Cancer Free, Free of You

Was it good for you?

Do not worry about me.

What you see, you crave,

what I need ain't free.

Pure adoration, love

given so openly.

Now you go on, yes,

I'm ridding myself of thee.

~Yari C.

Last night I couldn't sleep again.

Yesterday was a day full of strong emotions, good news and bad.

I got a call from my doctor early in the morning and he simply said: "Come sit down with me so we can go over the results today at 3:30". Thanks, sir, for making me wait a whole day for the potentially life altering news.

The whole day was a bundle of optimism wrapped in fear. Of expectations being crushed, and of people rising to the occasion. My ladies: Cathy, Shanidy, Carmen, Lisa and JMee were fussing over me and trying to keep me happy. They managed to keep my mind clear for the most part, but Shanidy sort of busted me as my mind wandered off many times during lunch. I was quiet, with my head full of unanswered questions. It's easy to lie on Twitter, emails and text messages about being 'okay' and joking around. No one can see the panicked or sad look on my face. She kept threatening to stab me with a fork every time I got down. Thank you, boo.

I kept waiting for someone I care a lot about to check on me or say hi, specially on a day I really really needed his sense of humor. Funny how friends can keep lies and secrets from you, especially close ones you would've trust with your life at some point. I feel like I don't even know this person anymore, and, as usual, I feel like he used me in a low point in his life when he had nothing going on for him. I offered myself wholly, unattached. I kept him company, was there at any moment he needed, cared and loved him...and now I don't even hear from him anymore. Because a baseball game is more important, or sleeping is more important, or picking his nose is. Anything is more important than taking 2 minutes and asking for my well-being. When he does come around, I don't even get a courteous greeting and generic 'How are you? How's your day?'. I get an endless list of how his day sucks and how he's so glad he didn't miss an 'important' baseball game. I get it. I don't have to put up with it though. So if you're reading this, don't defend yourself anymore. I didn't want to change you. I accepted you as you were, was your friend above all else. You paid me back with excuses and absence.

So even though I was happy, ecstatic and I feel blessed that I am cancer-free...I felt the inevitable void one feels when you let something go, because it let you go already a long time ago. So I hopped in the shower at night, and cried for longer than anyone deserves to be cried over. I went to bed and my mind was being split in 4 or 5 different ways. Some people were telling me that they were there for me, others were having a bad day of their own and I got caught in their momentary wrath. I got told I was special. I got told I needed to be slapped. I got told I was really cared about. I was asked to meet someone for the first time, face to face, to talk about what's on my mind and why I'm so sad sometimes.

I felt the nerves and fears over my health hit me, and they poured out with the tears. So at least I feel better about that. It was also funny that I was up until 5 a.m. talking to someone I'm not even remotely close to about who I am, where I've been, how and why I feel/don't feel certain things. This person listened patiently, did not try to feed me a spoonful of bs and optimism and did not judge me or made me feel bad for having a bad night. It actually ended up cheering me up. Sometimes the people that promise you a 'forever' and 'any time', really mean 'if I can' and 'if I feel like it'.

But this is for the best. New chance at a healthy lifestyle. New beginnings all around. Thank you for your continued support and love.

And to you, good-bye.

White demon love song down the hall

White demon shadow on the road

Back up your mind, there is a call

He isn't coming after all

Love this time

She likes the way he sings

White demon love song's in her dreams

White demon, where's your selfish kiss?

White demon sorrow will arrange

Let's not forget about the fear

Black invitation to this place that cannot change

While strangely holy, come for a rain

(darling)

White demon, widen your heart's scope

White demon, who let your friends go?

White demon, widen your heart's scope

White demon, who let your friends go?

Let us be in love

(let us be in love)

Let's do old and grey

(let's do old and grey)

I won't make you cry

(I won't make you cry)

I will never stray

(I will never stray)

I will do my part

(I will do my part)

Let us be in love tonight

White demon, widen your heart's scope

White demon, who let your friends go?

White demon, widen your heart's scope

White demon, who let your friends go?

(stand it anymore, darling)

(stand it)

(I can't stand it anymore, darling)

(stand it)

- The Killers

To Cancer or Not To Cancer

How do YOU define 'being there' for someone?

For those of you who follow me on Twitter, or if you're a close friend, you know by now that the last week has been sort of a cliffhanger/season finale kind of time for me.

I was in the shower late Wednesday night, and was giving myself a breast exam, being the proper offspring of a breast cancer ridden family. Right boob passed inspection. Left boob, not so much. I felt a hard lump and immediately began the normal process of planning my funeral. You know me, dramatics are a must.

The next morning, bright and early, I called my OBGYN and made an appointment to get checked out. I, of course, went by myself. Sitting in the waiting room at the OBGYN is sort of nerve-wrecking. In my head I went over my grandmother's illness, mastectomy, death and how much she suffered through it all. This is in my head while I'm watching expectant mothers sitting reading their baby books and magazines, one hand on their belly...I felt another type of ache.

A great big group of you sent me well wishes on Twitter or via text. It made me feel an outpour of support and love. Thank you. A handful of you were with me step by step, and I'm so unbelievably grateful for that. Some of you made me laugh, others were anxious with me and some simply held my hand and were quiet. Thank you. Again.

So they drew some blood and the doctor did an ultrasound of my breast, and even I didn't really like how it looked on the screen. He said it looked to be malignant, but we couldn't be sure until we had tests back and an biopsy was done. We have reason to be concerned, given my extensive family history of cancer. My great-grandmother had stomach/breast cancer. My grandmother had breast cancer that spread to her brain. My aunt had breast/stomach cancer but is now in remission. She caught it early. My mother had breast cancer, also in remission. Oh yes, they didn't just pass down good looks, diabetes and sarcasm from generation to generation.

