The Trills That Fit

The only time I feel like I can be anyone, that I can be anywhere is when I'm with you.
You find way of sneaking in the cracks,
creeping through my cynicism,
you make me laugh even when I'm mad.

You remind me of what it feels to be sensual,
just with the way you talk
my body rocks
so attuned to your tune
I may as well devour you

You speak of violent love
of loving violence
either way
it makes me want to let my hair out.

You whisper me to sleep
or blare your horns in the morn
either way you end up being the first and the last
and somedays I'm reminded that, that in itself is a comfort.

You remind me it's okay to dream big
to wonder about things like my place among the stars
because down here, the cold florescent lamps make it difficult to believe in warmth of light.

That's what you are for me
a warmth, a hearth for my heart.
Tickling the bad mood out of my body
speaking to me through poetry so I remember beauty, even if it's just for awhile.

You know all my spots
You know the path down my hips
Down my belly
Down.
It's okay,
I want you there.
Because it's still part of your art of pleasure.
Still part of your skill.

You have my photobook memorized
you know all my memories (the embarrassing and the golden)
you know the triggers to hit, the trills that fit
and each one I am thankful, and each one I hate you for.
Playing on the exquisite torture of re-feeling, even if its too big for my heart.

I hope wherever I go, you'll still be there. One step with me. One step afar. Calling out echoes in the dark, leading me to the light.

Music.
My muse.
Where would I be without you?

Choice

Not having sex is hard. But the only thing harder than not having sex is having sex, but not with someone you love or who you're actually in a relationship with.

That very reason keeps me indulging.

I know one night stands are very easily available. But having men fuck me as their "carpe diem" for the day is not enough for me. I want to be adored by my lover.

But I'm not going to lie, abstaining is very hard. Especially after hitting a 6 month mark, you start to notice you're compensating for it. I found food is my go to. Mainly anything with fat, sugar, or even both. Some of the time it works, but just like dieting, no matter how hard you try and "think" that 'hey I really enjoy and like eating carrots instead of that fudge brownie', you're body is still like- Nope.

All this to say, I don't know how to navigate where I am with a partner versus where I am in my life. I'm still very lost, still haven't found my career path/passion (which drives me to get up everyday and also drives me insane at the same time). And I think hey, when I get my shit together, when I've got my "ducks in a row" I'll be able to have the luxury of having a mate.

Cause that IS what having a partner it is for me. A luxury. The problem with some of my ducks is, some have their own mind, and I can't get them in line anymore than I can control the wind. With really bad physical health problems, I often don't get the luxury of choice. Getting the option to choose, and have options, more importantly the option to have a partner.

Sometimes when I see happy couples, it feels like a smug bitch reminder of something I don't get to have. I feel jealousy and sadness and every other bad feeling, because I don't know why God put me on earth if he doesn't allow me to love, and feel, and experience the good parts of life.

To which you might say, why can't you still do it? Why can't you still be with someone just cause you're sick?
Well, when I don't know if today I'll be in the hospital for my kidney, that I'll be able to sleep tonight for my insomnia, or that I won't feel suicidal because of it all, it makes it kind of hard to make dinner plans with a nice boy.

Sigh. Complaining doesn't change anything. I know. I guess I just wish I found someone like me, who could fully understand the pain of seeing others thrive while you just survive. It's akin to looking at people walking happily outside in the sunlight while you're stuck inside a muggy room. It hurts. The lack of choice hurts.

All this to say, Dear god, please, if you want me to finish out this life through, please give me back the ability to have choice.

We Butter Our Bread with Butter

We butter our bread with butter- an actual band name. A hardcore metal band name. This sparks a halarious full on discussion on the importance of butter vs jam and whether you can really not like that name or the fact that we all do really butter our bread with butter. I mean you can't say no to that.

"I can't believe we're still having a intellectual debate on this"

"Intellectual...hmmmm"

"haha, Okay true. "

"debate, yeah maybe.."

These boys are so funny.
Suave and Silly Liam Sweeny
Jiving Gyles Davis
Rocking Rowdy Ryan.

I'm reminded today what its likes to have fun. To act my age. To drink a beer with friends and feel attractive.  Even if it's just for me.

Had a good time tonight. Thanks Ma

Throwing me patches of sunlight, making sure I still walk through the woods. I get cha.

I get cha.

Part of Pain in the Pretty

You can’t take the sky away from me.

I thought it was dorky at first,

Some random non sensical quote to sell a tshirt.

And then I got it,

And I awhnned inside.

I’ve have a tough year, probably one of the hardest of my life.

My best friend and guy I was sort of “dating” cheated on me behind my back.

I told my father I knew he molested me.

My family called me a liar.

I stopped believing in myself.

I’ve fantasized about suicide. Like planning my will.

As if having things that I leave behind covers everyone is the most troubling issue.

I stopped talking to a guy who was my go to emotional crutch, but who really made me weaker.

I lost all my money trying to cover school and living in the city.

I lost my ability to want to pursue a career that I’d enjoy (even if it pays nothing).

I lost a stepmom as a friend.

So much.

I am honestly surprised I’m still alive.

But I hear a song,

Or I see love happening in front of my eyes over the room

Or I read a phrase that reminds me to dream big

“You can’t take the sky from me,”

and I can’t help it

I awhnn inside.

There is a reason they called beauty “exquisite,"

there is a part of pain in the pretty.

I am isolated.
I am so far from shore, I don't even see the light house anymore
I know I swam from most life
but because I could't stand the strife
of trusting someone who would only leave.

God knows I made bad decisions
leaving sun patches for fear of a storm
I did not even trust refuge.
It seemed a passing stop to death
in a lifetime of worry thats all you need
to heed
"Go it alone."

alone is part of loneliness
but then why is independance the only thing i have left?
that doesn't buy me boat or a friend or confidence

Worried worried
drowning in my own tears
which make me cry
which makes my ocean
just a little higher ahead.

heart cold
lost feeling in my feelings
scared that i don't exist without them
scareder that they are all who I am.

Ma, I've been alone for so long.
I miss you in the sadnesses
but I miss you more in the joys.
happinesses are only happy if they are shared.

I feel like you're a missing friend
who we don't speak anymore
but everytime something good happens
i wish I could tell you more

Where are you?
You are not in my bank, my health
my heart is bankrupt for things which I cannot store
so sore so sore
mental hurts keep score
scared
scared
where will i be if you don't love me anymore?

