Valentine’s Day, in its earlier years, has been all about breaking tradition and deception. One of the initial instances of this holiday began during the reign of Roman emperor Claudius II. He believed that soldiers that were married made poor soldiers and mandated that anyone serving their country be single. However, one of Claudius’ priests, Valentine, disagreed and would conduct secret marriages for the young men—sometimes the men would be as early as twelve! When the emperor found out about these marriages, he ordered Valentine to be beheaded. While he was awaiting his execution in jail, he befriended the jailer’s daughter and would send her notes inscribed: “from your Valentine.” Thus begins the tradition of the worst holiday created in history.
I don’t know why St. Valentine gets sainthood for creating the worst holiday in world history. Although his intentions were not aiming to create the biggest Hallmark holiday, they were instead used for helping people achieve the happiness that they deserve in spite of what authority may say. But I still think the holiday is one of the worst creations ever created by man, because it only proves that the emperor was somewhat right: on a day like February 14th, everyone becomes a sap for one day.
Now I feel I must backtrack, because my intentions of blogging are not to bring down the holiday. Normally, people buy gifts for their lovers on a day like today; however, I am going to break tradition. There have been three important people in my life that I feel I do not give enough credit to, because I have spent a majority of my life ignoring the things that they have done to make me into the person that I am today. Since my resolution was to repair some of the relationships that I have damaged, I felt it was appropriate to use Valentine’s day to herald these individuals in the only way I know how to show my appreciation: by writing.
Her name is Miranda, my youngest sister. She is 15 and she is taller than me. I don’t know if that makes me feel older or smaller, but in any case, she’s got the legs and figure of a model. Out of all of my siblings, I feel like she has had the hardest time growing up within our house. The reason why I say this is because me and my two other siblings, constantly picked on her. Looking back on those days, I feel ashamed that I could never take the things that I have done/said to her. Recently, I have started making a change in my behavior and interactions with my sister.
There are several things that I find in my sister that makes me really appreciate her. She is a fragile flower. She is very beautiful; but at the same time, Miranda does not show it off the way other girls do. Another trait that she possesses is the girl can talk, almost as much as me. Last Sunday, we went out for frozen yogurt, and she told me some stories. Finally, I know that she is going to become a very talented and beautiful woman when she grows up.
Next person is my other sister Kera. Growing up, we hardly got along—unless our mother bribed us. It was your typical sibling rivalry. But like all siblings that grow up together, eventually we set aside our differences and began to enjoy each other’s company. Now when I see her, I notice just how much talent she has as a both a musician as well as a person. She exposes her talent as well as her personality to the people that are involved in her life. I know one day she is going to succeed and make it big in the music industry, and she is not too far from that day either! It seems that whenever I have a problem, she is always there to listen.
Finally, we have my mother. Mothers are sacred beings. They are responsible for holding the key to a better future as well as generation. Growing up, my mother would always tell me that one of the best decisions she ever made was becoming a mother, and everyday that I am interacting with my mom, I see that she is a woman of her word. Growing up, my mom was my best friend. There was never a person that would devote themselves to finding the best decisions for their children than she.
When I was a kid, I would always write letters to my mom, because I felt that this gift was my only way of best conveying my thoughts. In return, my mother would write back, in the most beautiful penmanship. So to an extent, I want to thank my mom for encouraging me to write. Had it not been for her, I would probably be an engineer.
Valentine’s day is a day where people become sappy and emotional as they hand See’s Candy to their lovers along with some bear that will only end up at the nearest Salvation Army in six months. On a day like today, we feel obligated that we need to give gifts or express our affection to those that we care about. I am too poor as of this point to give gifts, so I would rather use the gift that my own mother gave me to let her, as well as my sisters, know how much she/they mean to me in my life. I don’t like buying cards, because they never say what is on my mind, so I would rather write in boring black and white because that’s what Valentine did the same thing.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
Prodigal
Religion is a drug that can be used to better the health of an individual; however, it can be abused and drive a person to have a sense of total dependency on the belief system. In my life, Christianity has allowed me to realize that even though I may experience hard times right now, I can be certain that there is something better for me in the distant future.
In the four gospels in the Bible, there is a man by the name of Jesus that would teach valuable lessons in the form of parables. Some of the best lessons in life are always told in the form of a subliminal message. Aesop, a Greek slave born in 620 B.C., was a intelligent writer that would write in the same manner. The only difference was Aesop was more direct than Jesus’ parables.
However, one of the parables that Jesus taught is one that I can relate to at this point in my life. It is the story of the prodigal son. The son demands his inheritance from his father, in which he takes to Vegas. It is in Vegas, that he appears on Boys Gone Wild; parties like Amy Winehouse, and goes broke, all within a paragraph.* However, upon waking up in a pig pen on some random farm, he has an epiphany. He took advantage of the blessings that God gave him and tried to live fast. As a result, he went broke, has a restraining order from his baby’s mama, and getting dirty in the pig pen.
Six months ago, things between my mother and I took a turn for the worst when I was given the opportunity to move to Long Beach. I got in a fight with her on moving day, grabbed all of my belongings, and moved to Long Beach. All without knowing it was the beginning of my descent.
Within my family tree, there has been a tradition that still reigns true within my mother’s side: When family is about to leave each other, they feel that it is better departing in anger than in relief/grief of bidding “adieu.” My aunts do it almost every time they leave each other every Thanksgiving and Christmas. It’s funny how my own mother, a person who abstains from allowing her sister’s bickering to get to her, has done it to her own son; making the move to Long Beach that much more difficult.
It took more than a couple dials on the phone to talk to my family. I felt like I wanted to do nothing but try to make them proud of me by showing them that I could make it on my own. But the more wrong turns I was reaching while in Long Beach showed me that there was little to no hope for my dreams to come true. Feeling more isolated and displaced from my friends and family like a prisoner stuck on the island of Alcatraz.
Rock Bottom. The point in your life when you wake up in a pig sty. Personally, my own pig sty became the revelation of living with myself. Recalling my exit from the house was so gut-wrenchingly painful that it took every fiber in my body to pack my U-Haul and make the drive with Jeff.
I am the kind of person that feels the guilt of hurting someone immediately after I committed the wrongdoing. Once I had finally left my family and had unpacked all of my belongings in Long Beach, I had started to feel the weight of guilt weighing heavily on my shoulders. Soon, my own brain became my private hell. If I wasn’t too careful, I realized I was slowly nearing my destination: the Gates of Dante’s Inferno, aka Rock Bottom. “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.” December 31st of last year became a time of self-intervention and reflection when I realized that, in 2010, I was going to repair the relationships that I had damaged, and turn my life around in a more positive direction as opposed to being self-centered and achieve what I want.
In the conclusions to Jesus’ parable, the Prodigal Son had a self-intervention as well. He realized that his dad’s servants got better treatment than this. In the same manner, I had a self-intervention that my sanity was slowly beginning to unravel. Two weeks ago, I stared in front of the mirror, hung-over, hair tossed from lack of sleep as well as a shower, and missing a tooth. It was revealed to me that I need to repair the damage that has been broken in my family in order to advance to the next stage in my life. So the son returned to his family’s house, where he was welcomed to back with arms open wide.
