It’s been sometime since I’ve felt the need to divulge. I’ve been attempting my best to deal with circumstances rather than vent to pen and paper (or rather in this case computer/public forum). But tonight, as the boyfriend sleeps and I have a load of laundry to do I wanted to just vent about everything and nothing at all.

I went to my hometown for Fourth of July weekend. I hung out with old friends, went to the beach, had some amazing Mexican tacos, plenty of raspas (yet still not enough!), took some random maternity pictures of my very pregnant friend, and went to my favorite child hood pizza place. It was spectacular. I often tend to forget what it’s like to hang out with friends. It’s been so long since I’ve hung out with anyone who wasn’t the boyfriend, so it was great to catch up with friends I hadn’t seen in years. It always sucks leaving them behind, I wish I could pack them up and bring them with me. I also hung out with the family, which made me nostalgic and wish I was closer to home. It sucks living far away from home.

The trip was set to end on a good note and then we got word that my Uncle had passed away. I, honestly, didn’t know how to take it. It had been so long since I had seen him. He used to be a happy man. It was rare that you would not see him playing or idly strumming his guitar, he was almost always singing a song to someone. Though he never had to say it, it was apparent that he desired to have a family and it wasn’t until his late 30’s or early 40’s that he met someone. Most people believe, that in his desperation for a family, he settled for her because since his marriage the songs slowly faded and he became consumed by depression and drug addiction. I remember it was a month before my brother passed away that he attempted against his own life. That was when I learned of his depression and felt I could relate to him because of my own struggles — though if I believe what family says his stemmed a lot from his drug binges. Either way, I sympathized with him. He turned to religion and eventually pushed a lot of his family away. We would try to go find him and he would either ignore our calls, pretend he wasnt home. . he basically avoided us at all cost. They say it was because his religion was very strict on whom he could associate himself with but I believed that his depression played a bigger factor as to why he pushed people away. When we were down there visiting, my mom even mentioned him and we both thought it pointless to go visit because we knew he wouldn’t answer our knocks. And from what they say, his wife was hardly ever around. I’m sad that I didn’t get to know him more and that I’ll never have the chance, but I hope that wherever he is now he’ll be able to rest from the demons that never left his side while he was living.

Before I was able to react to his death, we were driving on the interstate and reminiscing about my Uncle when this box, of what I believe was yogurt or some unidentifiable goo, was thrown from a passing car onto our windshield. Fortunately, I got a grip of the wheel and was able to not freak out and lose control. However, I became infuriated by the pieces of shit who could have potentially caused me to swerve and crash the car that my mother and I were in. I flashed my lights at them and honked the horn. They raced off, which led me to believe that they did it on purpose. I caught up to them and flipped them off, hoping they could hear my screams but they dared not stare at me for long and sped off again. It was two young kids in a fancy new red car. They quickly sped off again. I tried to keep pace, debating on whether I should call the cops or what I should do. Then they slowed down and the bastard in the passenger side had the gall to show me whatever he was trowing and flips me off and attempts to hit my car again. I swerved. I was tempted to throw something at them or ram my car into them, quite honestly had my mother not been in the same car I would have done that or worse. People like that who have no regard for others’ safety pisses me off. My mom was visibly upset and a little scared. . . my uncle had just died and it just pushed me over the edge but I decided to do something else instead — something I never do. I called the cops, 911 patched me through to state troopers and I explained the situation to her and she had the nerve to say that I probably caused it because I was driving too close to the car. Which wasn’t the case at all but apparently, according to that state trooper, if you drive close to a car it’s okay for them to chuck whatever inanimate objects they have at you. It’s your fault that you were too close. She swore she wasn’t accusing me of anything but how else am i to take it? She said to back away from them and that they would see if they had any troopers in the area and they would see what they could do. This honestly made me contemplate beating the crap out of the kids even more. It’s quite scary when you can’t trust in people who are sworn to protect you and they blame you instead. Hello, I’m calling you for help before they either kill me or vice versa and all you can do is accuse. Fuck. I provided them with the necessary description and license plates, but I honestly doubt anything would come of it. I had a friend tell me that even if they found them they would just get a smack on the hand because these kids were in a fancy new car, in Oklahoma, and white. If that’s the case, it’s a sad that race still pays a determining factor on what would determine your punishment.

Sigh.

The sudden death of my Uncle did allow me to reflect on a lot of things. I realized that out of fear I was holding back on my relationships/friendships. I was afraid to get hurt and never made my best effort.