I've never been good at saying I'm wrong
because I've never been right
trying to feel like God is in the light
when all I want to do is put the shutters on at morning

will you still be around when I give up on myself.
will you be there if give into the night
the cool press of ocean tears
and the pull of sleep from the devil
who talks gently
like I can trust
peace in blackness
peace in something which is effortless.
peace in the kindness of relief.

i want to believe in something again.
even if it's a patch of sunlight
in a storm.

I don't want to be an interpretation
I just want to be understood.

Cynical vs. Perceptive

I love my little friend Veronica. She sweet and smart and very wise all packed in a small little size. She's like me when I was younger. Basically the same thing even. But I wonder if she pities me. I'm always giving her advice and making her meals and part of me loves being able to pass wisdom on from life since she's still young and well...i guess I'm still young in the grand scheme of things, but from 19 to 23 thats actually a big age gap. She still pining over her high school boyfriend who treated her like krap and she's still living at home. I want to protect her from mistakes and bad decisions, I give her advice on things because I want her to skip the bad shit and go right to the good stuff.

But she always leaves in the same way she comes. Quickly and without any notice. I'm always like 'hey give me a hug or come say bye first you loser. Maybe I'm too sappy but I always want to end any night whether it's with a friend or family with a hug. I feel like its a lasting reminder of love to keep them going until the next time we meet. And who knows how long that'll ever be, so it's gotta last.

"Oh yeah," she begrudgingly comes back and gives me a light side squeeze. Yupp it's official, I am old and uncool now. Like a lonely parent who wants to give their child a kiss before dropping them off at school but they turn their cheek.

I try not to think this, because we honestly do have alot of fun together and its awesome having a friend again who's up for going to concerts, or talking about boys, or eating snacks at 11pm. I don't know though...it's very difficult for me to tell anymore whether people truly care or want to be friends. Or whether they see in you opportunities or things they can get from you, ways to improve their situation through being your friend.

Am I being too cynical, or just too perceptive?

Who knows...

All I know is, it get's lonely having to think all the time.

I finally told

I finally told.
I was molested as child by my father.

I told my step mom. Probably should have told her face to face but I did it over the phone.
Big mistake.
It gave him a chance to spin it as I'm crazy, delusional, and ultimately a liar. Whatever he could to make the blame stick to me.
I really thought she would give me the benefit of the doubt but she never called back. It's obvious where her beliefs lie.

I know it was him. I remember the room, the night, the cheap plastic stars on the ceiling, and the absolute terror I've felt. I say it is present tense because it still affects me. I don't need a therapist to decode why I have trust issues, or falling asleep issues, or even sex issues. They all come back to that night.
It explains so much.
Like why I never feel safe enough or trust I'm protected enough to fall asleep at night.
Like why I never feel completely okay when a man takes off my pants, even when I want him to.
Like why my father has never hugged me properly, it's always just a side pat when he will happily throw his arms around my sisters.

I thought telling someone would set me free. But they did what they always do. They told me it was my fault, that I'm crazy, that I'm a liar.

Even my wounds are my fault?

Maybe I've ruined my relationship with my father for good. But honestly was it ever really there? I think I really wanted it to. To have a mentor and hero, even if it meant stashing away the past. For anyone out there who is blamed or shamed or maimed by someone, you are not wrong. You are not the bad guy. You are not a liar. You are loved and worthy and worth being heard. And I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry that it had to happen to you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Hee Hee Hee

I don't know what it is, but I've found my tatoo.
It's going to say, "Is Love anything other than a song?"
Boom. Seriously boom my mouth did like a fish mouth saying that...
Breanne's gonna love this. She's going to be like, "ahaha that girl who still has my book looks funny on facebook bhahaha."
ps. Breanne do you still want that shit back?
ugh stop trying to be "clever tina." Mattie's the only one who reads this anyways. MATTIE: if you're reading this I love you but you annoy the shit out of me :P
I love how nerdy I've sounded in this passage. Yupp folks that's all it took, "I got high enough to become myself" Hee hee. Hee

Compacted Self

"Dude I got like a stern glare from like three cops!" squeaks some curly haired frat boy.
Oh no not the stern glare!
It's becoming clear that I'm getting too old for partying.
Already becoming the weird loner who looks through a strangers album covers on the couch alone when people are playing a very rowdy game of harsh beer pong in the next room.
It's funny but I'm just kind of satiracal when I go to house partys.
I mean it ridiculous how once the call out of "COPS" used to have me running and giggling with fear and excitment like I was being bad and getting away with it. Like I was really rebellious, I mean I've had like 1 1/2 beers yo!
Now as I see the underage pipsqueak flee from the scene like an overturned hive, I pull out a cigarette and smoke it on the side street. In fact when I'm around cops at these times, I'm more scared of how badly I want to either finger em or moon em. Maybe both? I mean whats more awesome than out running a cop during the Donald duck half waddle as you pull your pants back up.

"Dude I was so looking forward to getting my dick wet tonight." Veronica loudly laments on the bus ride home. I half choke, half snort. I think even granny in the back heard that one
She's like me. Blunt to point of unnerving. Well at least to anyone who isn't like us.

She just recently broke up with her boyfriend Spencer, who from what little I knew about him, could figure he was a pussy. Straight up- "I don't feel like coming out to see you because my mom won't drive me," type of shit guy. Granted he's only 18, so I guess it's in the realm of normalcy or he can get a way with it pass,  but still- ever heard of public transit limpdick?
Poor girl knew her bus stops. Riding out all the way from Vancouver to Shit- i mean Pitt Meadows all the time to see him.
What gets me is he broke up with her.
I mean seriously?
Really?
This beautiful, smart, intelligent, frothy little soul who has so much to offer the world, and he breaks up with her?
And his reason- she didn't dress up enough from him.
Fucking serious.
I want to pound this guy until he's compacted into a frisbee shaped form which I will then throw at pigeons. And then feel more sorry for the pigeons.

"That why you gotta meet real morning after people. I mean you're going meet lots of party people and have crazy fun times and all that krap but then the next day you'll never hear from them again. It's the morning after-wanna-go-get-brunch-or just-chill-at-the beach type of people that are your real friends. The ones that actually last anyways. I mean that's something you'll learn."
She just bobs her head.
I feel old, like I'm preaching.
"I'm sorry I talk like this to you sometimes, it's just I've gone through alot of lame shit and I only want you to experience the good stuff."
She shakes her head, "No! No, man seriously. I like to listen."
I smile. I feel like for once what it must be like to be an older sibling. It feels nice to look out for someone. Have someone who depends on you.