Long Beach felts like a nightmare I was not able to wake up from. Granted, I will always cherish the memories as well as friends that I made there. But trying to run away from your past is as pointless as trying to speed through traffic. Like a horror movie, the hero always takes back something rather important so that way, he is that much stronger for the next obstacle that may come at his/her way.
I may have been the Prodigal Son for six months, but I did learn a lot. Overall, I learned that I need to be more prepared to always have a back-up plan. Having learned that mistake the hard way led me to Rock Bottom. Granted, being back home feels like, in a way, I am back to being a failure. It feels like I am having to Go Back to Start in the Game of Life. But right now, since I reached Rock Bottom, there was no way to work on but up from here. I guess that is all I really have to look forward to….
In the four gospels in the Bible, there is a man by the name of Jesus that would teach valuable lessons in the form of parables. Some of the best lessons in life are always told in the form of a subliminal message. Aesop, a Greek slave born in 620 B.C., was a intelligent writer that would write in the same manner. The only difference was Aesop was more direct than Jesus’ parables.
However, one of the parables that Jesus taught is one that I can relate to at this point in my life. It is the story of the prodigal son. The son demands his inheritance from his father, in which he takes to Vegas. It is in Vegas, that he appears on Boys Gone Wild; parties like Amy Winehouse, and goes broke, all within a paragraph.* However, upon waking up in a pig pen on some random farm, he has an epiphany. He took advantage of the blessings that God gave him and tried to live fast. As a result, he went broke, has a restraining order from his baby’s mama, and getting dirty in the pig pen.
Six months ago, things between my mother and I took a turn for the worst when I was given the opportunity to move to Long Beach. I got in a fight with her on moving day, grabbed all of my belongings, and moved to Long Beach. All without knowing it was the beginning of my descent.
Within my family tree, there has been a tradition that still reigns true within my mother’s side: When family is about to leave each other, they feel that it is better departing in anger than in relief/grief of bidding “adieu.” My aunts do it almost every time they leave each other every Thanksgiving and Christmas. It’s funny how my own mother, a person who abstains from allowing her sister’s bickering to get to her, has done it to her own son; making the move to Long Beach that much more difficult.
It took more than a couple dials on the phone to talk to my family. I felt like I wanted to do nothing but try to make them proud of me by showing them that I could make it on my own. But the more wrong turns I was reaching while in Long Beach showed me that there was little to no hope for my dreams to come true. Feeling more isolated and displaced from my friends and family like a prisoner stuck on the island of Alcatraz.
Rock Bottom. The point in your life when you wake up in a pig sty. Personally, my own pig sty became the revelation of living with myself. Recalling my exit from the house was so gut-wrenchingly painful that it took every fiber in my body to pack my U-Haul and make the drive with Jeff.
I am the kind of person that feels the guilt of hurting someone immediately after I committed the wrongdoing. Once I had finally left my family and had unpacked all of my belongings in Long Beach, I had started to feel the weight of guilt weighing heavily on my shoulders. Soon, my own brain became my private hell. If I wasn’t too careful, I realized I was slowly nearing my destination: the Gates of Dante’s Inferno, aka Rock Bottom. “Abandon all hope ye who enter here.” December 31st of last year became a time of self-intervention and reflection when I realized that, in 2010, I was going to repair the relationships that I had damaged, and turn my life around in a more positive direction as opposed to being self-centered and achieve what I want.
In the conclusions to Jesus’ parable, the Prodigal Son had a self-intervention as well. He realized that his dad’s servants got better treatment than this. In the same manner, I had a self-intervention that my sanity was slowly beginning to unravel. Two weeks ago, I stared in front of the mirror, hung-over, hair tossed from lack of sleep as well as a shower, and missing a tooth. It was revealed to me that I need to repair the damage that has been broken in my family in order to advance to the next stage in my life. So the son returned to his family’s house, where he was welcomed to back with arms open wide.
Long Beach felts like a nightmare I was not able to wake up from. Granted, I will always cherish the memories as well as friends that I made there. But trying to run away from your past is as pointless as trying to speed through traffic. Like a horror movie, the hero always takes back something rather important so that way, he is that much stronger for the next obstacle that may come at his/her way.
I may have been the Prodigal Son for six months, but I did learn a lot. Overall, I learned that I need to be more prepared to always have a back-up plan. Having learned that mistake the hard way led me to Rock Bottom. Granted, being back home feels like, in a way, I am back to being a failure. It feels like I am having to Go Back to Start in the Game of Life. But right now, since I reached Rock Bottom, there was no way to work on but up from here. I guess that is all I really have to look forward to….
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
How Bad Do You Want the Cheese?
I am a mouse in the middle of the gigantic labyrinth. I smell the cheese—I think it’s cheddar—but the stronger the aroma, the more dead ends I encounter. I am getting really frustrated with all the obstacles I need to cross in order to win my prize. I have been in this labyrinth for far too long damnit! I think to myself as I turn around the dead end and try another undiscovered path. I wonder if my other fellow mice feel the same way as I do.
Honestly, at this point, I am starting to enter into panic mode. The fibers that are barely holding me together are becoming unhinged one thread by one. Does God hate me? What did I do wrong?
I know I have the strength to keep on plugging through this maze. But losing sleep, getting sick, and constantly stressing about every minute of my day is not going to help me reach my goal. I cannot fail now. Not when I have come this far and endured so much.
I hate to always sound overly dramatic in always writing about my situations I encounter, but this is how I decompress the pressure I seem to be under. Like I have mentioned in the previous blogs: The pen(or in this case, the laptop) is the writer's scalpel. The only problem with this situation, a mouse in a maze, is I have another added variable to make the obstacle that much harder: I have a companion following me in this cheddar quest. I have a roommate.
I have known her since our first week at Biola University. She has helped me through a lot of once-difficult trials while attending the school. She, and our other mutual friends we met while attending the school, has grown very near and dear to me. However, upon my moving in, things seem to be falling apart at a more frequent rate; and the hardest part to my breakdown is that I am bringing someone down with me. And I am doing everything I can to keep her afloat, even if I have to submerge myself underwater to keep my dear friend from drowning.
Yesterday, I failed my Life and Health Exam. I studied my tail off for this exam, and when it came time for Judgement Day…I missed the mark. I did not shed any tears, but it put me in a weird contemplative state to where I am now contemplating almost every move I have made in my life within this past year. Is this what encountering a breakdown is like? If so, why isn’t God here to deliver me, or at least show me direction in my next step?
I thought I did good enough for the test, but obviously it’s going to take a more fervent effort to pass this major obstacle. With this job, I am promised an amount that will assist in making things in my life right again. It will be a path that will reward me a small sample of what success tastes like when I eventually make my way into the TV industry.
