message me again and throw me into another bout of crying;

shaking so hard i can’t breathe.

i stick my fingers into the back of my throat

and it feels good.

it feels good to get the poison out from inside of me,

crying up against my headboard.

i want to live in a body that you’ve never fucking touched,

i want to feel pure again.


strong and strange.

february 13, 7:44 pm.

bff: “i’m not in the laundry room anymore. you can come move your clothes. i’m not saying this as if it’s permission or whatever, you can move your stuff whenever you want.”

me: “i’m not on campus anymore.”

bff: “someone’s going to steal your clothes.”

me: “ probably. sucks, i guess.”

me: “i’m sorry i’m such an awful person. you don’t deserve any of the shit i put you through.”

bff: “If you aren’t going to do anything stupid, fine. Have your adventure. But don’t you dare hurt yourself. That would be really fucking selfish of you. Call your sister”

me: “what kind of adventure would i have without you, lol. i’m crying on a bench. how thrilling.”

me: “now i’m crying in a walmart. so much fun.”

when did my texts to my best friend start sounding like something out of a psychological thriller?

i know she loves me and that she’d do anything for me. i know that she wants to help me—she even said it herself, when she cried to me about how i need therapy. she yelled about how she couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t hear me talk about myself in the way that i did all the time. she wishes that she could give me all the answers, fix me. about how, if not for myself, i should get therapy for her.

i would do anything for her. i know because i do everything for her. i just… balk at the thought of therapy. it’s expensive, and i’m in college. i always just thought that i would postpone it until i was settled down somewhere— it was a little traumatizing, having to leave my old therapist the way i did.  i made all of these excuses, and, up until now, they worked.

i start shouting abuse aimed at myself whenever i can’t figure out the solution to a calculus problem. i bite back insults when i look in the mirror. i yell at my best friend, the person that has done the absolute most for me this entire past year of my life. the person that took me in when i was at the end of my rope.

i’m slowly starting to become more and more like the specter that haunted my childhood, that slamming door that made me flinch, the booming voice that left me in tears for almost every night for sixteen years.

recently, i’ve even thought of taking up smoking. just like him.

it’s my worst nightmare come to fruition. i never want to be like my dad. i never want to be someone that people hate, that people fear. it hurts.

i’ve come to the conclusion that getting help for myself is the only way to get out of this never-ending loop of feelings. i told her that i didn’t need it then, when she was crying in front of me. i put on a smile and explained that therapy makes me uncomfortable. that medications make me feel… unlike myself.

maybe i need to be unlike myself. so far, i haven’t exactly been a smashing success.

i’m conflicted at this point, because i don’t want to change completely. or do i? if i gaze in the mirror for more than a half-second, i know i want change. but i don’t want to be unrecognizable. my best friend loves me for my stupid cynicism, at least when i keep it under control.

she said that i don’t feel like myself when i’m on medication because i’m not usually happy. i know it shouldn’t have been funny, but it was to me.

i laughed. i conversed. i calmed myself down.

i hid the monster.

i didn’t want to get therapy.

i went home, because she also expressed the need for space. for room to stretch her legs out, go to sleep, because she was exhausted and she has an early class tomorrow.

i folded my clothes, the ones that didn’t get stolen. thank god.

i turned to my laptop, and i googled “psychologists in my area.”

february 13, 10:30 pm.

me: “love you. sorry i’ve been such a dick lately. i’ll get better. for you! i promise.”

… and for her only. god knows i don’t need the peace of mind; i couldn’t care less what happens to me. it’s all for her.

amour fou

i have always regarded myself as someone that was a good judge of character. i’d never had any real problems with those that i considered my close friends and those that i’d spurned out of intuition always proved me right, in the end. i had the perfect group of friends that were pure in their intent, and even just in the essence of their being. sure, they were imperfect, just as humans tend to be, but that was not an issue for me. humans will be humans.

now that high school is over and done with, and i am on the verge of being shipped off to arizona for the next two to four years, i have been doing a lot of reflecting. more than usual, that is. i’ve had a lot of quiet time alone in my brother’s spare room in his small house in the middle of the desert to contemplate my being all throughout high school. i assume that many people think in the same fashion that i do the summer before college begins. college is another clean slate, a fresh start, another chance to reinvent ourselves, just as high school was presented to us, in our middle school years.