"I just don't know how to meet cool people though."
"Well you're doing it. Visiting unfamiliar house parties. Or like Homeshake. Going to cool indie concerts. I mean if anything you'll have something in common right away.
"Yeah cause you both like the same music. That's a good way of putting it."
I like this girl. She's a smartie. No need to explain. We're both all about the music feels.
As in "if you wanna get with me, get with my music taste." Or at least share some of it.
I mean I'm almost so bias about that, like if you're not into the type of music I listen to, I'm like I don't really like you anymore.
Some say that's superficial.
I say when there are millions out there judging a partner in terms of a fucking very specific and very limited physical body type, income per year status, and trophy worthy showing- off-to-your-buddies looks, I'd say my small stipulation in like the lowest grade on the superficial grading scale.


Again walking home at night. The interspersed light coming from night lamps and the blue grey spotlight of the moon. My small phone speakers playing a soft electric guitar tune, echoing down a small road like it would down the grand canyon. It makes one feel small and large at the same time. I both love and feel sad about that feeling.
"There's a difference between being alone and being lonely," Josue told while we sipped warm lattes last week.

  He's the type of guy who hits spot on certain feelings or issues in life with a simple metaphor or little clever saying. It awesome because it's like wisdom + a little truffle of an image. I like him. I recognize him as a mentor. Or at least I hope he is. Not because I doubt his experience, but because I doubt whether I'm good enough to be his pupil.

  He has gone through so much its ridiculous. It should be a movie plot. He had an abusive drunk of a father who used to wail on his mom. When he hit teens he begged his mom to get away with him, search for a better life. She wanted to stay. She chose a beating alcoholic shell of a person over her only son. At 15 he was living on streets and sleeping in dorms with hookers and drug addicts. He managed to work enough to survive, get an education, and now works as an independant and modestly successful graphic designer and graphics teacher at a nearby college. When I think of what success means- I think of him.
      Not because of money or status or popularity as most define the idea of what it means to be successful. But because he lives his life as he wants to. He chooses his projects- and has the creative ability and independence to do it. He grows his own food, builds his own porch, and draws comics in his spare time. He is so infinitely his own person and he needs nothing more to be happy than a pen and sketchbook.
He said it quite simply- "You've just got to see who you and do an inventory. Here are my awesome qualities. And here are the bad ones. Then look over the bad ones and just see which ones you can do without or stop stressing over. I mean I can say to myself hey you know what I truly like myself. I mean I don't think I could ever say I love myself, I'm too fucked up for that- (heart breaking a little at that) but I can honestly say, 'yeah you know what Josue, you are pretty cool dude.' "
It may sound a little kooky, but really, how many people do you know who honestly can say they like themselves?
You'd be surprised how little.


In fact I noticed, even from random conversations with different people, people most often faced with that proposition 'Do I like who I am?' would answer with something negative first.
"I could be skinnier"
"I wish I was more disciplined or focused."
"I wish I was more ballsy or outgoing."
"I'm okay, but....
Notice there's always a 'but' or 'I wish'. Both regret or longing for something else. Stuck in past or the future. Self hate becomes so strong it's almost physical. For me, it becomes painful to even look in the mirror sometimes. Because I hate what I see. Even in my thoughts.

I want to learn to like myself again. Even if it means maybe being alone for awhile. Or maybe learning to be contented to be alone for a long while. In fact it's the ones who can sit alone with themselves who are the bravest and coolest in the pack. Because they are compacted. They have all they need in themselves.

No more No's

Pushing boundaries. That is my lesson today.
Hermit life thus far has only served me in that I've watched way too many hours of tv.
Today I knew there was going to be a outdoor yoga class in the park, and though I hadn't literally been out of my house for a week, I felt the pull to stay in my sweats more fiercely than ever.
Not only was it strong but it felt natural to decline. But I felt I had to do this. Not only because it felt uncomfortable but because I realized when you are in a shlump (slum + shit dump) of a situation, you've got to push yourself out. Staying home would have been just digging deeper into the hole and that certainly won't get me out to the top.
So I went.
And it was awesome.

Not only physically challenging and tiring, but thoroughly mind diverting. I mean you can't really worry about how you're going to pay rent, what your life's mission is, or what to eat for dinner when you are in a pose that is basically throwing your legs over your head and your body is screaming in places you didn't know existed until that point. Basically by the end Savasana ( a convenient pose which is basically an excuse to be comatose on your back) I felt relaxed and limber.
The park marina was bathed in gold as the sun set and we sat in a group and ate our fruit offerings like kids, passing around strawberries and sucking on melon pieces.
I was going to head back home but a few guys a field over were playing night frisbee with a light up disc that looked freakishly awesome in the night, like a hovering alien spaceship floating directly at you. They asked if I wanted to join. Being shy I felt I should decline, but again why? Why is saying no my natural answer?
So I said yes.

And I played for a good while, running and diving for hard throws and squealing with delight when they caught my badly aimed ones. All with the ocean and the twinkling lights of lolling boats glimmering in glassy surface of the calm water behind me like this big beautiful backdrop.
I'm reminded how sometimes you have to take a chance, push yourself out of comfort, and sometimes literally throw off the sweats to really experience a good night.
Pushing boundaries. My new goal. Hope I can stick to it.
No more no's for me.

I'll Take What I Can Get

Faith. I've been hearing that word alot lately.
"You've got to have faith. The only thing keeping us from God is us."
I've noticed when you really listen to what people have to say, there's usually some pretty good wisdom in there that's usually pretty relevant to your situation at the time. Scary coincidence or intentional...I don't know. Maybe I have to even take that on faith.