The one thing that rests in the back of my head in midst of all this: How bad do you want the cheese? It tempts me like a mirage in the middle of the Sahara desert. I can smell it’s pungent aroma, it has the strong scent that has enough power to make even my whiskers salivate with an indescribable longing. I thought I wanted this, but one of the new lessons I am learning in this City of Angels: I am going to have to want this more than anyone else if I am going to get by and survive while doing everything I can to make my life, as well as my living situation, right again. Maybe that will be the key to solving this labyrinth.
Honestly, at this point, I am starting to enter into panic mode. The fibers that are barely holding me together are becoming unhinged one thread by one. Does God hate me? What did I do wrong?
I know I have the strength to keep on plugging through this maze. But losing sleep, getting sick, and constantly stressing about every minute of my day is not going to help me reach my goal. I cannot fail now. Not when I have come this far and endured so much.
I hate to always sound overly dramatic in always writing about my situations I encounter, but this is how I decompress the pressure I seem to be under. Like I have mentioned in the previous blogs: The pen(or in this case, the laptop) is the writer's scalpel. The only problem with this situation, a mouse in a maze, is I have another added variable to make the obstacle that much harder: I have a companion following me in this cheddar quest. I have a roommate.
I have known her since our first week at Biola University. She has helped me through a lot of once-difficult trials while attending the school. She, and our other mutual friends we met while attending the school, has grown very near and dear to me. However, upon my moving in, things seem to be falling apart at a more frequent rate; and the hardest part to my breakdown is that I am bringing someone down with me. And I am doing everything I can to keep her afloat, even if I have to submerge myself underwater to keep my dear friend from drowning.
Yesterday, I failed my Life and Health Exam. I studied my tail off for this exam, and when it came time for Judgement Day…I missed the mark. I did not shed any tears, but it put me in a weird contemplative state to where I am now contemplating almost every move I have made in my life within this past year. Is this what encountering a breakdown is like? If so, why isn’t God here to deliver me, or at least show me direction in my next step?
I thought I did good enough for the test, but obviously it’s going to take a more fervent effort to pass this major obstacle. With this job, I am promised an amount that will assist in making things in my life right again. It will be a path that will reward me a small sample of what success tastes like when I eventually make my way into the TV industry.
The one thing that rests in the back of my head in midst of all this: How bad do you want the cheese? It tempts me like a mirage in the middle of the Sahara desert. I can smell it’s pungent aroma, it has the strong scent that has enough power to make even my whiskers salivate with an indescribable longing. I thought I wanted this, but one of the new lessons I am learning in this City of Angels: I am going to have to want this more than anyone else if I am going to get by and survive while doing everything I can to make my life, as well as my living situation, right again. Maybe that will be the key to solving this labyrinth.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Plastic Surgery (Part Two)
“When are you actually going to get a REAL job???” My mother bit at me. “Something that has value? When are you going to actually be an adult and stop acting like a kid?”
Dark Pablo could not stand it any longer. The bitch is back, carrying more ammunition than Rambo.
“Fuck you mom.” I hissed while flipping her off. My mother’s face dropped in absolute shock. I tried to be nice. I thought to myself. Now it’s time to show you why you shouldn’t piss me off.
“You know damn well why I can’t get a job. Or are you too ignorant to see that too? I am doing everything humanly possible to get a job.”
“Sleeping in until ten in the morning, writing your stupid stories and blogs until late into the night, and spending time with your friends down in San Diego is not what you call job hunting.”
I think my mother forgot the whole fact that I am moving by the end of summer.
“You know, I can’t wait for you to leave, because hopefully you will grow up and stop acting like a kid.”
“I am counting down the days myself. I can’t wait to leave your stupid house, where there has never been an encouraging word uttered from your mouth since I graduated. You have been nothing but a grievance on me since I was a kid. You treat me like a kid and you don’t treat me like an adult.”
“Because you are immature.”
“Why do you insist on always degrading me. You do it in front of my friends as if it’s the next great American past time. That’s why I beg people to not come up to visit me, because all you do is treat me like shit.”
Want to know why my mom is bitter? She hates the fact that I am gay. So she will treat me like shit because that is what her church teaches her to do when faced with someone that has differing beliefs: treat them like shit until they change. Just watch “Saved.” My mom is an adult version of Hillary Faye.
“Oh we have to make it all about you? Because that’s how you win people over to you? You pity them with your pain until they sympathize?”
The conversation then segues to a very sensitive subject. I am just going to cut to the chase.
“You are going to do nothing but fail, because that is all you have done ever since you went online to meet that complete stranger and do that stuff with him?” (My mother is talking about the time I made out with a thirty-one year old guy when I was a senior in high school and had a freak-out. That happened, but there was something else that happened before that.)
Tears were coming down my face, I could not believe my mother had the nerve to bring back. So I had to tell her what really happened, because she wasn’t going to shut up. “Mom.” I declared very sternly. “Do you REALLY want to know what happened that night?”
“No I do not.”
“well too bad mom. I am not going to give you grace, because you choose to not give me grace. I was raped.”
“That’s what you get for not being where you were supposed to be.”
“This happened outside church after a seminar for the Billy Graham Crusade. A man followed me to my car, pulled a knife on me and told me to drive.”
My mom was silent. The only time she was silent. I was hurt. But I wasn’t going to give up, my mom is not going to win this fight.
“Where does this stupid mechanic of yours work?” She asked.
“I am not going to see him until I am calm. You really hurt me.”
“Well you brought it upon yourself. If you were responsible enough to save your money, act like a normal adult, and take care of your vehicles, you wouldn’t be in this mess. You either tell me where this guy works, or we are not going to get your car.”
The reason why my mom is being so persistent is because she needs to write another check. My parents filed my taxes so I can get a tax refund, and my mom has the tax refund in her bag and was not going to give it up until she visits my mechanic. The price tag to get my freedom back: holding my check ransom while using the liberty to attack me.
“You are just like dad when he beat the shit out of me when I was in junior high school and he dropped me off at church for youth group and told me to go make an ass of myself.” I fired back. “Don’t give me an ultimatum.”
My dad snapped one time while I was in junior-high school. He lurched at me and punched me several times in the stomach while hitting me in the face with a paddle that he would use to discipline me growing up. I had a black eye and several bruises on my body. When he did drop me off at church for the junior-high event. Everyone began to make fun of me, I only told one person of what really happened. Since that day, my dad was warned by the authorities that he was no longer allowed to touch me in his anger.
My mother was finally silent. Thankfully, the tears were starting to dry up by the time we arrived at my mechanic. I put on a fake smile and refused to look at my mother for the entire rest of the day. Once I got my car, I drove off without saying goodbye and made my way to the gym.
I called up one of my older gay friends, someone that a better insight in life. He gave me the most encouraging advice and allowed me to open myself to the idea that although what I endured was painful—and in some morbid way—this pain was actually a blessing.
“It will give you the ability to know, what are you really gonna do about it?” He counseled as I was listening attentively. “Are you gonna lick your wounds? Or are you going to stand up and make a plan of what you are going to do to make the best out of this?
