Haven’t had a chance to write much lately, but I’ll let you know I’ve still got life. And I’m glad you do too!

I played my keyboard and ukulele for someone today. It’s been a while!

Advertisements

As mentioned before, these little installments I came up with is a series of songs I randomly choose. They are songs that colored my youth in some way or another.

This week I took a trip down to my early teens. They were not happy years from what I remember. Sure, there were high times, but most of it involved bullying at school, violent fights with my mother, isolation, depression, discrimination, surgeries, insomnia, chronic pain, anxiety, self-loathing, rage, self-harm, etc. Though I’ve always been more of an introvert, I was a loud child. I was aggressive; I didn’t seem timid. I became increasingly timid when I hit middle school (isn’t that a rough one for everyone?). Anyway, since I felt so out-of-place, I rejected the boy band thing. I loathed Nsync, Backstreet Boys (for the most part), and especially the Spice Girls. Sure I loved the “girl power” thing, and the little feminist in me didn’t mature until I was in my twenties, but I always had a bit of anger towards girls. Guys, I could hang out with. Girls, not so much.

I generally haven’t been into much pop music since my early teens–even in my younger days I was more into gangster rap like Biggie, Tupak, Bone Thugs-n-Harmony, ha–however, Savage Garden is a pop duo I will forever love. I think this song came out when I was twelve or thirteen. That was when I started thinking about drinking a bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide and sniffing glue–not, not that white Elmers’ glue, the heavy duty construction worker glue in paste and jars– to see if it would kill me.

This song represents that little lost “borderline” girl in me. That girl that was never given room to grow, the girl that would become a little metal-head, a little punk and do anything to stop the pain.

I think as a result, I’ve had a taste for more contemplative music, if you know what I mean. Oh, and I love the shots of New York (near Brooklyn bridge) in this video.

She’s taking her time making up the reasons
To justify all the hurt inside
Guess she knows from the smiles and the look in their eyes
Everyone’s got a theory about the bitter one
They’re saying, “Mama never loved her much.”
And, “Daddy never keeps in touch.
That’s why she shies away from human affection.”
But somewhere in a private place
She packs her bag for outer space
And now she’s waiting for the right kind of pilot to come
And she’ll say to him,
She’s sayin,

“I would fly to the moon and back if you’ll be, if you’ll be my
Baby.
I’ve got a ticket for a world where we belong
So would you be my baby?”

She can’t remember a time when she felt needed.
If love was red then she was color blind.
All her friends, they’ve been tried for treason
And crimes that were never defined.
She’s saying “Love is like a barren place
And reaching out for human faith is like a journey
I just don’t have a map for.”
So baby’s gonna take a dive and
Push the shift to overdrive
Send a signal that she’s hanging
All her hopes on the stars
What a pleasant dream
She’s sayin,

“I would fly to the moon and back if you’ll be, if you’ll be my
Baby.
I’ve got a ticket for a world where we belong
So would you be my baby?”

(Hold on, Hold on)
“Mama never loved her much.”
And, “Daddy never keeps in touch.
That’s why she shies away from human affection.”
But somewhere in a private place
She packs her bag for outer space
And now she’s waiting for the right kind of pilot to come
And she’ll say to him,
She’s sayin,

“I would fly to the moon and back if you’ll be, if you’ll be my
Baby.
I’ve got a ticket for a world where we belong
So would you be my baby?”
~JONES, DANIEL / HAYES, DARREN

****

I dedicate this particular post to my brother’s ex-ex-girlfriend who made his life “miserable”. But really, now that I know, I suspect she has BPD. They were together for five years and lived with us for about three. She’s my age and also loved/loves this song. Hell, she probably loves it more than I do. Sadly, she was in denial about her problematic behavior and didn’t get help when we asked her to. The entire world was against her. When I repeatedly asked her to get help, I was “antagonizing” her and siding with my brother. Mind you, this was shortly before I was asked to get help too. haha! She had it rough though. I thought my family was crazy, until I met her.

At least my family was there for me in some way or another. At least they showered me with lots of love. At least my mother never made me sell drugs at sixteen, despite her violent ways with me. At least my mother never kicked me out of the house (although she did tell me to get the hell out plenty of times). At least my father never walked out on me. I never had a sister in prison and with seven kids by the age of twenty-one. I don’t have another sister who survived a suicide attempt and then went on to have terminal cancer. It was sad seeing her go… and god, the kid.