I've been in quite a scary rut the past week. Getting up from my bed only to pee and occasionally to grab a cup of water. The rest is TV series marathons and adjusting the sheet over the window to block any sort of sunlight from disrupting my captivating man cave of wonder. Seriously I even say man cave because I have not shaved, showered, or eaten anything that isn't prepackaged in well..awhile. I'm seriously making caveman look well groomed.
All this to say I've pretty much lost faith in myself this year. And if you didn't notice God too.
Even the word faith is hard for me to hear. It's not that I want to have this strong aversion to it, but even saying the word is hard for me since it is such a delicate heartwarming flower concept that is so easily beaten, battered, and broken into shards by the vicious hammer of my pessimistic intellect.
The concept is so cliche: the heart vs. the mind, but sometimes I can literally hear two sides fighting within me.
"Get out of bed! Go enjoy the sunshine!"
"Fuck off who needs daylight hours. Sitting and watching the 100th episode of Friends is soooo much better"
"You know you won't amount to anything if you just sit here. You've got to put yourself into action! Get moving!"
"Okay. I'll move. I'm going to move to the living room so I can be closer to the fridge"
Yupp. That's the way my inner dialogue is going lately. Really riveting stuff eh?

I'm sarcastic about it because if I wasn't sarcastic I'd be slitting wrists instead.
It is scary how scared I've become of the outside world and how hopeless I feel.
I do not care about my future, who I could be, or what I have to offer the world anymore. I don't even care about washing my hair and that for a girl is kind of a big deal.
There I am making jokes again....

I guess what I'm getting at is since I'm no good at praying or meditating, maybe writing it can help.
So universe, God, Divine mother, if you hear me at all...please let me break down this wall in which I've built so carefully around myself.
The wall with a fort, a moat, and those spikey spears from Braveheart around myself. The one I use to hide from people, my family, the world, from you. From faith.
I don't want to die angry. I don't want to die young. Please bring me back to hope. Please guide me back to safety. To love. To feeling loved. Even if it's just a small voice inside my head that isn't such a bitch and maybe says things like:
"It'll be better today,"
I promise I'll take what I can get.

Things will get better.
Okay.
Things will get better.
Okay.

Tomorrow, Today..

I used to think when I was a kid I was special. It wasn't an arrogance, it was just this kind innate feeling I had about myself. It wasn't cause I thought I was pretty, or talented, or for whatever tangible reason people are rightly felt special...it was more like an odd special. It might have something to do with the fact that even at six years old I felt more engaged and had better conversations with 60 year olds, or that when most children were playing with barbie dolls or wondering what dessert they'd get that night I was worrying over my place in the world and wondering what the meaning of life is and ultimately how I fit into that scheme of things. I was curious about everything and anything and I desperately wanted to prove myself to the world. You know MAKE something of this wonderings, become the person I was destined to be. I could not have this kind of intense observation about the world without sharing it, without bringing my unique view to the table. Still...kind of a bit much to handle for a pre-pubescent kid you know what I mean?

  But it didn't stop me. I couldn't help the way I was. Or am I guess I should clarify. Here I am a 2 decades later and still scared and wondering about the meaning of life. I'm sad to say though, that feeling of wonder, and that feeling of "specialness" is gone. After too many squashed attempts at my dreams, too many discouraging words, and too many loved ones bailing without a word, you start to not expect anything from life. From the world. From yourself.

   That last part is the hardest to come to terms with. You think as a kid you invincible, that "you can do anything you put your mind to" like all the bullshit Walt Disney funded classic family krap movies they produce, trying to pretend like everyone gets their fairytale ending. Well it's not like that. The truth is life is about disappointments, and paying bills, and trying to motivate yourself to get out of the bed in the morning for a job you don't like. It's putting makeup on a Friday night to go out with people who don't really care about you but like to look flashy and get trashy for a website which publishes the glitz like you are part of the celebrity life. It's walking home at night too tired and exhausted to exercise like you know you should, where you nuke a easy dinner when you know you shouldn't, and watch that next episode of the series when you know you should be doing something productive but ah fuck it I'll do THAT tomorrow. Life is saying tomorrow during today because carpe diem only applies to the rich and beautiful who have the luxury of choosing what their day will be. Life is hurting. Wondering why after 2 decades of trying to get to know people, they still only want the surface of you and you have to pretend to be okay with that. Life is giving yourself entirely to someone else believing they love you back as fiercely, but they pack their bags and leave anyways, your love a nice vitamin booster for their future successful life. Life is having a mother who calls only twice a year to ask where she can buy face cream and asking how your friends are doing, because that's what really matters...Life is gargling salt and smiling as it goes down because "smile! Be happy!"is society's social norm while most people going home thinking about slitting their wrists.

Sigh. I'm sorry. I guess I'm just tired. And sick. Physically and in reality yes for only 2 days, but also emotionally...mentally....since birth? Wow. Scared for me tonight. Maybe better day tomorrow...right?

So. Damn. Scary

Scariest dream ever.
And probably grossest.
And makes no sense but at the same time made so much scary sense during the dream....

So basically I made up that these people named the "Hanoi" who were people from Western Africa were the oldest living culture and people (been around for thousands and thousands of years). Anywho I met one, and at this like reallllyy cool vintage shop by the way (again still a dream but damn they had some wicked stuff) while I was shopping and deciding if I wanted this particular 70's marble orange and white skirt and shirt set.

This woman I met was pregnant, very late in her pregnancy if the massive bulge was anything to go by under her long plain brown maxi dress. I got to talking with her, asking her about her pregnancy and preparation for a child and stuff. I guess I've just always been fascinated (in reality too) about people who decide to be mothers, wondering what actually motivates them to have a child and whether its really deep down for the right reasons. Unlike my mother who had children for lack of focus and defaulting, going back to having a child was her way of temporary happiness emotionally and chemically- it's a real thing- thats why mothers have hormonal withdrawl after giving birth because you aren't being pumped with all that happy juice that was there during your time to create life. Anyways the girl seemed like she was happy, a little bit "in love" with her baby, rubbing her womb every once and awhile and looking at the swelling fondly when talking about it, like she was already looking at her baby.

At the same time, and for whatever reason people feel more comfortable with strangers, she also told me her fears. Saying she was nervous and scared she wasn't going to be a good mother, that there was no man in the picture, that she'd fuck it up and that being "Hanoi" having a baby out of wedlock was sin (apparently like alot of cultures- until very recently in their history they had become mostly Catholic during the Misssionary times and thus inherited alot of the good old fashioned Catholic guilt.) I tried to find a way to ease her worries, say something to make her relieved, but looking and my past and the type of mother my mom was to me, I couldn't very well quote any good lessons or truth about good motherhood.