“Family, as much as we may agree/disagree with them, they are stuck with us for the rest of our life. They may get in our hair, we may want to disown them, but no matter what you do, they are still family. However, friends are the family that we choose to be with for the rest of our life; because you are not going to want to associate yourself with someone that is going to say that to you right?”
The pain and the shit that I deal with on a regular basis is like plastic surgery. It is a bitch to deal with, it makes your body sore and swollen to the point where you barely recognize who you once were. However, it is when you begin to heal do you finally notice the results in yourself and see just how the clichéd phrase is truly dead-on: pain does equal beauty.
Plastic surgery is not permanent; if I go in and ask for it, you can bet your ass I am going to get another dose of the scapel, because pain is beauty. When living in such a vain society, sometimes beauty is all a girl needs to feel accepted in this world.
I may not like what is done to my body at times. My parents and the attacks that I receive from people in my life, they are the incisions that are made to my body. They create and inflict the pain in me. But what am I gonna do? Am I going to wail, bitch, and moan about how the scapel is hurting and beg for more morphine/anaestesia/vicodin? No.
The swelling that I receive post-op, that is the physical results of the pain as I spend time trying to recover…or figure out a plan to fight back and get better than what I was pre-op. I may look as ugly as hell, but I know that once the bandages come off, I am going to be looking delicious with my new boob job.
Dark Pablo could not stand it any longer. The bitch is back, carrying more ammunition than Rambo.
“Fuck you mom.” I hissed while flipping her off. My mother’s face dropped in absolute shock. I tried to be nice. I thought to myself. Now it’s time to show you why you shouldn’t piss me off.
“You know damn well why I can’t get a job. Or are you too ignorant to see that too? I am doing everything humanly possible to get a job.”
“Sleeping in until ten in the morning, writing your stupid stories and blogs until late into the night, and spending time with your friends down in San Diego is not what you call job hunting.”
I think my mother forgot the whole fact that I am moving by the end of summer.
“You know, I can’t wait for you to leave, because hopefully you will grow up and stop acting like a kid.”
“I am counting down the days myself. I can’t wait to leave your stupid house, where there has never been an encouraging word uttered from your mouth since I graduated. You have been nothing but a grievance on me since I was a kid. You treat me like a kid and you don’t treat me like an adult.”
“Because you are immature.”
“Why do you insist on always degrading me. You do it in front of my friends as if it’s the next great American past time. That’s why I beg people to not come up to visit me, because all you do is treat me like shit.”
Want to know why my mom is bitter? She hates the fact that I am gay. So she will treat me like shit because that is what her church teaches her to do when faced with someone that has differing beliefs: treat them like shit until they change. Just watch “Saved.” My mom is an adult version of Hillary Faye.
“Oh we have to make it all about you? Because that’s how you win people over to you? You pity them with your pain until they sympathize?”
The conversation then segues to a very sensitive subject. I am just going to cut to the chase.
“You are going to do nothing but fail, because that is all you have done ever since you went online to meet that complete stranger and do that stuff with him?” (My mother is talking about the time I made out with a thirty-one year old guy when I was a senior in high school and had a freak-out. That happened, but there was something else that happened before that.)
Tears were coming down my face, I could not believe my mother had the nerve to bring back. So I had to tell her what really happened, because she wasn’t going to shut up. “Mom.” I declared very sternly. “Do you REALLY want to know what happened that night?”
“No I do not.”
“well too bad mom. I am not going to give you grace, because you choose to not give me grace. I was raped.”
“That’s what you get for not being where you were supposed to be.”
“This happened outside church after a seminar for the Billy Graham Crusade. A man followed me to my car, pulled a knife on me and told me to drive.”
My mom was silent. The only time she was silent. I was hurt. But I wasn’t going to give up, my mom is not going to win this fight.
“Where does this stupid mechanic of yours work?” She asked.
“I am not going to see him until I am calm. You really hurt me.”
“Well you brought it upon yourself. If you were responsible enough to save your money, act like a normal adult, and take care of your vehicles, you wouldn’t be in this mess. You either tell me where this guy works, or we are not going to get your car.”
The reason why my mom is being so persistent is because she needs to write another check. My parents filed my taxes so I can get a tax refund, and my mom has the tax refund in her bag and was not going to give it up until she visits my mechanic. The price tag to get my freedom back: holding my check ransom while using the liberty to attack me.
“You are just like dad when he beat the shit out of me when I was in junior high school and he dropped me off at church for youth group and told me to go make an ass of myself.” I fired back. “Don’t give me an ultimatum.”
My dad snapped one time while I was in junior-high school. He lurched at me and punched me several times in the stomach while hitting me in the face with a paddle that he would use to discipline me growing up. I had a black eye and several bruises on my body. When he did drop me off at church for the junior-high event. Everyone began to make fun of me, I only told one person of what really happened. Since that day, my dad was warned by the authorities that he was no longer allowed to touch me in his anger.
My mother was finally silent. Thankfully, the tears were starting to dry up by the time we arrived at my mechanic. I put on a fake smile and refused to look at my mother for the entire rest of the day. Once I got my car, I drove off without saying goodbye and made my way to the gym.
I called up one of my older gay friends, someone that a better insight in life. He gave me the most encouraging advice and allowed me to open myself to the idea that although what I endured was painful—and in some morbid way—this pain was actually a blessing.
“It will give you the ability to know, what are you really gonna do about it?” He counseled as I was listening attentively. “Are you gonna lick your wounds? Or are you going to stand up and make a plan of what you are going to do to make the best out of this?
“Family, as much as we may agree/disagree with them, they are stuck with us for the rest of our life. They may get in our hair, we may want to disown them, but no matter what you do, they are still family. However, friends are the family that we choose to be with for the rest of our life; because you are not going to want to associate yourself with someone that is going to say that to you right?”
The pain and the shit that I deal with on a regular basis is like plastic surgery. It is a bitch to deal with, it makes your body sore and swollen to the point where you barely recognize who you once were. However, it is when you begin to heal do you finally notice the results in yourself and see just how the clichéd phrase is truly dead-on: pain does equal beauty.
Plastic surgery is not permanent; if I go in and ask for it, you can bet your ass I am going to get another dose of the scapel, because pain is beauty. When living in such a vain society, sometimes beauty is all a girl needs to feel accepted in this world.
I may not like what is done to my body at times. My parents and the attacks that I receive from people in my life, they are the incisions that are made to my body. They create and inflict the pain in me. But what am I gonna do? Am I going to wail, bitch, and moan about how the scapel is hurting and beg for more morphine/anaestesia/vicodin? No.
The swelling that I receive post-op, that is the physical results of the pain as I spend time trying to recover…or figure out a plan to fight back and get better than what I was pre-op. I may look as ugly as hell, but I know that once the bandages come off, I am going to be looking delicious with my new boob job.
Plastic Surgery (Part One)
Friends are the family that we choose to be with for the rest of our life.
You can’t choose your family. They are with you for life, whether you like it or not.