i’ve come to the conclusion that my intuition is wrong, and has always been. if there are any regrets that i have about high school, it’s that i misjudged nearly everyone that i came across. there is one, in particular, that i have been rather inconsolable about.

the boy that i was in love with, was revealed to be a liar. he lied about everything that he’d ever said to me, about himself, about other people, everything. he was my best friend, and there was nothing in the world that could have convinced me that he was anything more than just an innocent, if a little strange boy. perhaps it had to do with my blatant affinity to him, but my own ignorance allowed his hurt to spread. even looking back at this blog is painful, because there are so many posts, so many thoughts written about him that now cause bile to rise up in my throat; he lied to me for so long that i don’t even know who am anymore. there was always a small part of me that was a part of him. we were closer than close could be. or, so i thought.now that everything has turned out to be a lie, a facade to keep others intrigued in the dark, gloomy boy that he is, instead of a genuine person,

now that everything has turned out to be a lie, a facade to keep others intrigued in the dark, gloomy boy that he is, instead of a genuine person, i’m left with a part of myself that i’m not sure fits anywhere, anymore. it’s a part of me that formed because of him, the person that he pretended to be. it takes up a good deal of my personality, and for what? to remind me of someone that lied to me from the moment that i first set my unfortunate eyes upon him? unbelievable.

my only reassurance is that am not pretending. i am my own person, whereas he was a figment, someone out of his own creation. he is an amalgam of loneliness and information gleaned from books about a place so far off that people would not be able to discern his masterful illusion from the harshness of his reality.

not only am i sad for the years that i lost to his pretending, i am sad for the relationship that never happened, in all reality.

what’s really tragic about this whole affair, is that he made my everyday life seem so magical. perhaps that is my tendency to seek validation from others talking, but it’s the truth. every moment i spent with my beautiful butterfly boy, i felt alive again. he’d tell me stories of his friends, back in his home country. he told me that they’d like me. that he liked me. that i was one of the best friends he’d ever had. and, in tandem, i returned the sentiment. there was never a moment in which he seemed disingenuous. we were two peas in a pod. a platonic match made in heaven, the friendship that everyone aspires to.

but he exists without really existing; every aspect of his personality is one that has been heavily scrutinized, reviewed by himself before it ever saw the light of day. i fell in love with an illusion. a character.

a fictional person.

and all who opposed him? the people that i spent years mocking, snubbing? they were those that were wronged.

and i let it happen. again and again and again, until his false reality was mine, too.

my butterfly boy was not really a butterfly at all. despite his cunning and his illusions, i loved him.

but that does not change one simple, unavoidable fact…

my butterfly boy does not exist.


“how much do you love me?”

…your voice is quieter, now that it’s over. you said she still loves you, and while i believe that once you love a person you can never really stop loving them, i don’t understand how someone could hurt you so badly. they must be accustomed to ripping the wings off of butterflies. to harm something so tender, so beautiful, with no evident remorse, seems rather sadistic. to make this benevolent being hold out hope for something that may never happen is even more sinister.

she says that maybe one day you can finish what you both started. i wish i could tell you that when they say they’re going to come back, they never do. but that would break your fragile little heart even more. if i split it into even tinier pieces, they would slip through my fingers and i would fucking lose you. again.

as of right now, i stare at the shards as they lay on the floor, shattered and jagged. i want to step forward and gather them up, piece them back together, but something is stopping me. it might just be my own inhibitions that are keeping me from talking to you in the way that i know you need after all these years.

then again, i could just be imagining things. all those years ago, i was convinced that you loved me. the way that you touched me, held me, even just the way you fucking looked at me screamed desire. i remember all of it. all of those stupid conversations we had, all the times our limbs found themselves entangled as we sat in the shadows of our secluded patio, the one that, of course, belongs to the school technically, but we claimed for ourselves. i remember the way we danced to that song about following each other into the dark in that same space. i remember.

and i remember the day you just… stopped. how can i trust my own senses when they denounced me so violently?

it seems childish to list these examples, like i’m typing up a fucking persuasive essay entitled ‘you were just as hopeless for me as i was for you, and i can prove it!’ for our freshman english course, the class that brought us together, and changed my life forever.

ever since you stopped, though, i’ve been scouring the world, my own mind, for answers. i figured that time away from you helped, but i can see now that it only postponed the inevitable.