I didn’t grow up in Fifth Ward, one of the roughest neighborhoods/parts of Houston. I only grew up in the “semi-ghetto,” not the full blown ghetto, and the principal transferred me to a “rich kids” school in sixth grade because of my good grades. My brother wasn’t in prison, hell, he’s never been in trouble with the law, except for one public intoxication misdemeanor (the story was funny as hell too). We were the only family she thought she had. I’m not even going to begin or try to explain how alone she’d been in this world. I’m surprised she was alive that long and I hope she’s alright these days and that life is treating her well.

I miss you Dee. I hope you finished your mechanical engineering degree! I’m sorry things didn’t work out with my brother, though they may have with me. heheh. I joke that I fell in love with her more than my bro did.

Criminal

September 16, 2012

I’ve been a bad bad girl 
I’ve been careless with a delicate man 
And it’s a sad sad world 
When a girl will break a boy 
Just because she can

Don’t you tell me to deny it
I’ve done wrong and I want to
Suffer for my sins
I’ve come to you ’cause I need
Guidance to be true
And I just don’t know where I can begin

What I need is a good defense
‘Cause I’m feelin’ like a criminal
And I need to redeemed
To the one I’ve sinned against
Because he’s all I ever knew of love~ Fiona Apple

********

All I can think of to describe this is the lyrics to the song “Criminal” by Fiona Apple. I swear that woman writes out my life story. I’m sure a lot of you “sullen” girls know what I mean.

There’s this Canadian guy; I’ll call him Eg. I’ve known him in the virtual world since 2007. I mean, we’ve been online buddies. We used to chat a lot on MSN and on Skype. Well, Eg (not to be pronounced as egg!) just sent me a text that shook me up a little, no A LOT. First, I need to back track…

I don’t know if I should write about this in an open post since you guys (you know who you are) already know that I don’t like to share too much about others around or close to me for their sake.

I kind of sort of always knew though. I knew he was fond of me. See the thing is, he lives in Canada! AND, I had met Monkey Man a year before. As you might know, Monkey Man and I, well, we revolved around each other in a cataclysmic storm. Monkey Man would throw it in my face: how much I hurt him, how much I broke his heart, how I don’t allow people to love me, how I was cold. He did this a lot in a passive aggressive ways, and it hurt me. This was especially the case in the years 2009-2010.

Anyway, I digress.

Eg seemed to back off when I talked about marrying Monkey Man. And well, we hadn’t talked much in the last year or so. Except, ever since I found out Big Drummer Bear (don’t you just love these names) is married, I sort of kind of… Ok, I went to Eg for… I don’t know. I just started talking to Eg. And he started calling me. He paid long distance just to call me! Of course, things got sexual, as sexual as they can be long-distance.

Today, I got this text message from him:

“I know we have an innocent fun thing going on and I appreciate more than you know… but it’s starting to mean more to me than it probably is to you, which is find because you lost someone close. You know what I’m getting at right? I want to say it, and I want to hear it back, not if it’s gonna cause you pain.”

To which I replied:

“I know what you’re getting at, i think…”

****

I know, not the best answer. But I had no idea what else to say. What was I supposed to say? Then he came at me with this:

Eg: Sorry, i’ll take it back if you like. I guess I was just in a romantic mood… I’m ok if you want to forget about it… thought not fully.

Me: Don’t be sorry. 🙂 It is sweet. Don’t ever take back anything kind. You know I’ve always been fond of you… I’m just really fucked up. And yeah, his loss still affects me every day.

Eg: Sorry.

Me: Don’t be. But thanks… The fucker practically killed himself [deleted]. Sorry, you probably didn’t want to know that. But it causes a lot of anger and sadness and too many mixed feelings. By the way what’d you mean you said you’d had a few rough days. You don’t have to tell me. Just wondering.

Eg: hmm, so should we say goodbye?

Me: No! Unless you want to.

Eg: [something about his brother]

Me: [deleted]

Eg: No we can keep having fun… its nice just needed to say, even though you don’t wanna hear it. I think I’m in love with you.

Me: Jezus. im not sure what to say to that. You just hit my chest right now. I don’t wanna hurt you.