It was at that same time that Pastor Mike came into the shop (the newest character in my dream). He was apparently a classmate in highschool and apparently I thought very highly of him. I met with him and his mother for tea the day earlier and he recounted how he was giving up everything, ambitions, sex, etc all to become a full time pastor and eventually priest of the church. He had been a wild and drunk teenager during our youth and to her him speak with such conviction and dedication about his faith and newfound path in life- I was in awe, and to be honest- jealous. He had focus where I certainly (in both reality and the dream) do not. Anywho he walked into the shop and saw me and we smiled and exchanged pleasantries. And because I am a polite girl, I introduced the Hanoi girl to Mike. It seemed harmless enough but for some reason I saw them exchange a glance between them, something unspoken was going on. After all she was a proper Hanoi and here was man dressed in black with his small white collar- trademark of the Catholic priests. I didn't think much of it at the time other than it was a coincidence they were so different in idealism, but still followed the same God. And that in a way she was inferior to him because of that faith.

That was until the next week. I was eating lunch with some friend (faceless and nameless since they weren't all that important), but the key role of the nameless was to scream as she was reading the newspaper. I looked up from my meal in curiousity as she shoved the newspaper at me.  There on the front cover was a large picture of the same Hanoi girl, alongside a much smaller picture of Pastor Mike and of all things...my mother. And in bold words read : "Catholic Minister trades Mother to Mother: Saviour or Savage?"- which really caught my attention.
I read on:
" Pastor Mike, a known Catholic minister of the city of Vancouver has attempted the first womb to womb surgery. Last Thursday at 10 pm Mike performed an unorthodox and unlicensed surgery on a pregnant Hanoi woman ( 8 months into her pregnancy) and attempted to reinsurt the fetus into the womb of 55 year old Yvette West, a devout and older Catholic mother."

O. My. God.
I had introduced them!
The next page there was a bloody image of the carved out body of the Hanoi girl, her face twisted in pain and her belly hacked up and bloody as she was rushed into the emergency room. Of course the article kept going about how she was out of wedlock and the baby was fatherless, how my mother was more experienced to have a child having already had 4 children and devout Christian. It was clear there was a bias going on. And of course like all fucking news it left out the most important pieces, if the Hanoi girl was still alive, whether Pastor Mike was even charged, and most important of all- how unbelievable fucked up this whole situation was and yet they were whitewashing it.

All I can remember is that this dream is like a jumbled mess of everything I am worried about in my life right now. My lack of focus or path (shown by Mike), my doubts about motherhood and if its for me ( the Hanoi girl), the scary consequences and unknown actions resulting from my decisions (introducing the two people) and the unbelievable messedupness of my mother and my fear I will become a savage person like her ( her savage decision to steal the child in order to feel something again).

All's I can say is it makes complete sense and no sense. And all of it- is So. Damn. Scary.

Make Sure Your Hands are Clean

He says I'm selfish.
And for a second I was at the precipice of self loathing and another downward spiral, when I stepped back and thought, "wait a minute, no I'm not."
I looked into who I am.
I am the type of girl who even though I've know this girlfriend for a couple weeks, during a random house party I will hide and put a candle on a cheesecake I've conveniently hidden and get the whole crowd to shut the hell up and sing "Happy Birthday" because even if they are strangers, she still deserves to be special. To be celebrated.
I am the type of girl who even after a guy I really liked and was dating went behind my back and hooked up with my best friend, the first thing I ask when I bump into his best friend, is to ask how he's doing.
I am the type of girl who cheerleads for anyone's dreams, even no matter how small or delicate they are, always putting the spotlight on where it needs it most because I'm more comfortable and natural at being the one backstage.

I think if anything I haven't been selfish enough. Or self loving anyways. Every mistake, every intentional hurt from another, every chance I don't take,  its always another reason to mentally flagellate myself. If I had physical proof of the rape and massacre of my mental thoughts, my body would have already peeled back from itself, inside out.

The only way I have ever been selfish is wanting someone who loved me. Unconditionally. That's the catch, the second part. Whenever I stop becoming useful, or entertaining, or people are buoyed enough by my stepping up my back to the next rung on the ladder, they leave. I cannot count or even put a statistic to this but it is a problem that is a running rampant virus that I see not only in my life but even through heartbreaking stories of strangers, when they are just tipsy enough to let out the pains they keep so tightly confined in Monday morning suits.

And I say fuck it. So be it. Be alone then Tina. Own it. Until you find those people who really love and encourage and inspire you, and just plain stick by who you are as much as you can for them...
Don't bother.
And for that man who called me selfish, you know who you are, as Bob Marley once wisely said,

Who are you to judge the life I live?
I know I'm not perfect
-and I don't live to be-
but before you start pointing fingers...
make sure you hands are clean!”

Why is it that alot of parents should really never have been parents?
I saw a quote today that made me laugh and wince at the same time
"My only goal as a mother- raise children that don't have to recover from their childhood."
Isn't that such a interesting concept- yet holds so true for so many of us?

Both my father and mother were pretty much completely absent from my life. My mother is bi polar. Which means she never had enough energy, or had too much. Meals were skipped, raids in our rooms were common, and her mood swings were like wreaking balls, coming with full force and from a different direction each time. I don't know if the moods were worse or the withdrawals. Times where I didn't know where she was even I when I was sitting right next to her. I learned from a very young age not expect a meal, let alone a shoulder to cry on from the first person who is supposed to provide security for you. Needless to say, I signed all my school permission forms, I learned to vary toast as much as could ( as in with cheese, with sugar and cinnamon, with ketchup ((seriously)) ) and I spend most of my days couch surfing on friends homes and switching it up enough that their parents wouldn't get suspicious. From a very young age I had to lie and pretend. I wanted to die inside every night I saw my girlfriends get kissed or the cheek or asked about school from their moms. It was like a special club everyone was in on but me.

It pains me that I had to pretend, because I think now maybe if I had just given up the jig, told somebody, or went to a counselor...I might have gotten help. It terrified me then to think of being placed in a boarder home...but now that I think about it, it would have been more consistent and secure than what I had been doing.

My father. Lord my father. A conundrum. In some ways he did alot and in others he fails me still. He did step in when I was 16 and took me to live alone with him. And I am thankful for that. But from 9-16 he left. Too tired, too weary, and just too frustrated with life with my mom, he left our home. Gone to California. Such a fucking cliche when I think about it, except the casualty of this cliche happens to be my life. By that time my two older siblings had graduated and were out of the house, my sister was in her senior year, and I was at most impressionable age. Seriously it's scientific. By 9 years old you identify your world and get your most defining outlooks or view on life. What I knew for sure was two things. I'm not worthy of attention. And that people never stay.