i want to protect you from the entire fucking world. especially from her. the one that you loved so deeply and for so long. the one that betrayed you, stole your fucking wings just to see if she could. my beautiful butterfly boy, i would wrap you up in a cocoon of care, if only i could find a way to take away your pain without having my own resurface.

i cannot resolve to help you if i can’t even help my fucking self.

though it hurts to watch you suffer so, i’ll always be willing to bleed for you.

i guess this is growing up

i’ve been eighteen for almost a month now.

i moved out. something i’ve been dreaming about doing for months. i no longer have to submit to the frightening wants of my tyrannical relatives. i got into college, something i was so scared would never happen– i’ve even gotten scholarships. it’s absolutely insane how far i’ve come. i’ve seen so many things, and there’s still so much out there, waiting for me.

i see the road stretching out before me, though. a long, winding path that reaches out into the future that i am both incredibly eager to see and incredibly anxious to bring into realization.

i still have so many things to do. so many people to meet. it’s all rather scary. i find myself daydreaming about my future, and while it’s still so uncertain, i’ll have people by my side to help me through it. which is reassuring. i’ve never been so good on my own.

my best friend and i are on the precipice of something that adults have been warning us about since we were kids; the “real world.” but i guess it’s fine, as long as we’re by each other’s side.

i guess. what i’m trying to articulate here is that, for the first time in a long time, there’s a small spark of hope in my life. i’m no longer afraid of writing this; i had an irrational fear that every time something good happened and i wrote about it, it was destined to fail. not to say that i don’t believe in a certain king destiny, but i feel like this feeling, the uncertainty that is no longer unnerving, the breathlessness of realizing that i am totally free…

i don’t think that’s going away.

i have hope that in the sunshine of the arizona desert, i will find a new home. there, i will be able to heal from the wounds of the past.

versatile blogger award

wow, okay, so i’m not really known for my sociability on here. i’m really just known for my terrible cynicism and equally terrible ‘poetry’. despite this, however, i’ve been nominated for an award over on bloglittleboxes’ Nothing About Everything Blog! thank you so much, it’s nice to know that other people enjoy the stuff i post.

for the award, i’m required to:

  • show the award on your blog
  • thank the person that has nominated you
  • share 7 different facts about yourself
  • nominate blogs of your choice
  • link your nominees and let them know of your nomination

i’ve never thought of myself as a deeply interesting person, so this might be a bit of a snoozefest, but here are seven facts about me!

1. i’m mexican-american.

this is probably the only interesting thing about me, so if you stop reading after this first fact, i wouldn’t blame you.

i take a lot of pride in my culture. i didn’t when i was younger, as my father sort of… i dunno. discouraged knowing about ‘that side’ of my heritage. i couldn’t tell you why; it still doesn’t make sense to me. he was probably just a racist asshole(he considered himself white). i’m going to go with that.

once i got out of that living situation, however, i began spending more time with my mother’s side of the family; really, the only side of the family that i could be considered ‘familiar’ with.
i can only speak a little spanish, and what little i can speak, i speak terribly. i, admittedly, don’t know as much about my culture as i want to, and i’m still learning new things all the time! it’s exciting. thinking about it makes me excited to learn more things in the future. so i guess that’s pretty cool.

2. i collect vinyls. it is strangely emotional for me. as is everything.

if you’ve been following me for a while (or even if you’ve only been following me for a little bit), you’d know that i have many crises that i go through on a daily basis. i’ve only ever really touched on the obvious things that trouble people my age; college, unrequited love, and the like. one that plagues me daily is the purpose of life. other classics are the inevitability of death and what’s the point of doing anything if we’re all going to die in the end? that last one gets me every time.

last year was miserable. i won’t sugarcoat it; i wanted to die. or, as i said to my therapist ‘i simply want to cease existing.’ i wanted to gently erase myself from people’s memories, their thoughts, and the world. constantly. at one point, i came really close… but that’s a story for another post.

for christmas, my sister got me a beautiful record player that didn’t make the move back to my desert home with me (i miss it dearly), and three records. if you’re curious, these three albums that i got at christmas were the world won’t listen by the smiths, hung at heart by the growlers, and 25 by adele.
long story short, i became thoroughly obsessed. why hadn’t i gotten a record player sooner? i thought i was crazy for wanting to spend a fortune on these pieces of plastic, but they spun in such a way, it made the pain stop. i spent hours upon hours listening to these three records, i know them by heart.

