i see my reflection in puddles of summer rain

this is realest that i have felt in a long time, but somehow, i still feeling like i’m going to wake up back in that cold room in the frozen tundra where i took up residence for a year. i look in the mirror, and i recognize the person in the mirror. my body isn’t loathsome. i no longer feel like a monster. what a wonder a change of scenery can be.

everything is… right. this is how it should have been this past year. i should have never left. but i had to, because this opportunity hadn’t presented itself until now. i feel sort of sorry for myself (then again, when don’t i?) because it feels like i wasted a year, for the most part. but then, i think of the things i did.

i met amazing people there. two, in particular, considering that i reverted back to my shy, younger self when i was there, and had too much hatred in my heart to love anyone else. one is across the sea, somewhere in italy, and we’ve promised to see each other again. the other is still there, in the tundra, and we talk frequently. i miss her, but somehow, i know we’ll see each other again. there’s too much sadness in the world for us not to.

these are the only reasons i don’t think that this past year was an entire waste. just these two. but that is all i need, i suppose. if i hadn’t spent time away from my beautiful desert, i would have never met them, and a life without either of them is not a life that i would want to live. the very thought is repulsive.

perhaps it was a happy little accident that allowed me to meet those two. if so, i am glad. mistakes may not always be bad things, after all.

im playing some early 2000’s punk pop (and thinking about what my name sounded like when you said it like i was your world)

i’m very happy and very sad all at once. for the first time in a long time, i’m where i’m supposed to be. i don’t feel so alone. when people realized that i was returning from the frozen tundra, the joy they felt was immense. indescribable, almost. they were so happy. their voices, their faces, their expressions, their all-caps outbursts on social media… all of that validation was like christmas to me; i’m all about that shit. validation and praise is a drug, and i am a fucking addict.

i think this explains a good deal about how i still love you and allow you to crush me under the weight of your indifference. you made me feel special, at a time. hard as it is to believe, once upon a time, you fucking adored me. in those days, we knew nothing of ‘moderation’ when it came to each other… when it came to us. us because we were inseparable. before you came along, i didn’t truly understand what it meant to be attached at the hip.

if we weren’t physically touching, we weren’t in the same room. we talked for hours, but we didn’t need to fill the silence up with words to feel comfortable around each other. we could sit in silence, hold hands, and stare out at the world. the words came easily, but they didn’t serve as camouflage, like it had in other relationships of mine. we saw each other for we were, and that was enough for us.

you are the closest thing i’ve ever had to a ‘soulmate’. maybe i’m being dramatic, but if we’d met at a different time, we would have ended up together. we would have been an earth-shattering force. this is not to devalue the strength and importance of our platonic relationship, but i’ve never met anyone else that i’ve wanted to be with more. in a different life, you were ‘it’ for me. i’m sure of this.

all this… makes me wonder if it was as hard for you as it was for me when i was away. i want so badly to ask if you missed me even half as much as i missed you. i wish i could know without asking.

maybe the fact that i can’t tell is more telling than anything else.

… all this to say;

i saw him today.

i felt him look right through me.

my heart quietly shattered as he walked away.

“father” (for lack of a better word)

my therapist thinks that it would be… beneficial for me to write about how i truly feel, and how you fucked me up for doing all that manipulative crap to me when i lived with you. to some degree, i think she’s right. but if you snapped after i said all those things to you in reality (because you do have the capacity to snap) i would feel personally responsible, even though you never extended the same courtesy to me. i’m just too kind sometimes.

so here is the letter that i will never send to you. let it be lost in the endlessness of the internet, for you have no place in my life. not anymore.

i hate you so much that whenever i think about you, my blood boils; you are the worst thing that ever happened to me. you raised me on hate and rage and i came out the other side a nervous wreck that can’t handle even the most well-wished raised voice. it’s over once there’s yelling; i cry “like a baby”. i get so nervous when people get angry, i just want to crawl out of my skin.

and it’s all you.

all your fault.

i may never be able to be completely “okay” because of you. i get scared when people get too close, i constantly criticize myself, and i spent so many years purely hating myself, and no one else, because i was never good enough for you.