Once my sister graduated I had 3 long years of being alone with my mother. I was ignored, berrated, and often interrogated. It was like I was living with 3 evil step sisters all embodied in this short squat little woman. I will never forget with such clarity that I reluctantly came home one day and saw my moms friend Sam's car in the driveway. Sam was another like my mother. Bi polar and scary when she was unleashed. I walked in the door and saw them talking in the kitchen and at the sound of the door Sam looked at me with daggar eyes. Like I had done something wrong. I didn't want provoke anything so I went into the living room and switched on the computer. I waited as the stupid fucking dial up loaded like the piece of shit it is and heard them walk into the room. Taping my foot anxiously I tried to ignore them.
It started off easy
"So have you heard from your father?" Sam's voice dripped like acid. It was a laid out trap and I knew I could never walk out of sharp edges.
It became a bash session. Sam at the front whipping me on both sides, and what I remember most is my mother just sitting there. Just sitting there. No expression. Watching. Watching as this outsider, this violently loud woman spit things like "your father made your mother have kids, she didn't want any!" or "your father should've had a vasectomy!" Things you just never want to hear as a child, as a person, or as a spirit. I don't think I've ever been more scared or more hurt in my whole life watching my mother sit by and let me be torn to shreds. And I will never forget that feeling that I witnessed evil at such a young age.

Why am I saying all this? Because I'm 23 and unemployed and working dead end jobs my whole life. And I know they say don't blame your parents, but is it really blame to say I am so broken from not having any? I cry myself to sleep in one way or another every night. Whether because I am so terrified every day, or because I feel like a complete failure, or that I can't impress the very people who will never give me that satisfaction of recognition anyways...I dunno.
Bad night tonight. Can't do this anymore.

I hope he's right

What is it about love that makes the heart so profoundly ecstatic and yet can make you so profoundly sick in heart at the same time?

Another great man has left my life. After 3 months where we spent almost everyday together, where we shared our hopes and dreams, our problems with family dynamics, the harsh hurts we learn as children and cover from the world...and yes made love too many times to count. Well sex mostly for the first couple months. You know..the exciting part about falling in love, getting to be ravenous and flirty and staying up till 5 am each night because the intimacy of perfect nights of soft music playing in the background with the tiny glow of a single candle bathing your beloved in soft golden shadows. You start thinking the world does not exist outside of this place, with this person.

But he had to leave. He told me. Too late, but he told me.
"Going back to Toronto this summer. My contracts up," had seemed like a little bummer of a note only two nights into knowing him and hanging out with him only with a group of friends.
Little did I know I would be falling in love with him...

And of course like a dick I had to pick a fight with him over the phone a week after he left. Testing whether he loved me, or whether he still did. But he saw through it and it actually all ended up blowing in my face instead. A self made landmine. I'm getting pretty good at those.

I went to the community outdoor pool today, and it was one of those perfect days. The ones with the sun so hot it air drys your wet skin, cloudless skies, children shrieking and laughing, the shhhhh sound of the trees in the wind.  I should have been rejoicing; not silently crying hot tears that leaked down into my mouth, and which I did not brush away.

The beauty of it, is I am seeing a pattern. I love so fiercely and openly and devotionally when I love. It's like I want the force of my love to be so strong they have to love me back. But it's thats not real love then. It's my insecurity of not feeling...enough, not being enough, not be worthy of love. That why would anyone love me? I can't even love me....

God it hurts though. You invest yourself into someone and they walk. There is no feeling worse. It's just further proof that all those feelings of worthlessness are true. Why else would he not stay?

I know it's irrational. His work, family, and life is back in Toronto. I was a 3 month blip in yearly plan he had.
But I can't help it. Thinking maybe it should have been like the movies...where he shows up at the door and tells me he's going to stay. Maybe not even that dramatic or cheesy. I'd settle for a "I love you too" text. So much hope and sadness is tied into wishing, almost makes it terrifying to dream for something ever again.

"I do not regret the things I've done, but the things I did not do- " the wise man Rory Cochrane once said. God I hope he's right.

I shouldn't have to hurt this much

I a weird homework assignment today. But considering it's for my shrink, i think it's expected to be weird. And by weird I mean so damn personal and slamming into your heart like a slab of meat weird. On this daily chart I had to write down simple situations, things I encountered over the day, things like "I had a rough day at work after a few impatient customers," or "a good friend left the country today" very objective just simple overview of what happened to me. Then on the bar beside it, I had to write "The depressive thoughts" or the things I felt or associated or attached to these simple situations. Seems simple enough right?
Wrong.
I got a glimpse into my mind in the most violated way.
I saw just how scary it was. In black and white.
A bad day at work changed to- My life is going to be a series of dead end jobs. I will die miserable and bitter. I am worth nothing.
Another friend who I cared about leaving became- I am alone. I am never enough. I am a stepping stone for other people's successes. I don't want this particular life.

Each one she looked, her voice reading them aloud.  So monotone and objective, those dramatic feelings came out like someone reading a bad play. It was like someone reading your diary aloud, in every way it felt humiliating. But more than that. The way she really looked at them, and would tut or say, "Oh Christina...." and her eyes would look at me. Like she was a mother, giving me the space to feel them, not commenting, but her eyes allowing me to hurt.
I cried.
Thickly.
"It doesn't have to be this hard. I mean this-", she held the papers up, -"this is too much pain darling. I mean I'm glad you only wrote down one a day. My god each one is a whole story on its own."

I don't know my next step. She says I have to get over my fears and take some prescriptions. That they can help. Everything inside me screams no, is adverse to drugs and how the pharmaceutical system with all its fucked up antibiotics and side affects killed part of my health in the first place.

But I don't know. Maybe she's right.
I shouldn't have to hurt this much....

Low Lull

I am a graveyard site. That is how I feel these days. Barren and dry and decaying. Where are the fertile valleys of my dreams? Where did they go? I'm so sick of being tired, and doing things because I have to instead of I want to. Is it so wrong or grand for me to long for fearless, happy, maybe doing something I like and still being able to eat something for dinner kind of life? Most of the time the answer is yes, that's too much to ask for. You pay your bills, you're quiet after 11pm so as not wake the neighbours, and you wake in the morning groaning to go to work which barely pays for this place thats not my home. God help me get through this phase. Another low lull, just ride it out. Please don't give up.