To people who enjoy pain, they are considered to be “masochists.” But of course finding joy in self-inflicted physical pain is not only weird, but it is considered to be nearing the verge of losing touch with reality. Then again, masochists can also be associated with sexual bondage, which can be erotic if with the right person. I am getting sidetracked, allow me to refocus the topic.
After spending two months in solitude in the city of Escondido, today was the day that I finally had my car returned to me. When I finally inserted the key in the ignition and brought it to life, I felt a sense of accomplishment, knowing that I had successfully saved the money that I needed to achieving a goal. For me, that is an accomplishment worth celebrating, because I am normally not very frugal with my money. But I knew that the longer I was going to take in saving my money, the longer it was going to be before I was going to move up to Long Beach and begin to start my new life. However, like all rewards and pleasures in life, there is always a price tag that is attached. How badly do you want this reward? It said to me as I pushed forward in obtaining something that belonged to me.
I woke up this morning with the idea that, by the end of the day, my car was going to be back in my possession. Just the fact of knowing that my freedom was hours away was so near I could almost smell the interior of my Honda Civic welcoming back into the driver’s seat.
I had the entire day planned: it was going to be a Mommy&Me day. We were going to begin our time together by visiting the library’s book store. I was going to be in search of yet another series of hardcover novels written by my new favorite author: Stephen King while my mother was going to be in search for the next classic first-edition to add to her dust-infested collection. When we did go to the library, I found two hardcovers and purchased them for 1.50. My mother received a call and was kicked out of the library for being on her phone in a place that was designated for being a place of concentration and almost-absolute silence. Once I made my purchases and thanked the cashier, I made my way towards the exit to reunite with my ever-rebellious mother so we could go to our next destination: to our car insurance office.
The main objective of our stop at the insurance office was so I could renew my membership as well as ask for a temporary renewal on my registration. On the way there, my mom informed me that my dad had called her while I was busy buying my books to notify me that since I had recently turned twenty-four, I was no longer able to stay under parents’ insurance plan and that I must get my own insurance. I groaned under my breath, knowing that this news was just more dollar bills that would leave my pocket upon payday. So I requested that we get a quote while we were there.
The insurance agent reached out and shook my hand as I followed him into his cubicle, my mother trailing behind me. We went through the routine amount of questions that was required of me to get a successful quote. My mom was playing with the cap of her pen, indicating that she was somehow nervous. I just ruled it out that she was insistent on annoying the hell out of me—which was successful. When he finally gives me a quote, I was going to take into consideration; but my mother, instead of wanting to leave, pulls out the checkbook to pay for it. I flashed her a quizzical look as I had now understood why she was nervous before the agent revealed the quote, my mother knew that she was going to pay for this. Then this is when I started to realize that before I was to get my car, I was to know the real payment that needed to be paid in order to receive my freedom.
He then gives me the bad news, my car was not registered for this year. I had already known that. Before my car broke down two months ago, I took my car into get smogged because I wanted to register my car. When my car failed smog, the mechanic told me that he could fix it, but I had already known what the problem was in order to pass the test: it needed a new engine. The very next day, my car breaks down while on my way to work. When I had explained my situation to him, he left to go to the DMV department on the opposite side of the agency.
Ten minutes later, he returns with a DMV agent, she begins to inform me of what I needed to do. I had already registered my car, but I needed to get smogged and registered. Since my car was late in getting registered, I was starting to rank up penalty charges. My mother then turns to me, in front of both the insurance and DMV agent, and says: “Why didn’t you get this car smogged before like a responsible person?”
Being twenty-four years old, I have grown to tolerate some rather unpleasant things in life, but being yelled at in front of complete strangers as well as being talked to in a condescending tone is something that I WILL NOT tolerate. Once my mother said thtat to me, the good side of the Gemini fled in terror and the Dark Side had checked herself in.
I looked at my mother in absolute disbelief that she had made that declaration in front of two people I don’t even know. I began to defend myself, but held myself back, because I knew I was not going to stoop down to her level. From that point, everything the two agents had told me had been a complete blur, because I was so angry at my mother. I was concentrating on holding in my Rage.
I know why I had neglected to get smogged: my car has given me nothing but hell since I had first purchased it in September. Once I had received the news that I was going to have to get my car smogged, my car began to break down. From November all the way until today, I have been from one mechanic to another. I could list all the drama that car has given me, but I will remain on topic.
The insurance agent concludes our time by telling me that he cannot give me the insurance unless I pay my debts to the DMV. My mom glares at me as she reaches for her pen and bites at me. “You owe us so much Pablo.” The only thought that is going on in my head was how much my mom is trying to make herself, as well as my dad, into being the victims when I have become the prey of their ridicule.
The agent directs us over to the DMV. As we are en route, My mom begins to write another check for the DMV while continuing on her roaring rampage of bitterness. At this point, I was starting to become fed up with my mom at this point. I tried to remain calm and requested that we table this conversation when we are in a more private environment and when I calm down. But she continues to go on, barrading me with reminding me of how irresponsible I am to neglect these responsibilities and instead buying stuff that won’t last. I interrupted her rambling by noticing a woman coming to help us out. “Oh, look, someone that is going to help us. Let’s act normal shall we?”
After my mother hands the check to the lady that had the patience to deal with my fake-smile as my mother’s rude manners, she hands me back the receipt to give to the agent so I can receive my insurance. Once having done both tasks, my mother and I made our way to our final destination: to retrieve my car.
As we were making our way to the car, my mother continued to bitch and remind me how stupid I am. How I am irresponsible and that I am due for a rude awakening when I am finally out on my own. Then she began to attack on a harsher level. And my Dark Rage could remain hidden anymore. It had to come out to play. When it did, all Hell broke loose.
Chris Ramey
You can’t choose your family. They are with you for life, whether you like it or not.
Malcolm (Fox “Malcolm in the Middle”)
To people who enjoy pain, they are considered to be “masochists.” But of course finding joy in self-inflicted physical pain is not only weird, but it is considered to be nearing the verge of losing touch with reality. Then again, masochists can also be associated with sexual bondage, which can be erotic if with the right person. I am getting sidetracked, allow me to refocus the topic.
After spending two months in solitude in the city of Escondido, today was the day that I finally had my car returned to me. When I finally inserted the key in the ignition and brought it to life, I felt a sense of accomplishment, knowing that I had successfully saved the money that I needed to achieving a goal. For me, that is an accomplishment worth celebrating, because I am normally not very frugal with my money. But I knew that the longer I was going to take in saving my money, the longer it was going to be before I was going to move up to Long Beach and begin to start my new life. However, like all rewards and pleasures in life, there is always a price tag that is attached. How badly do you want this reward? It said to me as I pushed forward in obtaining something that belonged to me.
I woke up this morning with the idea that, by the end of the day, my car was going to be back in my possession. Just the fact of knowing that my freedom was hours away was so near I could almost smell the interior of my Honda Civic welcoming back into the driver’s seat.
