetry.  I didn’t really think that was true until I looked back on old writings and saw that…yeah, they’re all filled with pain, worry, and melancholy.
I’m realizing that I have a harder time writing about how I’m feeling when the feelings are not shitty.  In fact, I have no desire to write much at all.  I’ve thought about going back and editing old poems, maybe make them sound not so…over-dramatic.  A few have potential to be something good.  Many others could be used as blackmail against me they’re so bad.
I have written a bit in the last year or so, but it’s nothing I want to share publicly;  my therapist wants me to feel my feelings (what a ridiculous idea) and not just set them aside.  One way of doing this is writing it out and the other is to actually cry when I feel like crying.  Since the urge to cry always seems to come upon me at inopportune moments, I usually end up writing.  I kind of wish I hadn’t because now I’m feeling more about things I thought I was over and discovering moments in life that I have never actually dealt with. Wee.
But for the most part, I’m doing well.  I still have crappy things going on – money is a problem as always, my maternal family is still treating me like a pariah, my number one nemesis is, as always, my own mind and heart- but my life is…stable.  I have a job I love.  I go home every night to someone who cherishes me.  I live with the most adorable bunny in the world.  I’m not actually freaked by the fact that I’m moving to another state in a few months.  And, I’ve found that when I’m happy I actually create things, which is what I do instead of write.  I draw intricate patterns and come up with ideas that I can actually see becoming a project instead of remaining just an idea rolling around in my head.  I connect jump rings in patterns that sometimes hurt my brain to create chainmail jewelry; I’ve even sold some of it. I do things.
The only thing that mars everything is how the one person who read this blog still hates me .  I assume he does (which leads me to ask myself:  why am I even writing this?  I KNOW no one will read this).  I don’t know.  All I know is that I continue to have bad dreams where he expresses how much he loathes me and wants me to just die already.   I don’t know how to deal with this. Nobody who really knew me before the age of 18 is in my life anymore and it makes me feel abandoned for reasons I’m unsure of.
Life is just…very strange at times.  I feel old.  Working with kids who never even lived in the 20th century does not help with that feeling.

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“And if I am unloved, l have unloved, too.”

December 3, 2015 at 1:51 pm (Uncategorized)

Aaand then, Gloria opened her mouth and pandemonium ensued.

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Gobble Gobble

November 25, 2015 at 3:17 pm (Uncategorized)

It’s a beautiful day today.  The air has a bite to it and the sun is only somewhat shining. It’s the day before Thanksgiving and everyone seems to be in a good mood. I wish I could join them.

It’s been two years since Mom died and I have no idea how that happened. Two years since I last saw her breathe and heard her say, “I love you.” It’s also been two years since I’ve had to worry about calls from jail, abusive boyfriends, and emotional manipulation.  It’s a trade off, I suppose.  Some days I wonder if it’s worth it.  It is for my sanity, there’s no argument there. But, my mother’s death is still a wound as raw as it was when she died.

My therapist pointed out that everyone that had been there throughout my growing up is now gone in one way or another. Friends have not kept in touch and family has either died or become indifferent. It’s strange how I have, not a lot, but some family still out there and yet they might as well be dead.  I haven’t spoken to many of them for almost two years.  I’m currently attempting to get together with my godparents (thank you, Facebook, for telling me they’ll be in town because we all know it’s not like they’ll tell me). It’s hard to plan something though when the texts exude such warmth: “We will get in on thursday night or friday morning.”; “I will let you know when we get in town.”  God, I can feel how much they want to see me in those texts, can’t you?

Sarcasm, you are my best friend.

I tell myself that I have wonderful friends, a loving boyfriend, people who have made me a part of their family and show how much they care, but somehow they do not fill the hole that my family has ripped out of my heart.

At least Mom, in her own twisted and dysfunctional way, made it known that she loved me.

Ugh, I don’t want to think about this anymore.  Time to go the farmer’s market.


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“Burn it down, till the embers smoke on the ground…”

July 9, 2014 at 6:11 pm (Uncategorized)

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I thought…I thought I knew what I wanted in life and maybe I still do, but I feel so incredibly lost. It doesn’t look like I’ll be going to SJSU in the fall, and a part of me…doesn’t care. Not in an “I’m stuck in depression at the moment and don’t care about anything,” but that the idea of not going doesn’t fill me with a feeling of failure. I’m more worried- bah, not worried, wary maybe, of how family members will take it. But even then, I think I’m at the point that if I were to receive some kind of criticism from them I would go into berserk mode, about how if they want me to focus on my education more and if they want to know why it’s taking me so long it’s because I’ve been having to do all of this on my fucking own.

            I’m so tired of the uphill battle. The constant tilting and twirling of my life and how nothing is ever stable, of worrying about bills and where I’ll be living in a month or two. I’m tired of not being able to do the things I want to do and how I put off dreams for when I’m “more stable” and done with my bachelors degree. I’ve only been chasing after my degree so doggedly because…because why? To show I’m a capable person who can be a productive member of society and be seen as successful? Successful to whom? Family? People who’s opinion I don’t/shouldn’t care about? My family is so concerned with me being able to do everything “on my own” so why am I concerned with how they see me? It’s MY life. They’ve made the conscious effort to not have any influence in it so I should live it they way I want to and not give any fucks towards what they think. I mean, it’s not like they’ve invested any kind of energy into me.