i’ve always loved music, but i hadn’t really used it as an escape since probably middle school, at that point. i immersed myself in this world of vinyl. i didn’t go crazy with the money-spending, but it gave me something to live for. it might not make sense to most people, but because of my severe depression, i kind of… i feel like i could drop of the face of the earth at any moment and not really care all that much. i don’t necessarily want to die, but the thought isn’t at all unpleasant to me.
thing is, i’ve always needed something to live for- something tangible. something that i could make certain was there, or was going to happen. a collection is something like that, yeah? so when i started collecting vinyls, found in cardboard boxes at yard sales, or within the small record stores that were my only escape in colorado, it gave me something to live for. it might sound cheesy, but that really meant the world to me. my collection of records kind of saved my life, in a sense.

3. i know my way around disneyland better than i know my way around my hometown.

we got a bit heavy with that last fact. this was to lighten the mood. also it’s very, very true and sort of sad? i get lost in my hometown more than i would care to admit. you wouldn’t catch me looking at a map in disneyland, though; i know that place like the back of my hand. i love my hometown, don’t get me wrong, but disneyland. 

i can picture the entire park in my mind. i can walk through the park in my head.
it’s like my happy place, which is fitting- what better happy place is there than the ‘happiest place on earth’?

i can picture it so clearly because i’ve visited a bunch of times. i’ve been there at least ten times in my lifetime, which is more than a lot of people can say, and i’m really grateful for that. my mom was obsessed with disney, and we have cousins in los angeles so… it was convenient. no hotel room fees.

i’m going back there after i graduate in june of 2017- one last time before the world ends, amirite? no? okay we’re moving on.

4. i believe in multiple romantic soulmates… just not for me.

and no one was surprised.

it’s kind of… i dunno, common sense to believe in multiple soulmates, to me. you have different stages of life, different needs, different lessons that you need to learn at those separate stages of life. naturally, you have different people to help you achieve things throughout your life. soulmates don’t necessarily have to be romantic in their nature; they can come in the form of friends and family members, too.

we’re focusing on the romantic side here. of course there are going to be different soulmates in this aspect throughout a person’s life. i mean, duh.

just not for me.
i’ve said time and time again that this person that i write about is the only one for me. and maybe that’s just idle fancy. it seems like it would be. but i really… can’t move past him?

i’ve been trying for a bit, now, and it’s difficult. i won’t say impossible because anything’s possible. just. not that. not for me.
maybe i’m wrong and i do have multiple, and this soulmate’s lesson is moving on. in any case, i’ll dwell on this person until i get annoyed with it.

so like, don’t hold your breath.

5. i’m a vegetarian.

you see this? this is me running out of ideas.
this one is really self-explanatory. it is what it is, you know? i like animals. so i don’t eat them. it doesn’t make me any better or any worse than anyone else.

for the most part, it’s just a topic to bring up when i’m talking to new people. it proves to be a good one, or a bad one, depending on the person i’m speaking with. generally, though, people just say ‘wow, cool’ and we move on.

like we’re doing now.

6. i don’t understand flirting

this one made itself really apparent last night/early this morning.

i just… it’s not my forte. i really don’t get how to flirt with people. i was sending screenshots of a conversation with this really pretty girl to one of my best friends and asking for commentary on my responses.

apparently i’m okay at it, despite the fact that i don’t get how to do it? whenever i get told to ‘just flirt with them’ i freeze up because i don’t get the concept. i’m not good at cues when it comes to flirting because i automatically assume that nobody wants to flirt with me ever. people flirt with me and i just assume that they’re being nice. they call me “cute” or “adorable” in a flirtatious manner, with a decidedly flirtatious tone, and i figure that somethings got to be wrong with them.

… flirting will forever remain a mystery to me.