Too Small for my Spirit

I don't know why I can't sleep nights.
And I do.
Every day my spirit it curtailed by the "duties" of this world, I die a little bit more.
It's a slow death. Every slow workday, where I end up coming home after the sun has already gone down, it's a still birth to my dreams. It becomes harder and harder to feel like satisfaction is possible in this life. That is is only a luxery for the rich, or smart, or beautiful, which God decided I wasn't worthy of. Instead I am this feeler which feels everyday more and more like a curse. A self timed ticking bomb in which I will self destruct and I have to watch the mind numbing process of watching the glorious trailers of other peoples lives while fantasizing from a dark room in the late hours of the night. I know I shouldn't complain, there are those without roofs over their heads, or food in the bellies, or the luxery to even worry about their futures because they need to survive the present. But sometimes...I don't know. I feel cursed. A sadness which is has wrapped around my heart so deeply, it now has roots, and grows stronger with each proof of dissapointments which come in forms of friendships or relationships or just my personalship of titanic emotions.
I don't think anyone really knows me. And after so many days of asking others how they're doing, you begin to shrivel inside. A plant with no sun, I have been in a long, long, winter.
I'm tired of being false. I am with so many. I lie so easy it becomes habit. After a lifetime of trying to preserve the image of self sufficiency from such a young age...it becomes sort of necessary to not relax into the reality of complete dissaster. It's not even disaster. It's the mundaness of it all. I work, sleep occasionally, and then do it all over again. Mostly I think about if dying is really the easiest solution. It is selfish and cowardly, but sometime I hear a song, or a see an old picture, or read something so heart breaking, and it makes me feel like this body is too small for the size of my spirit. I want to be ripped open and let free. And this 9-5 bullshit allows no room for freedom in any way.

Little Bit Less of that Loneliness

When I got the text from him, which basically said "me and your best friend have been really digging eachother for awhile and think we have something. We've been together for awhile and now we'd like to make it official. Thanks."
This coming from a guy who I'd slept in his arms and talked into the night less than a month before.
I don't know what I felt first. Anger sure as fuck. But something I can't quite identify. Dissapointment?
I like to believe that people are generally good, that they are all looking for love and acceptance just as I do, so how bad can they be?
Me and this guy both came from same backgrounds too. With serious troubled health, mental ups and downs, and well this "persona" we both talked about. They one we tried on and suited up each time we got in a crowd or even just with others. A clown costume. The loud, funny, jokester, the very brash and outgoing prankster that no one could imagine could actually be very shy. Very lonely.
We talked about this at 4am after a dance party where the rest of the group were sprawled in drunken disarray around his apartment from the corner of curtains in the living room, the bathtub (yes I'm serious) and in the hallway to the kitchen. Everyone there. But we were alone. The door closed. A world within a world. We shut off the world and let our own take over. Curled into his shoulder with his arms around me I felt safe. Trusting, and trusted. He was opening up to me like a dying man. Telling me how hard it was to be crippled literally at such a young age from his broken knees and how it kept him from a lot of things he loved. He was being so blatantly honest and true, speaking from a place of innocence and fragility. Things that men aren't allowed to show with their "bros" round. And I sympathized. Or more empathized. I may have not had broken bones, but if you've read me blog you know I've collected enough health issues to be just as crippled.
Either way I guess what I'm saying is I felt like we had both seen each other. Both acknowledged each other in a way no one else could. It felt sacred.

Days later in another 2 hours funny banter over facebook chat where we send eachother funny youtube clips, traded all our best song numbers (which was hard since we overlapped alot) and made plans for the next weekend, it came up. I knew it was kind inevitable. He asked me out.

And I don't know why but I knew I had to say no. But I was straight up about it. I told him, not because I didn't think he was awesome, or cute as hell, but I had to decline. I wasn't nor am I healthy enough to handle my own life, let alone take on someone else's needs. I didn't want to try because if I fucked it up I'd fuck up one of the best things in my life (or so I thought). And because I was so rawly honest about it, so vulnerable about my shortcomings, he understood. He said he understood and that it was okay. And so I believed him.

A weekend or so later, somehow the sleeping arrangements after another group dance night, I was again in his arms. And I had to ask, whether from a place of pride, or just need to know since I still adored him, I asked whether he was really "okay" that I said no. That I had to say no.
"I get it. I do. I was bummed for a few days. But I'm fine now."
And I snuggled deeper into his neck and squeezed him, showing him that if I could love him I would.
I don't know now. I might have been falling in love. Or maybe I just adored another sensitive soul. Or maybe I just really longed for the recognition we both found in each other. Who knows at this point.

Anyways, from that point on, things just well...deteriorated. We went from talking everyday to me trying to make conversation via text. He'd text back at his leisure of course. Usually a one liner which would frustrate the fuck out of me. On movie nights I noticed he's sit away from me, or find someone else to lounge on. One particular night it was particularly obvious things were not good. I was a bit high and on edge and he was horizontal across my good friend Patricia. And I hadn't seen patty for awhile, and I wanted to cuddle with her. Or maybe him. I dunno even. But I tried to get in the middle and he just played zombie. Heavy limbed and playing dead I tried to pry him off to Patty's amusement, giggling while I tried to squeeze me teensy self in between this lug. I did manage, but his entire weight, back and all was pressing into my midriff as I cuddled with Patty. Eventually I gave in, "All right, all right you win," I said jokingly and roughly pulled myself out of the mess of limbs.

I went across to the other couch where the guys were sitting, and although it was only about a foot away from him, it may as well have been a 1000 yards. I felt myself being sucked by a tide, and a black hole was forming in between us now.

Even with friends over, we'd bicker. And it wasn't unnoticed. It was embarrassing hearing him tell me off.
"God I don't want to talk about it!"
 he said when I kept pestering him about what was happening with this dream job that he was forming with his friends. I heard through the vine that it had gotten pulled and that there were "issues" within the group. This info gathered all from everyone but him. I wanted to know so badly after I heard. Felt like something this important, then as a friend I should know. I had to. If I didn't then the void really was real and I was really only becoming an acquaintance.  I was losing him and I clung like hell. I did the hellish mistake of being a woman and I pestered him about it. And off course he told me off.
Even in front of his friends and roommate. Like I was some fucking animal, something he could tell to go piss outside cause he wasn't in the mood to "walk me through the details".
So I got back the only way I knew how. I straight up said I wouldn't be crashing with him that night. S'not like we were a couple, but saying I was going to be crashing with Patrick was odd enough to make a statement. Over months of sleepovers I had never crossed that 2 food gap of carpet to sleep in that other room.