Give me a minute or two. 😉

Eg: I wasn’t expecting a response. We’ll keep having fun on the phone and that will be it.

********

I don’t know what to do. What the hell is wrong with me? Ok. I know, nothing’s wrong with me. bleh, blah. I still don’t know what to do. I’m an asshole aren’t I? But I didn’t mean to, you know? I don’t intend for these things to happen, though I see a pattern forming. I enchant and then I run off. Fear of abandonment much? Unsure sense of self? I wonder if I’ll keep sabotaging myself. I’m not saying this particular situation is sabotage, but most of the time it is.

I really do feel like a criminal right now. 😦 My chest feels tight and I want to cry. I wish I had a close girlfriend to consult with about this… Well, I guess I do. Maybe even more than a few. There’s Eloise. I just prefer to keep to myself for a while and think. Then again, I tend to overthink things.

And of course, I have my MFFs here on WordPress…

I still want to bang my head again the desk.

****

Today is my pop’s birthday. Maybe I should just focus on that now.

I Miss Monkey Man

July 26, 2012

He was more than a lover, more than a friend. He was a kindred soul; he was family. He understood my pain. I understood his. And we knew each other’s capacity for joy and love.

He hurt me so many times and I hurt him too. But we also blessed each other.

He handed me the biggest heart any man has handed me. And now he’s gone.

Or is he really?

No, I must say. Not entirely.

****

I wonder who kept his Taylor baby acoustic guitar. I want to read his notebooks, his poems, his unfinished songs.

But his father has them.

And well…

I want to go to the ocean and drown.

There is so much I want to write about  (and not just about myself, heh).

I wish I had the poetic air that filled me in April during NaPoWriMo. It just seems to have depleted. But I’ve been feeling somewhat, oh I don’t know, “normal”. Is that even an accurate way of describing not wanting to kill yourself everyday?

I was really excercizing some demons there with some of those poems. Actually, the Pretty Little Demons (PLDs) were exercising the Mouse if you recall the ping-pong matches they started in May and all the other ruckus.

Feels like an enema is being done in my head now. But I will write and/or sketch something proper soon enough (as if I ever did). For now, I give  you this from Nacho Libre:

********

p.s. I saw Dusty yesterday. We had sex. And I want to have sex with him again and again and again and again. I know. I know. But he’ll be leaving for Brazil tomorrow, for a few months, with his family (his dad is Brazilian). And I have a therapy appointment tomorrow (have to ride the MetroLift since it’s been raining all week, bleugh). I kind of want to tell her, the therapist, about Dusty since it’s barely my second session in which we’ll do an overview of my life’s major problems–and well, the Saga of Dusty and P covers a lot of my druggy days/years. But I’ve never been open with therapists about sexual things. Should I tell her about him? It’s just… I think I’m hypomanic… I should leave this for another post.

p.p.s. XOXOxxxX

p.p.p.s. Your support has been incredible.

A T-Rex Duck for Sailor

July 13, 2012

Pour ma cher Sailor

Quack!

Told you I was gonna to conjure up another bird for you. Hey, I didn’t say it was going to be a pencil or pen sketch!

Wednesday

June 20, 2012

TODAY has been a good day. I woke up feeling like death, like my blood pressure was low and I would faint and vomit, but all went well at the end of the day. I haven’t been bombarded by suicidal thoughts, I went swimming for an hour, AND I designed a “50th Wedding Anniversary” invitation card for one of my dad’s clients!

I don’t like making invitation cards for his clients. They always want to muddy up the card by adding all their kids’ names (and they’re hispanic guys, so you know that’s usually a lot) and fifty Hail Mary’s and Thanks-Be-To-Jesus prayers on there. Seriously, just invite people! It’s an invitation card! Give them the time, place and date and maybe throw in a “thank you” or “thanks to our kids for putting up with us” or “thank god we’re still married after fifty years; it’s a miracle”. That’s it! I’m proud of being Latina, but damn some of these old-school Catholic country-latino folks’ ways get on my nerves!

It’s tacky and embarrassing guys! You’re messing up my design with all this other mess! But we need the money to pay the light bill, so I did it. I just did it and if felt good just getting it done despite the anxiety. I did it in just three hours too! That’s a feat for me. I’m all “spaced-out” half the time.