7. i have a cliché “things to do before i die list”

i feel really dumb when i talk about this? i feel like it’s super typical to actually have a list or whatever. it isn’t even really a long one. i’ve crossed a couple of things off in the past few years, but… whatevs.

i dunno. it’s not a really long one, so i don’t think it warrants another post. so i’ll just post it here? i guess?

things to do before i die

  1. fall in love  (freshman me… no. why would u want that)
  2. try experimental drugs (cut me some slack i was a freshman when i made this. it was a phase)
  3. see bring me the horizon in concert  (the emo is strong with this one)
  4. see morrissey in concert (this november!!! holy shit !!!)
  5. swim with wild orca whales (orcas are my babies. i love them to death and i could go on and on forever about them)
  6. get a cat (even though i’m allergic i luv the kitties)
  7. live in california (cali is my favorite place on earth)
  8. visit new zealand (it’s sooo pretty i want to be there noow)
  9. go surfing (if i ever get over my fear of the ocean)
  10. be happy (hopefully someday?)

see? it’s small. most likely because i don’t expect to live that long. i don’t have any diseases, and it’s not like i’m going to kill myself or anything of that nature, even though i’ve comer really close. it’s wishful thinking, at best, assuming that i’m going to die young, but i’m kind of counting on it. if i do end up getting old, it will be a nightmare.


so there it is. seven things about me. hopefully you’re still reading at this point. if not, you are absolutely blameless.

i have no one to nominate because i’m not very social on this site? so. if you’re reading this… you’re nominated. if you decide to make a post, link me to it! it’d be cool to read about you. all fourteen (?) of you.

thanks for reading. enjoy the rest of your day/night. take care of yourself.

a poem for a beautiful girl

you make me want to let go of my inhibitions
release them, like butterflies, into the bright blue sky
never to be seen again.

you compel me to submerge myself
in the deepest waters of human emotion; for it to fill my lungs
i want it to swallow me whole.

i want you to make my heart soar with the birds again,
i want you to drag me into those depths, hold my head under the water until i drown
i want you to make the butterflies in my stomach rage,
i want you to prove me wrong.
i want…



getting over you is easier said than done (especially if my subconscious has anything to do with it)

i had a dream about you last night. it had been so long since the last one, so it was refreshing, at first. a little wish fulfillment was welcome, since you are otherwise preoccupied.

but it didn’t feel like a dream. it didn’t feel like a dream because we were in the exact same situation as we are now. i longed for you, and you loved her. she wasn’t in the dream, thank god. one can only take so much, you know?

the whole dream was that. maybe that would have been good for someone that doesn’t love you like i do. i don’t know. maybe what i have for you is just an obsession and that’s why it hurts so much. whatever the case, any semblance of ‘getting over you’ is gone.

there was too much reality. that was the problem.

reality has no place in dreams.

needless to say, my subconscious and i aren’t on the best terms right now.

may the bridges i burn light the way

is this what my teenage years were always meant to be like? these people. their  lives. they surround me, they engulf me, and i’m not afraid like i used to be. my ‘father’ used to constantly chide me; trust no one, he said, everyone but me is out to get you. don’t trust them.

i’m upset, but i don’t know who i’m more upset at, myself, or him. people keep telling me that in order to heal fully, i need to forgive him. how can i possibly forgive the unforgivable? forgive him for you, not for what he did to your sister. now that he’s been unmasked, how can i possibly forgive him? he was the monster of my sister’s teenage years; when she should’ve felt her best, he made her ashamed of herself. ashamed to be a girl.

he took away her teenage years, and he took away mine. fuck forgiveness. he doesn’t deserve it. i don’t have to do shit to move on with my life. i don’t dwell on it. he will have to live with the fact that he was the monster everyone warns their kids about. he will die knowing what he truly is, and that is satisfaction enough.

truth is, i burnt that bridge long ago. he’s your dad, everyone says. he loves you. then why didn’t he show an ounce of regret for everything he said to my face, all the neglect, the lengths he would go to in order to make me feel hopeless, powerless? you still need to have him in your life. this is the most common.

to sum it up; no i don’t. i don’t need anyone in my life that doesn’t deserve to be in it. that my father happens to be one of the many that don’t deserve a place in my life isn’t my fault. it’s his. he took, and he took, and he took and he almost got away with it, too. but my sister put her foot down; she gave me the courage to speak out about his verbal abuse, his gas lighting, his manipulation. he should be in fucking jail for what he did to her, but he’s not. i hope that’s the only mercy he’s ever afforded for the rest of his life.

i cannot forgive, and i cannot forget. but it doesn’t consume me. i am in control. i was always in control, and now i know that. that is enough.