I had the entire day planned: it was going to be a Mommy&Me day. We were going to begin our time together by visiting the library’s book store. I was going to be in search of yet another series of hardcover novels written by my new favorite author: Stephen King while my mother was going to be in search for the next classic first-edition to add to her dust-infested collection. When we did go to the library, I found two hardcovers and purchased them for 1.50. My mother received a call and was kicked out of the library for being on her phone in a place that was designated for being a place of concentration and almost-absolute silence. Once I made my purchases and thanked the cashier, I made my way towards the exit to reunite with my ever-rebellious mother so we could go to our next destination: to our car insurance office.
The main objective of our stop at the insurance office was so I could renew my membership as well as ask for a temporary renewal on my registration. On the way there, my mom informed me that my dad had called her while I was busy buying my books to notify me that since I had recently turned twenty-four, I was no longer able to stay under parents’ insurance plan and that I must get my own insurance. I groaned under my breath, knowing that this news was just more dollar bills that would leave my pocket upon payday. So I requested that we get a quote while we were there.
The insurance agent reached out and shook my hand as I followed him into his cubicle, my mother trailing behind me. We went through the routine amount of questions that was required of me to get a successful quote. My mom was playing with the cap of her pen, indicating that she was somehow nervous. I just ruled it out that she was insistent on annoying the hell out of me—which was successful. When he finally gives me a quote, I was going to take into consideration; but my mother, instead of wanting to leave, pulls out the checkbook to pay for it. I flashed her a quizzical look as I had now understood why she was nervous before the agent revealed the quote, my mother knew that she was going to pay for this. Then this is when I started to realize that before I was to get my car, I was to know the real payment that needed to be paid in order to receive my freedom.
He then gives me the bad news, my car was not registered for this year. I had already known that. Before my car broke down two months ago, I took my car into get smogged because I wanted to register my car. When my car failed smog, the mechanic told me that he could fix it, but I had already known what the problem was in order to pass the test: it needed a new engine. The very next day, my car breaks down while on my way to work. When I had explained my situation to him, he left to go to the DMV department on the opposite side of the agency.
Ten minutes later, he returns with a DMV agent, she begins to inform me of what I needed to do. I had already registered my car, but I needed to get smogged and registered. Since my car was late in getting registered, I was starting to rank up penalty charges. My mother then turns to me, in front of both the insurance and DMV agent, and says: “Why didn’t you get this car smogged before like a responsible person?”
Being twenty-four years old, I have grown to tolerate some rather unpleasant things in life, but being yelled at in front of complete strangers as well as being talked to in a condescending tone is something that I WILL NOT tolerate. Once my mother said thtat to me, the good side of the Gemini fled in terror and the Dark Side had checked herself in.
I looked at my mother in absolute disbelief that she had made that declaration in front of two people I don’t even know. I began to defend myself, but held myself back, because I knew I was not going to stoop down to her level. From that point, everything the two agents had told me had been a complete blur, because I was so angry at my mother. I was concentrating on holding in my Rage.
I know why I had neglected to get smogged: my car has given me nothing but hell since I had first purchased it in September. Once I had received the news that I was going to have to get my car smogged, my car began to break down. From November all the way until today, I have been from one mechanic to another. I could list all the drama that car has given me, but I will remain on topic.
The insurance agent concludes our time by telling me that he cannot give me the insurance unless I pay my debts to the DMV. My mom glares at me as she reaches for her pen and bites at me. “You owe us so much Pablo.” The only thought that is going on in my head was how much my mom is trying to make herself, as well as my dad, into being the victims when I have become the prey of their ridicule.
The agent directs us over to the DMV. As we are en route, My mom begins to write another check for the DMV while continuing on her roaring rampage of bitterness. At this point, I was starting to become fed up with my mom at this point. I tried to remain calm and requested that we table this conversation when we are in a more private environment and when I calm down. But she continues to go on, barrading me with reminding me of how irresponsible I am to neglect these responsibilities and instead buying stuff that won’t last. I interrupted her rambling by noticing a woman coming to help us out. “Oh, look, someone that is going to help us. Let’s act normal shall we?”
After my mother hands the check to the lady that had the patience to deal with my fake-smile as my mother’s rude manners, she hands me back the receipt to give to the agent so I can receive my insurance. Once having done both tasks, my mother and I made our way to our final destination: to retrieve my car.
As we were making our way to the car, my mother continued to bitch and remind me how stupid I am. How I am irresponsible and that I am due for a rude awakening when I am finally out on my own. Then she began to attack on a harsher level. And my Dark Rage could remain hidden anymore. It had to come out to play. When it did, all Hell broke loose.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Alternate Ending to the World
So the end of the world was prevented by one phone call. A series of ten digits that identify a person and their connections to the outside world. Who knew that these ten digits would bring about a series of events that would lead to a breach in trust.
When catastrophe is about to strike, our bodies switch to a “survival of the fittest” mechanism. This defense mechanism can, at times, lead to betraying people that we once held dear in order to keep ourselves still alive. It can also help surface the people in which we should trust or leave behind. As the day nears to where the series finale to my life in San Diego approaches, I discover the people to keep in my life, and those to discard.
Over the course of the past couple of months, one person has been constantly proving that he is no longer able to keep up in the race to be needed in my life. He has proven that he is nothing but a weak individual that can barely keep himself together. Now that I am angry at Jeff, I can finally see his true colors: I can finally see just how much of a self-centered asshole he really is. And what do I do with people that fail to meet my expectations? I kick them to the curb, like he did to me all these years.
Even while we were dating, he made everything about him. If he didn’t like a certain song while dancing at a club, he would want to go into the next room, taking me by the hand with him. Then he disappeared to Vegas, without me, because he felt pressured and needed to get away. This only proved that he was not strong enough to tackle his demons and that he was always a sucker for pressure. Days after he admitted that he disappeared, he returned to break up with me. His excuse: I am not ready to commit.
Key word in that simple sentence: I.
In order to keep me next to him, he would muster up the sweetest phrases. “You are a catch.” He said this to me while I was driving us home after a night at the clubs. “I am afraid of that day when someone will see just how much of a catch you really are. They will take you away from me and I will be all alone.”
He was right, and many other men I have dated since then have agreed: You’re goddamn right I am a catch. Every day that I am not hanging out with Jeff, his greatest fear is starting to come true. And one day, he will be all alone. Just like he predicted.
When my car broke down, I tried to call him up one day, crying and starting to lose my mind because of all the crazy things that I was experiencing at the time. But he didn’t pick up his phone. His phone was out of minutes. If it hadn’t have been for Sam to come to my rescue, I would have committed suicide on the side of the freeway.
A month and a half passes by…without one single word. Not even a text message asking me how I was doing. Then he texts me to tell me if I want to hang out with him, that he has Monday and Tuesday off.
Then he breaks up with his boyfriend, Joel. I never liked boyfriend, I only felt sorry for his beau because he is HIV-positive. I only befriended him because Jeff was close to him. When Jeff and Joel broke up, he brought back his stupid behavior; this time however, it is taken to the extreme.
Since Joel and Jeff live together, they had to post a 30-day notice with their landlord. In the meantime, Jeff and Joel were still living together, in midst of their recently-established relationship status. While hanging out with Jeff one day, he tells me that he has a date with a guy and that he really likes him. The weird part about this guy: he is just like me, except he has a condo and nice clothes.