****

Perfectionism and the Anxious Neurotic

One thing I had to learn from my Ex-Young Therapist is that I need to just get things done without obssessing, especially when the time calls for it! I’m a perfectionist, and despite what I was told about employers loving it when you say you’re a perfectionist, I can tell you perfectionism–I mean hardcore perfectionism–is torture! It is self-sabotage and self-harm at its finest!

A perfectionist mentality maximizes your anxiety, and if you’re mental like me, that’s a lot of anxiety, which leads to less productivity because you end up lying in the ground all catatonic-like thinking you’re having a heart attack or an aneurysm, which makes you not want to do anything anymore. “I can’t do anything right because I can’t do anything perfect!” Mouse says. Well, no shit Mouse.

So today, I set aside my perfectionism, and instead of  trying to make the card look really good, I just tried to make it “somewhat good”. And I got it done! It’s not for me anyway! It’s not my pet project, my baby, my ultimate design. It’s a damn invitation card for country folks!

****

Drugs Once Again

I took this picture bellow. It’s a picture of my current “meds” , which reminds me of the argument I had with Mr. Mackey last night. He kept telling me to remember about the drugs and alcohol and I said, “I got it, geez. Am I boozin’ right now? NO! There are wine, vodka and whiskey bottles in the kitchen and I’m not even touching any of it. You don’t have to keep telling me!”

Then I got angry.

“Hold up Mr. Mackey, just hold up a second. If drugs are so bad, why do these licensed doctors give me so many?! I know Mr. Mackey. I know they’re the tested and approved drugs and all that, but why did the psychiatrist want to ADD Risperdal to the mix when I told her about the weeks after the overdose? I mean on top of everything Mr. Mackey?! Hmmm? I said no to her Mr. Mackey. I said no. I mean, I was barely getting off the Wellbutrin then and I know, I should’ve told her, but you can’t even contact her! You have to ‘go to the emergency room’ if you think one of these drugs is killing you or if you think you’re gonna kill yourself. And that emergency room is filled with like a hundred and fifty people despite the maximum capacity being a hundred. And some of those hundred and fifty are wounded with blood and guts and whatnot! But anyway, I said, ‘I just… I think I need to go to the hospital, but maybe not right now. Uhhh, no, no. I’m not right now. I’m not going to overdose again. I’m not sure. I mean, yes right now I’m ok. I’m sure I’m not going to try right now, this very minute, but I’ve been flipping so much. I just don’t want another drug is what I mean.’ So that’s what I said to her Mr. Mackey. I was being my own advocate, I think. Is that decision mmmmmmmkay? Is my decision to stay on what I’m on mmmmmkay? I don’t know. I really don’t Mr. Mackey. Mmmmmmkay, now what do you think?”

Mr. Mackey left, didn’t even answer, just blinked with dumbfounded eyes and floated off. Poof. Flew out of my bedroom window, high above my roof with his big balloon head.

“Mr. Mackey?”

********

Sometimes I do think that since I started the Fluoxetin/Prozac–became a part of Prozac nation a month and a half ago–the “depressive symptoms” have improved, well some of them. I don’t even know what I mean by that. That’s how ambiguous these things are. I mean, I have more energy overall, I think. I can get out of bed much easier, but that’s still not easy you still wake up feeling hopeless, having panic attacks and feeling nauseated.

The Wellbutrin could’ve been doing a better job. Doesn’t that name sound funny, like it’ll make you “well”. Then again, I’ve just been bat-shit-crazy  bouncing off the walls going from the depths of hell to the highs of heaven in ways I can’t even describe. I have energy like I’m on crack! I hardly have an appetite. And I’m not sure I like that saying “bat-shit-crazy”. Bats aren’t shitty and they’re not crazy because don’t have such a complex psyche as we do, unless there’s something we don’t know about them and they’re secretly plotting to take us down.

But anyway, how would I be able to measure the efficacy of the “meds” since I don’t get to talk to the psychiatrist until the end of July? And besides, she never does any proper evaluations or anything. Plus, summer has come along! And my body almost always reacts kindly to the Sun or vise versa. And my mom got a janitorial job at a local gym, so I’ve been able to swim more regularly there. Here’s the thing, I was bouncing off the walls five-six-seven weeks ago to the point where I was going to put myself inpatient at one of those horrid state hospital wards. I’ve made it thus far though. The ride’s been bumpy, Himalayas bumpy, but I’m here.