now, i’m safe from you. the monster under the bed, the boogie-man that resides in the shadows of my childhood. i am away from that house, and i am away from that city, and i will never return to you. i will never speak to you again. although you may be still alive in reality, within the confines of my own mind and life, you are dead.

and, you know what? it feels good. it feels good to be able to say that to the one person that i was scared the most of. i wasn’t supposed to be scared of you, but how could little, motherless me know that?

now that version of me is but a shadow, dust in the wind. i almost miss it. that innocence, the way that child just wanted to please you, the one person that really mattered. or, was supposed to matter. but you belittled that little kid until they became something that never should have been. you ignored that child until they were convinced that no one could possibly care for them, in a genuine sense.

what you did wasn’t okay. now i know that, and so much more. things that i didn’t want to know. things that i shouldn’t have to know.

i am trying to find satisfaction in the fact that you brought all of this down on yourself, years ago. from the moment you decided to violate the ones i hold most dear, your story was set in stone. you are a monument to personal failure, the ultimate effigy of self-destruction. you are everything that i am not, everything that i will never, ever be.

however, this is but a small consolation to the husk of a person that you created, i will admit. i was never a whole person. there will always be something missing. i’ve tried to fill this hole with drugs, attention, among other unsavory things. i will never know what it is like to have a healthy relationship with parents. i never had a chance to learn. i wish i could mourn for that, but i can’t miss something that i never had.

while you have indeed created something terrible, i can’t help but think that’s giving you too much credit. those experiences that i had to endure as a result of your cowardice, your hate, do not define me. i am my own person. something you never thought possible. something that you tried to prevent from happening, so that you would always have someone to fill the emptiness that consumed your life.

personally, i think that is the best revenge.

 

i cannot drunkenly text you, so this will just have to suffice

i am afraid that all that’s left of you in my heart is pain. like, okay, i gave you a fucking knife and said “please god don’t fucking stab me” and you did. not on purpose, obviously, because you and i loved each other. you loved me like a friend, and i loved you like a friend and then some, which is never a very satisfying combination. so the knife is just stuck there, hanging out. sometimes i like to twist it, if not just for fun, then to still make sure that the pain is still there– like you’re still there, because that’s the special place in my heart that is yours and yours alone. if you aren’t there, i’m missing a piece of me.

despite this, i sometimes wish that i could just… forget you. it’s awful to even type that. like, why the fuck would i want to forget possibly the most important, amazing thing that has even happened to me? that’s hardly logical. stick with me, though, my story gets better.
every time i think of you, about those times that we were so close, and when we held hands and did all of that sentimental shit, i get this feeling in my chest. but it’s not the cute little butterflies that took residence within my ribcage when i met you. no, this is the knife you stuck in there when i fell in love with you, and you couldn’t fall in love with me. it twists just a little bit more, and it instills a kind of pain in me that is indescribable in it’s agony.

but this pain comes in short bursts, right? like a paper cut, or stepping on a lego, repeatedly, consciously. so a very sharp pain. and usually, in those given situations, a nice, short curse word is the choice thing to say. but in these little heart pangs, i don’t utter ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’ or anything that is normal, i say “i love him, i love him, i love him” in a hushed tone, as my eyebrows pull together and my fists clench. like i was too afraid to say it to your beautiful fucking face, so i just whisper it to myself as i deal with my self-inflicted aftermath.

maybe i should’ve cut you out of my life when i had the chance. freshman year, when everyone disliked you for some reason or another, i should’ve left you alone. but i couldn’t, because you were my best friend, and we did everything together in that godforsaken school. just the thought of trying to leave you was enough to make me breathless with ache in my chest.

i know you longed for me like i long for you, at one point. i remember the look in your eyes whenever you said my name, the way you ran your thumb along my jawline as you stared into my fucking soul, while you muttered some dumb excuse like, “i’m trying to see what you would look like as an anime character.” i felt your warmth, your light, i felt your soul touch mine, when we sat in contented silence, your head resting against my chest, your sweet scent practically suffocating me but in a romantic way.
and everyone would come up and ask me, “how long have you and xxxxxxx been together?”
to which i would reply “hahahahahahaha” coolly, calmly, even though i felt like i was dying inside. “… i’m not joking. nothing about that was funny.” they would say, “the way that you look at each other is sweet.” i died a little more inside after i corrected them, and sent them on their merry way.