I may not like Joel, but after Jeff explained to me how excited he was for this date, I was realizing how wrong and intolerably cruel he is for dating a guy, when he is currently living with his ex. It was just a repeat of what Jeff did to me while he was dating Joel, except we weren’t in a relationship.
While we were hanging out, my interest with hanging out with Jeff was falling faster than the prophecised meteor (predicted in the Bible) that is supposed to hit Earth and pollute the water.
Now where am I in my life? Moving on. Something I should have done when the bastard broke up with me in the first place. I choose to not make any contact with him anymore, until he apologizes for everything that he put me through these past couple of months. I have it planned out that when he sees me at a club, that I will do everything humanly possible to ignore him and give him hell if he approaches me. Hopefully, I will have my entourage with me to back me up should this scenario should ever take place.
Whenever I begin to make progress in my life, Jeff is always the person to bring me back to Square One: back to the day where I met him at my work and being hopelessly in love with him. Just like Mister Big did to Carrie in Sex and the City. I have gone too far in my life to allow one man to bring me back down that road of depression, suicide, and dangerous infatuation to the point where I almost lost my life. I am not going to let it happen again. IWhich thus leads me to my conclusion: I am going to do what Carrie Bradshaw should have done: I am going to stop making any form of contact with Jeff Raymond Contine.
It’s funny how religion always make prophetic claims to the world ending. There is massive tyranny and everything can seem to be taken out of hand and people scream in unadulterated fear; yet at the same time, when the rains have subsided and the fires have ceased to become uncontrollable, we are promised a brighter future.
Since I have stopped hanging out with Jeff, I have been able to have more fun with my life. Riddick, the man I had once had feelings for those months ago, has now become one of my closest friends. I never have to worry what to say, how to act, or where I should be with him. He and I have established that we are going to be friends and I could really use that right now. He has helped fill the void in my life that Jeff could only imagine to fill. Riddick has helped me get the courage to laugh again. I am not saying that I am in love with him, but I can admit that Riddick is one of my dearest friends down in San Diego and is part of the reason why leaving this town will become very difficult in a couple of weeks.
Then there is my girl Sam. I have known her for seven years; but in the past year, she has been there for me when I needed her, and I have done the exact same for her in her rough times as well. When my car broke down those multiple times in the past year, she has been there to drive me down to Hillcrest so we can party together and enjoy the night. While teasing the many lookers with our amazing dance moves and sense of humor. I think out of all the women I have met in San Diego, she will be the one person I will miss the most. Because without her, I would not have been able to talk about some of the things I was afraid to discuss with Jeff…and also, I would be sober.
But though the world involving Jeff is ending, I know I am promised a greater future by having such close and dear friends in my life. I once thought that the world was going to end and life, as I knew it, was going to stop. But the end of the world doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. It’s like removing a piece of tape from my arm. Painless.
Maybe even one day, I can have that husband I dream of. But with these new friends that I meet in my life and grow close to, I know that I am getting closer to finding that nirvana-like happiness that will make my years more worth living. Living in this new world that I have grown to enjoy, more so than I did while knowing Jeff.
When catastrophe is about to strike, our bodies switch to a “survival of the fittest” mechanism. This defense mechanism can, at times, lead to betraying people that we once held dear in order to keep ourselves still alive. It can also help surface the people in which we should trust or leave behind. As the day nears to where the series finale to my life in San Diego approaches, I discover the people to keep in my life, and those to discard.
Over the course of the past couple of months, one person has been constantly proving that he is no longer able to keep up in the race to be needed in my life. He has proven that he is nothing but a weak individual that can barely keep himself together. Now that I am angry at Jeff, I can finally see his true colors: I can finally see just how much of a self-centered asshole he really is. And what do I do with people that fail to meet my expectations? I kick them to the curb, like he did to me all these years.
Even while we were dating, he made everything about him. If he didn’t like a certain song while dancing at a club, he would want to go into the next room, taking me by the hand with him. Then he disappeared to Vegas, without me, because he felt pressured and needed to get away. This only proved that he was not strong enough to tackle his demons and that he was always a sucker for pressure. Days after he admitted that he disappeared, he returned to break up with me. His excuse: I am not ready to commit.
Key word in that simple sentence: I.
In order to keep me next to him, he would muster up the sweetest phrases. “You are a catch.” He said this to me while I was driving us home after a night at the clubs. “I am afraid of that day when someone will see just how much of a catch you really are. They will take you away from me and I will be all alone.”
He was right, and many other men I have dated since then have agreed: You’re goddamn right I am a catch. Every day that I am not hanging out with Jeff, his greatest fear is starting to come true. And one day, he will be all alone. Just like he predicted.
When my car broke down, I tried to call him up one day, crying and starting to lose my mind because of all the crazy things that I was experiencing at the time. But he didn’t pick up his phone. His phone was out of minutes. If it hadn’t have been for Sam to come to my rescue, I would have committed suicide on the side of the freeway.
A month and a half passes by…without one single word. Not even a text message asking me how I was doing. Then he texts me to tell me if I want to hang out with him, that he has Monday and Tuesday off.
Then he breaks up with his boyfriend, Joel. I never liked boyfriend, I only felt sorry for his beau because he is HIV-positive. I only befriended him because Jeff was close to him. When Jeff and Joel broke up, he brought back his stupid behavior; this time however, it is taken to the extreme.
Since Joel and Jeff live together, they had to post a 30-day notice with their landlord. In the meantime, Jeff and Joel were still living together, in midst of their recently-established relationship status. While hanging out with Jeff one day, he tells me that he has a date with a guy and that he really likes him. The weird part about this guy: he is just like me, except he has a condo and nice clothes.
I may not like Joel, but after Jeff explained to me how excited he was for this date, I was realizing how wrong and intolerably cruel he is for dating a guy, when he is currently living with his ex. It was just a repeat of what Jeff did to me while he was dating Joel, except we weren’t in a relationship.
While we were hanging out, my interest with hanging out with Jeff was falling faster than the prophecised meteor (predicted in the Bible) that is supposed to hit Earth and pollute the water.
Now where am I in my life? Moving on. Something I should have done when the bastard broke up with me in the first place. I choose to not make any contact with him anymore, until he apologizes for everything that he put me through these past couple of months. I have it planned out that when he sees me at a club, that I will do everything humanly possible to ignore him and give him hell if he approaches me. Hopefully, I will have my entourage with me to back me up should this scenario should ever take place.
Whenever I begin to make progress in my life, Jeff is always the person to bring me back to Square One: back to the day where I met him at my work and being hopelessly in love with him. Just like Mister Big did to Carrie in Sex and the City. I have gone too far in my life to allow one man to bring me back down that road of depression, suicide, and dangerous infatuation to the point where I almost lost my life. I am not going to let it happen again. IWhich thus leads me to my conclusion: I am going to do what Carrie Bradshaw should have done: I am going to stop making any form of contact with Jeff Raymond Contine.