I had attempted to reach out to a friend and things didn’t go as planned and it was awkward and when she didn’t respond to a message I decided to just remove myself from the equation. Letting go was hard because I always wanted her to be the one I could go to but I could never depend on her. I realized I never said anything when it bothered me because I was afraid to lose a friend, so the anger and disappointment built up until the point I couldn’t forgive. I justified her excuses from time to time because I wanted it to be one of those friendships that would last until my grey hairs were dyed pink, but alas I couldn’t hold onto a friendship that we both eventually half-assed. I’m of course not blameless. I got so used to having no friends that it was hard to transition to having friends. Even now, it’s not something I’m completely adjusted to. If you’re reading this, Greta, I hope you know that I cherished our friendship dearly. You were the friend that I dreamed of having when I was younger. Someone that was just like me, who I could adventure with and be completely stupid with. I truly wish we could have been better friends to one another because we could have been an amazing pair of old grannies hanging around in matching track suits, yelling at the youth and it’s stupid trends. I wish you the best in life and hope that everything goes amazingly well for you.

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Change is Hard

Growing up is harder.

As of late, I’ve been coming to many realizations. Where as some have been great others have been hard to accept. Even now, I’m fighting to accept them and because of it I’ve been going in and out of more frequent depressive episodes. On the outside I appear to be perfectly content but inside I’m waging war with myself. 

I’ve been fighting the instinct to run, hide and hold myself hostage in the bathroom. The old me would have reverted back to old habits and destroyed everything in her path but I refuse to go back to that. I lost a lot, hurt people I cared for and lost sight of who I was. At this point in life, I am fortunate to have a wonderful boyfriend who is my best friend and is very supportive.  When I’m at my darkest he, unknowingly, saves me by saying something completely ridiculous and with that I can breathe again and am no longer drowning in my thoughts. It’s like he instinctually knows I need him. Even though I had admitting it, I would undoubtedly be lost without him. 

Friendships are another thing I’ve been struggling with. I’m terrible at making friends and even more so at keeping them. I never used to be bad at it, at least I don’t think so, but when you’re young it’s so much easier to make friends. You’re instantly best friends with anyone who likes the same color as you do, but now I’m not even sure how you begin to befriend anyone. After being burned by terrible friendships and dealing with major depression, I let go of the thought of having friends and became aloof. It was easier to deal with life without having the added drama of friendships, amongst many other reasons. Now, I have a handful of friends but always forget what the proper protocol is to maintain them. I often feel that I’m too self-absorbed because I’m caught up in my own thoughts, all from being so accustomed to it just being me, so at times it feels uncomfortably awkward. Friendships always seem so much harder than relationships and they shouldn’t be, should they? I think I’m a decent friend. I do my best to be supportive, honest, and attempt to be there for a friend because I genuinely care and because that’s what I think friends should do. I’m not sure if I’m doing it wrong. Sometimes, I’ve been very skeptical of some friendships, questioning the kindness of some and thinking their was something sinister behind their smile. Maybe I end up in friendships that are one sided or I just delude myself into thinking I’m a good friend when I’m not.  Perhaps, I’m just not a worthy friend. I’m honestly not sure but I feel like I’m failing miserably. After much thought, I realize that I’m tired of making justifications for others and myself, or feeling like I’m forcing my friendship on others. I’ve decided to finally just let go of some friendships, their’s no point in keeping friends that don’t want, need or should be kept. I’m exhausted and though I need to learn to accept that their are people who genuinely want to be friends I also need to let go of those who aren’t worth the time and stop trying to keep those who want to be left alone. I don’t know why it was so hard to accept this, I’ve been down this road before but I guess it’s a little difficult this time because I was just getting used to the idea of friends and began to assume some would be there forever or would get to that point. 

Another realization is that I’ve decided that I need to stop making big plans or having ideas and never doing anything with them. I’m starting a list of things I want to accomplish or at least attempt doing because the fact is that death is imminent and I don’t want to regret things at a later point in life when it’s too late. One of those things is starting a band. I was in one briefly a long time ago but I moved away and that was that. I really shouldn’t even consider it because it was over before it began. I have no expectations for this band, I simply want to do it because I’ve always wanted to and it should be fun. It may very well be a terrible endeavor but at least I can say I made the attempt and that’s all that matters. I also want to make an album that I can say I helped create, even if it ends up being bad. I have one friend who is ready and willing, so it’s very exciting and off to a better start than anticipated. 

 

Happy Father’s Day Rant

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It’s Father’s Day! Not that it’s terribly important to me, actually it’s still not important at all. Growing up without a father makes you oblivious to this holiday, the only reason that I’m aware of it now is because my boyfriend is out spending the day with his dad and the constant postings on facebook, seems like that they all have the “best” dad. I don’t say that in a sarcastic way, even if sometimes I am a little bitter at not having had one.

When I was little, the impact of not having a father wasn’t obvious. I knew he wasn’t there but the lack of his presence didn’t affect me in the same way it probably did my brothers and sisters. My father walked out on us when I was about 3, I have very few memories of him being around. The only faint memories I have of him, at least while he was living with us, is of him building a bathroom for our house and that’s as far as I can reach. We did, however, see him from time to time whenever we visited my Grandma’s house. So even despite his abandonment he still had a small role in our lives but it was always tough for me to see him as my dad.