that’s what everyone seemed to tell me, whenever our nonexistent relationship was brought up. the way you looked at me/i looked at you. how i melted when you looked at me, and how you stared when you thought i wasn’t looking. how gentle you were with me.

i remember these things. i know they’re true. i remember, vividly, how often you hugged me, how long it took you to let go.

every time i hear that death cab for cutie song, memories of a slow dance with you swirl around in my mind, under the massive tree in the courtyard by the tennis courts, its barren branches extended protectively over the both of us. another friend looks on jealously. i don’t care; i don’t even see her. all i can feel is your chest pressed against mine, my chin on your shoulder, your arms wrapped around me so tightly, like you’re afraid i’d disappear forever if you let go. i’m not a good dancer; we just swayed from side to side, holding onto each other for dear life.

i wish i could disregard these things as irrelevant, fictitious, but that would hurt too much.

there is nothing that i can do now. it’s too late. now i know there is such a thing as meeting the right person at the wrong time, and by “right person” i mean soulmate or something equivalent because i am just dramatic like that. you are the “right person” for me, i know it. i know i’m verging on cheesy, but i think you’re the only one, and it scares me.

i was too afraid of my feelings to come clean, and i paid the ultimate price.

 

 

what u see

what you see of me is all that’s left.

i have been broken, shattered over and over again,

repeating a ceaseless, senseless cycle.

what you see of me are shards.

they catch the light in certain ways;

they look different to every single person that looks upon them.

what you see of me are the remnants of former greatness.

when i shattered, i lost everything i once was,

i can only savor the taste of my former triumphs through bitter memories.

what you see of me are the final shreds of my humanity.

i have seen too many things, heard too many things,

been too many things to ever be considered ‘human’ again.

withering

i have always been of the mind that everyone around me is just too selfless. especially lately, people have just been off the walls generous and forgiving and kind and why.

it makes it extremely hard for me to keep up my appearance of being a heartless bitch. how can i be cold and ruthless if everyone around me is just giving up their shit and dropping everything to help me? it shouldn’t be something that i complain about, but look at me. complaining.

part of me wishes that people were more selfish because it would be easier to distance myself from them. it would be easier to do a lot of things, that way. but because everyone is so nice, i can hardly say ‘nope’ to any innocuous offer that they make to me. i wish that people were more selfish because, truth is, i want to hate everyone. it would make them easier to hate if they weren’t so fucking selfless.

most of all, i think i want people to be more selfish because that’s the way that i am. selfish. i am selfish and mean and bitchy and vindictive, but it’s all in my head. i wish that people were more externally selfish and mean and just all around grotesque, so that maybe, this hateful energy within me would be able to be released. maybe if people were more like monsters, it would make me feel like i belonged, for who is the greater monster than i am?

i have lied and cheated and pointed fingers since before it was cool and edgy to do all that kind of crap. and even though i’ve been removed from a situation that calls for all that nonsense, i haven’t grown out of the lies. that compulsion to lie about my life, like how i did before. that compulsion to cheat and skip classes and not give a shit like i was doing back home. the compulsion to blame everyone but myself is still there. all of this crap hasn’t left me, and i don’t think it ever will.

i am a selfish monster in a mess of selfless human beings, and i despise them for it.

“aren’t you afraid of the big bad wolf?”

she said that he looks up to me. that’s why he gets so upset when i say something that even remotely sounds like i’m being mean/critical/whatever of him.

i hardly think that’s the case. he’s a seven year old, abrasive little kid with no sense of respect for his parents. reasonable parents, at that. i grew up with an abusive, vile excuse for a father; i cued onto the differences immediately when i moved in this past september. i know things.

even if it is the truth, he shouldn’t look up to me.

the simple truth is that i’m not worth looking up to. i’m not worth the oxygen i’m breathing. the only reason i am breathing right now is that i don’t have the guts to off myself. i lack the courage/stupidity/whatever, and that’s unfortunate. unfortunate for me, and also the world unlucky enough to have me as an inhabitant.