I’m still feeling generally unstable though, so I don’t know. I’m scared.

Shit, considering how this year’s been thus far, considering I still don’t know how Monkey Man L–one of the closest persons to me ever–died and I haven’t been able to let that go, considering the increment of my feelings of worthlessness, considering the immigra–well you get it–considering all that and more, I think I’ve gotten a handle on it as much as I can. And though my anxiety is still sky-high most of the day everyday (hell, it seems to be worse), I think I’m alright today guys!

I’m chip-chip-chip-chipper! haha.

I currently weight 46 pounds, that’s roughly 21 kilos. Here’s a list of the drugs I’m on:

  1. 40mg Fluoxetine/Prozac – A fairly potent Selective Serotonin Re-uptake Inhibitor. Those are the white caps with the little dashed lines. The reason why I have two different kind is because one is a 10mg (I was initially on 20mg, then the psych decided to up it to 40, so I now have the 20mg. It all adds up).
  2. 400mg Carbamazepine/Tegretol – These are the little round yellowish-beige colored pills with the orange circle in the middle. They were initially for the neurological pain I started experiencing two years ago after I got the Bell’s Palsy for the second time and for he third time in January of this year. Oh, snapples! I never got to writing my Bell’s Palsy Part II did I? Hell, I think I’ve promised too many “Part II’s”. I need to stop doing that. Oh get this though. Carbamazepine is an anti-convulsant, so it helps reduce epileptic seizures, yet it’s used for neuropathic pain which is what I have on my face, BUT… BUT… get this: It’s also used as a mood stabilizer! So, it’s of label use is for bipolar disorder. Am I getting a “two for one deal” here. It doesn’t seem so. It seems like this shit my be making my moods flail around and flagellate my soul more?!  (You can read Bell’s Palsy: Don’t Fight It, Just Be Part 1 here)
  3. Drisderol LF 50MU – That’s the green one. This one is actually for the Osteogenesis Imperfecta-OI (aka Brittle Bone Disease, er, Condition). It’s actually a new drug that doctors are trying on patients with Osteoperosis, which I also have due to the OI, but they said it should help. It’s essentially just high absorption vitamin D.The genetecist and the orthopedic doctors discovered that my bone density has gotten even lower since I broke my arm in February. Got, it’s been five months already! We’re already halfway through the year. Anyway, Drisderol is what I take only on Wednesdays: “One capsule by mouth once weekly for three months, then twice a month for three more months.” Wednesdays are the days I designated for the Drisderol.
  4. I ran out of Caltrate and fish-oils but I’m still taking B-12.
Meds

Wednesday’s drugs, mmmkay.

addendum: Oh at the pool today, two old ladies asked my mom how old I am. I was in front of her. Really? I know I’m tiny and use a wheelchair, but I’m not mentally retarded or deaf, well, I’ slightly deaf and mental, but still, ASK ME, DIRECTLY! I used to get really upset when this happened but now I only get mildly upset. Sigh. Ignorance is everywhere.

addendum 2: Speaking of Bell’s Palsy, I got the strangest search term today — “Fiona Apple Bell’s Palsy”. Weird. I don’t think she’s ever had Bell’s Palsy but then I wouldn’t know, would I? Oh well, at least I didn’t get anything about a “hairy Hulk” or “girly Avengers”!

Much love from me and the Mouse, or just twice the love from me, a much more chipper Mouse!

… Now I better go lie down for thirty minutes before I start crying again. Yep, in half an hour I am scheduled to get a call from one of the many places I’ve called this week while searching for a new therapist. This will be an evaluation call.

Oh yeah, the thank you once again. I wanted to thank everyone that replied and gave their insight in the post “A Disclaimer and a Serious Question for My Fellow Beeper (BP), Borderline (BPD) and Other Mental BLoggies”.

Addendum:

Search Terms from the Searchers, a Sneak Peak of the Day  

realistic 3d animation 5
stony funny avengers 1
don’t cry say fuck you and happy 1
you don’t know me 1
melancholically 1
you don’t know me 1
picasso manic 1
loki avengers puppy 1
flacid ass 3