I’m so concerned about what my family thinks…but the people in my life who actually act like family only want one thing from me. They want me to be happy, however that may be.  

And what would make me happy? I don’t know, but it’s not what I’m doing right now. I’m tired of college, of having to take ANOTHER writing class because the CSU system doesn’t think a student at the junior level can write still. Which, honestly, there are people out there who fit that description but that’s not their faults-it’s the CSU system itself. I’m tired of taking random gen ed classes that don’t relate at all to my major; SJSU has four more gen ed requirements called “SJSU Studies” that are just more liberal arts education crap. I love learning about anything and everything, I do, but c’mon. I want to do art-I want to learn alternative printing processes and watercolor and figure drawing and glassblowing and how to use a potter’s wheel. I’m done with general education.

I’m done with a lot of things.

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“Can’t take the kid from the fight….take the fight from of the kid.”

November 23, 2013 at 10:47 pm (Uncategorized)

I’ve been protective over my mom ever since I was a little girl. One of my earliest memories is Christmas Eve when I was four years old; it was 1992.  My memory isn’t very clear anymore, but I remember my dad had been drunk and was beating the crap out of my mother.  When he finally passed out, my mom was almost unconscious.  I remember running to the front room and grabbing the container that held the long matchsticks used to light the fireplace and throwing them at my dad.  It didn’t really do anything-what physical strength does a four year old have? –but it was the principle of the matter.  Somebody was hurting my mom and that just wasn’t gonna fly with me.

For most of my life, the relationship between my mother and I has always been reversed.  I was her confidant, her therapist, her mom.  When something from her past was making her cry, I held her.  When she passed out drunk, I put a blanket over her and tucked myself into bed, since I technically was still young enough to have a bedtime.  As I’ve gotten older I’ve done my best to protect her from the hardships of life.  I’ve taken so many calls from her, crying that her boyfriend beat her, or a “friend” was taking advantage of her, or that life was just too much and she was just so, so tired of trying anymore.  I’ve listened and soothed her the best I could.  I did whatever was in my power to protect her, even when it was from herself.

I’ve always protected her.  I’ve always cradled her in my heart, trying to shield the world from her.

And now she and I have come to an instance where I am powerless. I cannot do a thing but hold her and tell her I love her and that she’ll be fine, when I have no clue what will happen.

My mom is dying.

She’s dying, and I can’t hold her hand and try to make this final journey for her any easier.  I can’t do anything but just watch as my mom slowly fades away, going somewhere I can’t follow along, at least not now. I can’t ease her pain. Morphine can ease the physical, but the emotional…I can’t even help with that.  Her mind is already mostly somewhere else.  Her brief moments of lucidness are spent with me smiling at her and asking if she’s comfortable.  I can’t bear for her to be in any more pain.  My god, she’s had enough of that.

I have to stop writing, I’m going to start sobbing.

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My Parents

May 8, 2013 at 8:41 pm (Uncategorized)

*Ironically, this was written before this weekend. It’s a little unsettling.

His story is done-
The epilogue is written,
the cover is closed.
But hers?
Hers is wide open.
Words of bitter pain
of quiet love
of expected defeat
may still be written.
The pages are dwindling though,
and who knows what section
we shall shelve
Her story.

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“Seven devils all around me…”

February 12, 2013 at 10:19 pm (Uncategorized)

I want to push everyone off a cliff.

I want to scream at the top of my lungs.

I want to punch all the walls around me.

I want to go where nobody knows me.

I want someone to realize something is wrong.

I want to stop having breakdowns.

I want to be publicly open with how I feel and not fear that others will think that I’m weak.

That I’m lazy.

That I lack a backbone.

That I hide behind words to  “excuse” my behavior.

I don’t want people to think that I’m trying to “excuse” anything.

I want to be happy.

I want Society to get off my back.

I want people to understand that mental illness is an illness like any other illness.

I want to do something spectacular.

I want to be loved and wanted.

I am a bloom that is being choked by weeds that I cannot see.

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November 29, 2012 at 8:04 pm (Uncategorized)

Please just make the pain stop. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t.

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“I’m not calling you a ghost, so stop haunting me…”

November 28, 2012 at 8:00 am (Uncategorized)

Diagnosis: Heart is shattered.
Prognosis: Not good. Nothing helps to heal or ease the pain.

At least I still have a sense of humor, I guess.

I wish everything would disappear. Maybe then the pain would be at least bearable…but probably not. Everywhere I go, he’s there. Two days in a row this week “Iris” showed up on work’s Pandora station and I had to ask my coworker to change the station. The other day The song from prom also played at work; I almost had a breakdown. Yesterday when I went into Starbucks “Soul Meets Body” started blasting when I was about to leave. I catch myself saying things he used to say, even things from the fucking Tim And Eric show.

I swear I’m trying to move on but I can’t seem to escape.

If there is a god, he’s one sadistic fucker.

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