you see, i am of the mind that this world would be better off without me in it.
to reiterate my earlier statement; i wouldn’t kill myself. i just want to somehow cease existing. i want every memory, every last sliver of me, from my hair all the way to trivial little things about me, like my favorite color, to be gently erased from everyone’s memories. the whole of the world and people i knew forgetting that i even occurred.

that’s what i want. but what i want is not possible.

so, even though it pains me, i stay. i want nothing more than to leave. but i am trapped under the weight of my own cowardice.

little birds

i don’t understand how the world can hate me so much.

we’re moving to the middle of nowhere. i just got used to living here, and now we’re going to a place that, no doubt, will be far worse. they are tearing me apart again. there is so little of me left, i didn’t think that it was possible, but here we are again.

i don’t think i can take it anymore. i really have tried so hard these past months that i’ve lived here, with people that call themselves my family, and are probably the closest thing i have had to family ever. but, selfish as it is to say, it’s not enough. i dearly wish that it was, but it is not. intention does not equal perception.

i just wish it could all end. not in a violent way; i don’t really want to kill myself. i just want this… whatever this is, to end. to put it plainly; if a speeding car was suddenly headed my way as i was crossing the street, and there was no way i could jump away or it could stop in time, i don’t think i would mind very much. there is a reason i don’t look both ways before i cross the street anymore. i don’t really want that to happen, either. i think i just want to become a blur, like i never even existed, like my life never occurred. that would be nice.

i say stuff like that, but really, i won’t do anything. i’ve tried once before, and even then, i was scared out of my mind. not scared to die or anything like that, but scared about what would happen if i didn’t die. if i had to wake up and face the consequences of what i’d done. i did wake up, unfortunately, and it was awful.

this time, though, that fear isn’t there. i feel like the universe has driven me to this point purposefully. i always seem to get fucked over just as soon as i think i can handle a situation.

so, i don’t know. i won’t kill myself or anything like that. i just kind of hope that i die in my sleep or something, even though that’s supposed to be incredibly terrifying. i just don’t want to move out in the middle of nowhere in an extremely homophobic southern state, is all. but there is a bright side. i mean, maybe i won’t have to do the deed if i move there. people will hate me enough as it is; the queer, mexican kid. maybe they’ll burn me at the stake or something. i’m really scared to move there, but i can’t really do anything about it, now. you can always count on good ol’ Uncle Sam to ruin your life at every turn.

i feel like i’m repeating myself. over and over and over. maybe i should just… stop. i don’t know. i don’t know anything anymore. i don’t want to know anything anymore.

angsty teen bullshit

today was like a dream. not that it was particularly pleasant, but that it was just… dream-like. i don’t know how else to explain it, save for that it just didn’t feel real.

nothing feels real, anymore. not in that happy way, either. it just doesn’t feel like this is actually my life. and i know it is. somewhere deep in my soul, i know it is. but i still can’t bring myself to believe it.

i escaped my abuser only to end up in a place where no one except for my sister and her family care for me. they have given me food, a home, and a real family for the first time in my life. these things are invaluable. i know i should feel grateful, but i don’t.

this is all because i am a selfish, selfish monster. i want my friends. i want my best friends that have been with me through thick and thin by my side for the rest of my high school days. i don’t want anything to change. i want to go back there– not back to that house, but back to that desert, where so many blooms of friendship flourished among the barren sand and sweltering heat. there, i was comfortable in my own skin, and i was loved, and i was admired, and i was talented, and i was ‘going places’.

here i am nothing; i am no one. and it is painfully evident in how nonplussed all of my “friends” here seem to me. no one asks me how i’ve been, here, and no one asks me why i was out of school for two days this past week. no one cares and it makes me want to cry. i try to make friends. i really do. i try to pry myself out of the shell that i was jammed back into when i came here. but it is, evidently, not enough. thing is, i don’t know how to give more than i already have.

maybe this is just my vanity and desperate need for attention talking, but you know… it hurts. it sucks not having anyone at school that gives a shit about me. everyone that isn’t family that gives a shit about me is miles and miles away, and all i can do is sit here and cry about the impossible distance between us.

i know that this stupid place should be my ‘home’ now, but i still find myself feeling dreadfully homesick.