I’m not so sure that as I child I knew what hate was but I swear I hated him and hated whenever he was around. I, especially, hated that he had the audacity to expect us….or me to still call him dad, as if he deserved the title. My family would always try to get me to call him Apa and I never wanted to budge so my compromise was to call him my ex-papa. I felt it a more appropriate title, I don’t know that he was ever truly hurt by it. At times, he would give us money to go to the corner store and buy snacks, when I was older I began to suspect that he did it as a means of trying to lessen his guilt but I couldn’t be sure that he ever truly felt guilty. After all, this was the same man who when he walked out on his family of five said that he didn’t need us, that he could have more kids. We were expendable.

I hated him. Not because he abandoned us, not because he was the macho type of man I loathed, nor that he forgot our birthday’s, or that he left my mom to fend for us all by herself but because despite all of that a part of me still wanted him to want to be my father. To want to get to know us, to say that he was sorry for leaving us and all the terrible things he did to my mom and siblings. I still wanted to know what it was like to have a real caring father, but I think I hated myself more for that.

Shortly after I graduated from high school, he was severely beaten up and was hospitalized because of it.  At that time, I was going through a tough time and was annoyed to have to drive down to visit him when he was never there for us. I didn’t think he deserved the gesture. But I had no choice, so when we made it there I was expecting him to be his usual self and was prepared to put him in his place but something about seeing his heavily bruised face and bandaged head all I could do was pity him. Normally, he’s not soft but something about him was different. Somewhere in that short visit, he slipped and actually told me he was proud of me for graduating, for not being subservient, for being me. I was speechless but I was even more surprised at how mad I was at him for saying this. 

When we drove home, I kept thinking that maybe it was time to bury the hatchet and finally talk to him and get everything out in the open. I didn’t want to leave things left unsaid or unanswered, I didn’t want history repeating itself. I decided that it was time to have that talk with him, even if it hurt me. But I never got the chance because two months later he died. 

At his funeral, I shed very few tears and those were only reserved for my brothers and sisters. I always felt I had it easy because he didn’t get the chance to hurt me as much as he hurt them when he walked out on us. But I was hurting, even more so than ever even if I didn’t want to admit it. Again, he had abandoned us, but this time for good and with his death he took the closure I will never be able to get.

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I will say, that this day should truly be dedicated to my Mother. She may have made plenty of mistakes along the way but she was resilient and did as much as she could for us. I don’t think I could have had her upbringing and have been as great as a mother as she has been. I wish that I could give her the life that she deserves but I’ll be damned if I don’t try. 

Busy Bee

Oh my word. I’ve been incredibly busy this past week or so. I can’t even keep track anymore. I’m starting to think this is how my life will always be, just a blur. I’ve started several entries and couldn’t finish them because I either had to head out, it was way past my bedtime or I was too burned out to form cohesive sentences.

But…..

Busy is good because it gets my mind off of the crappy things, but really it’s because I am now employed! I’m especially excited about that part, because it means I will be getting a paycheck fairly soon! Well, a full time paycheck because I have two jobs now. A full time and a part-time. Such a drastic change to a month ago when I was sitting around waiting for a call back, losing my mind and had little to no money in my bank account. 

I’ve only been at my new job for a little over a week and, though it’s a little overwhelming at times, I’m enjoying it. The people that have been training me have been nice and I’m just hoping that I can quickly pick up all the things that I need to learn. 

I feel like their is so much to do and so little time in the day to get things accomplished. I had forgotten that things get hectic when you’re working full time. For now, I shouldn’t complain because I feel very fortunate to have gotten this job. Very fortunate. 

I wish I could spend the night just rambling away but I have to be up soon and sleep is finally calling out to me. 

 

Lockdown.

It’s raining outside and I hate that the A/C is on drowning out the sound of thunder and the pitter patter of the rain. I miss the days where I would lay by the window listening intently to the sound of thunder beckoning for a dance, the rain would sing melodies to lure the lightening to a forbidden dance across the darkened sky. It was all so romantic and magical when I was younger. Now, the sound is drowned out by the humming and whirring of the a/c unit or I have to make sure the windows and slider’s are locked because otherwise I’m panic stricken of the consequences of leaving my slider or window open.