Me and Patrick were on good terms. Friends, playful. But strictly platonic. So it wasn't weird when I stayed with him that night. We settled down, having a smoke, a tickle war, maybe a few extra lion cub wrestle matches because I loved hearing him giggle like a school boy. I've always been pleased when I can make a big guy curl and titter like a litte lamb. Mostly it was just a nice burn off steam and it was hella fun, but it didn't mean I didn't hoot and jaunt extra loud or make Pat laugh extra hard, making sure the fun was heard through the walls. Yes bitch move. I know.

Anyways the move was pointless, the slice had no sting, because in reality, he was already making moves with Patricia weeks before. Of course I knew nothing. So the next morning I apologized. Like a fucking chump. A ignorant, albeit partly guilty, but still yearning for the good old days chump. I was genuinely trying to get my friend back and I had no idea how.

"I think I really have something with Patty. I know you told her you have fears about changing the group dynamics, but I think the group's going to change no matter what."

That was the first time he'd texted me longer than a one liner, and it was to tell me he fell for someone else.

I think I cried for about four days, had kind of vicious emailing between him, and exhausting confusing and heart slamming like a piece of meat phone calls with Patricia for 3 straight days. Owing to her kind nature, she did say she cared for me, didn't realize how much I liked him, said she'd back out if it meant losing me. But it was all half hearted and empty promises. They were already and had already been together. Maybe not sex (as far as I know), but together enough to know they spent some nights together. Her in his arms. In my crook. She would have already learned the smell of his skin, the stubble on his cheek, the heat in the wind of his breath.
Knowing that I was just a replaceable piece in a world I felt I constructed with him, felt like the worst feeling I could ever feel. I felt like nothing, absolute nothing.
But the part that devastates me the most, is I felt like I knew these people. Especially him. Felt like I was understood and we understood each other. Like we had something between all of us. A invisible rubber band that held us together and kept anyone who wished to harm us away. Like we could never be the ones on the other side.
I guess I wanted so much to trust.

Anyways. Now I'm blabbering. I guess my point is, I feel like a recovering shotgun patient every time I reach out to trust, and it turns out sour. I spend the first while is shock, absolute mind numbing can't even feel anything or feel like eating shock. Then the pain, the overwhelming pain of the anesthia wears off and it floods my heart like an fucking heart attack. Months of this, crying, listening to sad music, eating again (at least) but this time in ferocious scary way. Binge eating like maybe enough of this will fill the fucking gaping ass hole which is now me. Then I slowly recover. But I don't. It's one of those soft to touch wounds. And its so damn visible every time I walk outside I purposely walk farther away from people so they wont brush up against the swollen parts. And even if they do come close enough, I pull down the sleeve. I'm fine. I'm fine. My answer for everything.

I never really recover from those hurts. And the worst part is I blame only myself.  Because even after this and all the others, with each bullet to the chest, I still unfalteringly, stupidly, but with a loving innocence miss and love them. The ones who the riffles. Because even for one night, in the quiet of the stars and the hum of mingled breaths, two people can feel a bit less of that loneliness.

Pull me in

It has become unbearably hard to even pretend to be happy for others. I haven't spoken to my sister Melody in over 6 months, just because even the thought of talking her makes me feel like crying. I can't help it. With a beautiful baby boy, a good partner, a home in the country, and a fulfilling job, its like she won the lottery and I'm out on the streets and I have to pretend like congratulating her is the "right" thing. I know its petty and useless to compare or even to covet what is not yours, and I know she must have her struggles (beyond cellulite and not having enough cash which is universal I can't think of much else), but that is what I do. I struggle on a daily basis to even shut up the thoughts in my mind which tell me it would be better if I killed myself. I feel like a plague. a sickness to everyone around me. I'm always sick and they cant help me. I cant help me. So I just continue feeling sad, feeling jealous, feeling like I'm wasting space for someone who really deserves and wants to be here. Dear god, this depression is full blown now. It was a small manageable thing  before, but now its like a rapid dog, attacking anyone and anything. Even myself. Or whats left of it at this point. I am scared. For the future. For my life. For my decisions which don't seem to really be mine. I have been watching my life like a doomed drowning person at sea. Being pulled strongly farther out into the current, farther from the shore where I see myself walking along the sand. It's me, but it's not me. I scream for help and the girl on the shore looks in my direction, squinting like she heard something, and I scream louder. But she just shrugs like nothings there, and keeps walking. I have to watch my life being literally sucked away from me. I'm lost. And I don't know how to make it back to shore. Please if you hear me, up there, out there, pull me in. Pull me back in.

2015.
This is it tina. This is you life. No more put downs or unbelievable expectations. But you do have to pull yourself together. No harshness my love. I want this for you. Only goodness and strength. That is what you deserve, but remember nothing good ever is easy, you have to work at it. Small steps my love, small steps in this life.
Start reading more delightful things
Practice some yoga
Learn a few songs on the guitar (or at least play around on it)
Write. Write. Write. Even if it sucks like Arjuna told me, its not the idea, it's the commitment. Thats what drives you. And the hardest part is having the inspiration when you have none. But if you push past that, when you do get inspiration you can go back and change it. She was talking about writing novels, but I was also thinking she was more talking about life.
And for got sakes tina, pray. Connect to God. To your core. Whatever what you want to call it. Find the rootness in who you are. Nothing else matters. I want to be able to say with confidence in this year, "At the center of life's storms I stand serene." my emotions are in conflict with my identity Apparently. That pretty much sums me up. But that is an outline of what I can work on. Be less hard on yourself, but learn to distance yourself from emotions. Let them go. Don't hold onto sadness like it's the only consistent friend. You deserve better than wallowing. You are better than wallowing. You have greatness within you. And its worth staying alive to burn that fire up, to burn that blaze until the wee hours of the morning, that nothing can put it out.
And it's okay to speak to yourself as a self help person. If thats what it takes to get out of this rut, then you fucking speak to yourself in self help talk :) And its okay to feel love again. Feel safe to love. But be smart about it. Attract and adore the right people tina. Learnt to do that.
Love you love you Love you