It’s funny how religion always make prophetic claims to the world ending. There is massive tyranny and everything can seem to be taken out of hand and people scream in unadulterated fear; yet at the same time, when the rains have subsided and the fires have ceased to become uncontrollable, we are promised a brighter future.
Since I have stopped hanging out with Jeff, I have been able to have more fun with my life. Riddick, the man I had once had feelings for those months ago, has now become one of my closest friends. I never have to worry what to say, how to act, or where I should be with him. He and I have established that we are going to be friends and I could really use that right now. He has helped fill the void in my life that Jeff could only imagine to fill. Riddick has helped me get the courage to laugh again. I am not saying that I am in love with him, but I can admit that Riddick is one of my dearest friends down in San Diego and is part of the reason why leaving this town will become very difficult in a couple of weeks.
Then there is my girl Sam. I have known her for seven years; but in the past year, she has been there for me when I needed her, and I have done the exact same for her in her rough times as well. When my car broke down those multiple times in the past year, she has been there to drive me down to Hillcrest so we can party together and enjoy the night. While teasing the many lookers with our amazing dance moves and sense of humor. I think out of all the women I have met in San Diego, she will be the one person I will miss the most. Because without her, I would not have been able to talk about some of the things I was afraid to discuss with Jeff…and also, I would be sober.
But though the world involving Jeff is ending, I know I am promised a greater future by having such close and dear friends in my life. I once thought that the world was going to end and life, as I knew it, was going to stop. But the end of the world doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. It’s like removing a piece of tape from my arm. Painless.
Maybe even one day, I can have that husband I dream of. But with these new friends that I meet in my life and grow close to, I know that I am getting closer to finding that nirvana-like happiness that will make my years more worth living. Living in this new world that I have grown to enjoy, more so than I did while knowing Jeff.
...when the world ends... (part three)
I finally answered the phone. Not even acknowledging him with a “Hey, what’s up.” Or a “Hey stranger.” Just a simple “Hello” seemed to suffice. I was still angry with him. He’s not getting any special treatment, not after the rollercoaster of emotions I endured today.
The duration of the onversation was short, confused whether I should be a bitch right now or at another time when it’s in person. After apologizing for missing my call, he asked me if I was hungry.
My depression was slowly disappearing as I got more comfortable in my chair. I began to forgive him. First sign of the sudden heart failure: you still really care for him.
My heart began to get strong enough to beat on its own. “I was hoping you were asking for food, because I’m starving.”
“Cool. Well, I want Tammy (his old roommate before he moved in with Señor…nevermind….) to come because I’m sure she is hungry as well.”
In the background, I hear her distant voice saying “No, I’m not. I’m fine, you two go.”
Honestly, I didn’t want Tammy to come along, because there was a lot that I still needed to discuss with Jeff regarding his month-and-a-half intermission from my life. But something was telling me to table that argument for a time when we could be together, sipping tea and sharing a bagel like we used to.
I was certainly not going to arrive sober to this event. Lord knows what might happen if I didn’t come prepared. So I made myself look pretty, kicked back a shot, and walked into the restaurant.
I really didn’t know what to expect. But one thing that I knew that Jeff was going to do was pretend that he did nothing wrong. He is going to pretend that he is my Savior, but I with the passing of each day, I am starting to believe that he may be the Antichrist in my life.
I arrive inside the restaurant to see both Jeff and his roommate sitting in a hidden corner. I could feel my buzz kicking in, my confidence was increasing with each heartbeat, and I knew that as I was walking in, I looked good. I smiled warmly as I embraced Tammy, his roommate. Then finally, I had to embrace the Angel of Deception: Jeff.
He smiled at me the way that would always make my heart melt. But this time, I was onto him. After all this waiting, spending an entire day on a roller coaster of emotions, I had finally come face-to-face with the man that had abandoned me for a month and a half. I was angry; yet at the same time, my heart was leaping twice as fast as it normally would.
“It’s great to see you again.” He greeted me as we were holding onto each other. “You look good.”
Just feeling his warmth, I decided to let my anger take a smoking break while I allowed myself to enjoy the company of two people I had grown very close to.
Passing and breaking bread, a sign that interprets to let “bygones be by-gones.” No one wants to break bread with enemies, especially when one of them was paying the bill. Jeff was not going to get off the hook that easily, he was still going to have to explain why he disappeared. But I knew in the back of my mind, as much as I still do not like how he may act at times, I still love him. And that is why the world could end at any point. Because my love is so strong, and —yet— so fragile with him, that just the slightest disappointment in this man would send the world into a massive imbalance.
The duration of the onversation was short, confused whether I should be a bitch right now or at another time when it’s in person. After apologizing for missing my call, he asked me if I was hungry.
My depression was slowly disappearing as I got more comfortable in my chair. I began to forgive him. First sign of the sudden heart failure: you still really care for him.
My heart began to get strong enough to beat on its own. “I was hoping you were asking for food, because I’m starving.”
“Cool. Well, I want Tammy (his old roommate before he moved in with Señor…nevermind….) to come because I’m sure she is hungry as well.”
In the background, I hear her distant voice saying “No, I’m not. I’m fine, you two go.”
Honestly, I didn’t want Tammy to come along, because there was a lot that I still needed to discuss with Jeff regarding his month-and-a-half intermission from my life. But something was telling me to table that argument for a time when we could be together, sipping tea and sharing a bagel like we used to.
I was certainly not going to arrive sober to this event. Lord knows what might happen if I didn’t come prepared. So I made myself look pretty, kicked back a shot, and walked into the restaurant.
I really didn’t know what to expect. But one thing that I knew that Jeff was going to do was pretend that he did nothing wrong. He is going to pretend that he is my Savior, but I with the passing of each day, I am starting to believe that he may be the Antichrist in my life.
I arrive inside the restaurant to see both Jeff and his roommate sitting in a hidden corner. I could feel my buzz kicking in, my confidence was increasing with each heartbeat, and I knew that as I was walking in, I looked good. I smiled warmly as I embraced Tammy, his roommate. Then finally, I had to embrace the Angel of Deception: Jeff.
He smiled at me the way that would always make my heart melt. But this time, I was onto him. After all this waiting, spending an entire day on a roller coaster of emotions, I had finally come face-to-face with the man that had abandoned me for a month and a half. I was angry; yet at the same time, my heart was leaping twice as fast as it normally would.
“It’s great to see you again.” He greeted me as we were holding onto each other. “You look good.”
Just feeling his warmth, I decided to let my anger take a smoking break while I allowed myself to enjoy the company of two people I had grown very close to.
Passing and breaking bread, a sign that interprets to let “bygones be by-gones.” No one wants to break bread with enemies, especially when one of them was paying the bill. Jeff was not going to get off the hook that easily, he was still going to have to explain why he disappeared. But I knew in the back of my mind, as much as I still do not like how he may act at times, I still love him. And that is why the world could end at any point. Because my love is so strong, and —yet— so fragile with him, that just the slightest disappointment in this man would send the world into a massive imbalance.
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