To be precise, it’s not the adult part that transformed me into this panic ridden person but experiences that occurred in my youth and well into my adult life that have changed me into this panic ridden being. I’ve noticed that I’m usually enveloped in fear when I move into a new place but once I’m settled in I tend to ease up,  stop carrying a knife, stop double checking everything is locked or having nightmares about people breaking in. I was so close to getting that peace of mind, or as close to it as I’ll ever be at my current place, but then this Sunday that went out that window. While the boyfriend and I were making our way over to my friend’s house we noticed their were 3 squad cars outside one of the apartments. An elderly woman was standing outside with a phone to her ear talking to 3 officers and we figured, considering it’s Memorial Day Weekend, they were being drunk/disorderly/loud with their partying. When we arrived at 11:30 p.m. the scene had escalated into a full on lockdown.

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We tried to make our way in to our apartment but the cops had both entrances blocked. Their were over 10 squad cars, that I could count, and eventually even swat made their way in.

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According to the cop that was blocking passage their was a man with a gun making threats. Supposedly it was against his own life but it’s easy to argue against that considering they had over 10 squad cars, swat, paramedics and a fire truck at arms reach. But I’m not a cop and was too tired to pretend to know why they do the things they did. We didn’t get mad or annoyed, even though we were exhausted, we just parked our car along the row of already waiting neighbors and waited.

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I was annoyed because people kept trying to sneak pictures and kept standing in crowds trying to view everything. Possibly, Tweeting/facebooking or using this terrible situation for their attention-whore syndrome a lot of people are currently suffering from. It’s evident I took pictures but I wasn’t being invasive, I took them from my car and didn’t bug the police. It just annoys me when people are too focused on getting likes on their social media than focusing on the matter at hand. Their’s a man with a gun who is not in a mentally stable place and could start shooting at any second. Are people to self absorbed and consumed by being in the know to realize it’s a matter of safety? I really don’t get it.

Despite this irritation I slept for a little, comforted by the idea that I was safe and the weather was awesome — warm but the breeze was amazing. My boyfriend listened in on the scanner and we heard them saying they were doing negotiations with the man. At 3 a.m we heard 4 shots and then 30 minutes later we were allowed in. I think, they smoked him out because their was nothing on the news about it, just that a suicidal man was in custody.

Also, this always becomes an anti-gun issue — which to be frank, also, annoys the crap out of me. Guns don’t put me at unease, it’s the people who wield their power. They’re the ones that frighten me, because the people who want to do damage will do so by any means and can turn any object into a weapon. People tend to forget that because they long to believe that people are inherently good and ridding guns out of the equation will possibly mean less violence. Nope, sadistic people are sadistic and will do evil things because they’re evil not because an object is in their possession. Hell, I’m inclined to believe that evil people could turn puppies/kittens into a weapon and the day that happens. . . well, I’m screwed because I love puppies and kittens.

Point is: the stupid intrusion dreams have commenced once again.

Expecto Patronum

Go figure, less than 4 hours before I have to wake up and here I am blogging to hopefully keep my mind off the anxiety attack that I’m having. Blegh. 

I found out a person from work was found dead in their apartment. I’ve been obsessing about it and I don’t know why, perhaps a part of me feels guilty? I’m not entirely sure. I never got along with her and to be frank, although our interaction was minimal, she was always rude. I feel bad about it though. Maybe because I don’t feel sympathy, when I should. Someone out there lost a sister, a friend, a daughter. I should feel a little sad about the situation but I just can’t help but feel nothing. I guess that’s what I feel terrible about. 

I would hope that the day I die I’m not remembered in a bad light, not that I’m a saint but I’d like for people to have at least one nice thing to say about me. Mainly, I would hope that people remember me as someone who did something with themselves. I know I still have a lot to accomplish in this life, so much has still been left undone/unsaid. I don’t know why but I’ve been so afraid to do a lot of things that I want to do. I suppose, I’m afraid of failing but I shouldn’t be. Failure is a sure sign that I tried. I’m positive that I’d rather fail than live my life in doubt.

The reality of it all is I’m not getting any younger and I would hope the day that I die I have accomplished a lot of the goals I’ve set for myself. But first, I realize that I have to move past the depression, the anxiety, the fear. Maybe, I have to remind myself that death is eventual and that the more that I let the fear dictate or limit my actions the closer I am to the end with nothing to show for it.

As unfortunate as it is, I realize that my life will never be that of a character in a novel. I have to realize that I will never possess magical abilities nor battle evil dark lords but I do have my own version of dementors to defeat and perhaps that’s adventure enough. When my final chapter closes, I just want to know that I have lived. I would have loved to save or at least change the world but I don’t think I could ever do that if I can’t change how I live mine. 

I think it’s time for some major life changes and I hope this is not a late night – sleep deprived rant but a step in the right direction. For now, I will settle in getting some sleep but tomorrow I’m going to try to be more positive and make sure to seize each opportunity that life grants me. I know it’s going to be a difficult transition because this is not the first nor the second time I’ve come to this realization. . . but it doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t keep trying until I get it right.

As Dumbledore said, “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”