So on Thursday I had blood work. On Friday I was scheduled for a fine needle biopsy. It doesn't sound as fine as it is. You lay down sideways on a table that leaves your boob and arm hanging through a hole of sorts. The machine grips your tit, with Kung Fu force, and squashes it while the needle pierces in and takes a sample of your lump. If you weren't hurting before...you will certainly be hurting afterwards. I laid there alone, and again all I could think of was my grandmother and I cried. The boob nurse tech was nice (I'm sure she has an actual job title) and just rubbed my back and handed me tissues. I felt silly, crying. Then I stopped. I had a right to cry and be scared. The 'Oh I'm sure you'll be okay' thoughts were wearing off. I went home and now was faced with waiting until Tuesday for my results.

A friend of mine told me to blog about how I'm feeling. So this is it. I'm sad and scared.

I'll start with the scared part. Naturally one is scared of the 'C' word. But not because I may die. I'm afraid of the physical pain, the toll it will take on my body and of not dying fast enough. I'f I am to die, make it quick. I don't want to see my family suffering or my friends slowly leaving me because it becomes 'too hard' to see me go. I don't want to live there, bed ridden looking at my parents die with me. I'm afraid of needles, and painful therapies. That's why I'm scared.

I'm also sad. Sad that some people that weren't there before for me, have really stepped up to the plate. I don't have to mention you by name, but all of you who have been there now, more than ever, I love you. The sadness I have is that, some of you who claim to love me with all your hearts and that 'you'll be here for me no matter what', have done anything BUT that. I am STILL only hearing from you whenever it's easy or convenient in your day, and still being greeted with the generic bs you always gave me. It makes me sad that you honestly think I believe you love me. That you think you're being the most supportive person in existence, while completely making time for everything in your day, except for a real talk with me. It makes me sad, and it shouldn't. Because by now, nothing from you surprises me. If you don't have anything to talk to me about, don't talk to me anymore. Ever. I don't like the little half-assed attempts at 'talking' some of you make.

So tomorrow we will know. Hopefully, the ones that are being douches and selfish little jerks, also claim they read my blog often. Can you read this? Go away. Stop being an emotional leech that only looks for me when you need the ego stroke. Cancer or not, I'll set you on fire and smile.

How's that for how I'm feeling? :)

How I Really Feel...

Dear Love I miss you much

I miss your smile and I miss your touch

But I found a place where I can erase my past

Maybe someday when you're old and gray

And your hair falls out and your tattoos fade

You might see me standing

Hat in hand

I have to go away

I've got no reason to stay here

You said someday you'll change

But even a fool will tell you

Someday never comes

You built your rooms

You built your walls

You kept me outside of it all

I got tired of you

What's a girl to do

Maybe someday if we stay this way

And you see my face in a different place

You'll remember when

You're going to thank me then

I have to go away

I've got no reason to stay here

You said someday you'll change

But even a fool will tell you

Someday never comes.

-Brandi Carlile

Who Hit the SAP button?!

To be trapped in a double life, is exhausting, to say the least.

I love reading Coehlo novels in Spanish, while Jack Johnson whispers his songs discreetly to me through my headphones. You will find me sitting down for a traditional Puerto Rican dinner with my family, our recipes that have been passed down for generations in the small island, and in the midst of the loud clanking and quick Spanish talk - I'll ask my dad in English to pass me the fork and some water. The conversation goes back to my native tongue, as if I hadn't just burst out in another language a few seconds before, about a Neruda poem I read long ago while laying in a hammock with mamá.

Ever since I learned my first words, my parents pounced on the opportunity to raise me in a bilingual household. My dad always spoke to me in English and had a damned flash card for every word I would learn in Spanish first. But in time, I found myself communicating in both without any effort. Every t.v. show I watched was from the US and in English, so were the books I chose when I went to the library and the comics I read. I was my grandmother's little "gringuita".

My mom's side of the family always instilled in me the love for my country, it's culture and history. They fed my body and mind with everything that ties a puerto rican to the island, with knowledge that makes us grow loving our home and all of Latin America. I grew up falling in love with García Marquez, Isabel Allende and countless other writers from all over the world - while still carrying deep within me the preference for Puerto Rican literature/poetry. I knew the songs of my country, from modern classics to yesteryear, and I also sang songs from Mexico, Argentina, Spain with the same passion. Nothing like Spanish lyrics in a song makes you feel something come alive within you, and you start feeling that tingle in your limbs. I remember that all throughout my childhood, it was my most fervent desire to join an independent guerrilla called 'Los Macheteros', who are opposed to the government, mainly the fact that the US controls much of what we do due to our 'Commonwealth' title. They hated the fact that we were considered 'American Soil', and so did I with all my heart. It provoked a feeling of anguish to see this invasion of a foreign government that was hellbent in destroying the very way we lived, our culture and roots. I wanted to bleed for my history, I didn't want us to become another state. So many implications with that statement...now that I'm older. Now I see it's much more complicated. But that was me, to the core. Puerto Rican. Fighter. Passionate about my little piece of earth, that measures 100 x 35 miles.

However, that was only half of who I was. This is where it gets fun.

My father's side of the family are your typical 'newyoricans'. They're full blooded Puerto Ricans, born in Brooklyn and moved to the island in their teenage years. Way, way too late to have that love for local things embedded in them. They always spoke in English, and whatever Spanish they managed was very botched. Spanglish heaven. They lived the American way of life, and were unaware and uninterested with any historical fact about the place they now called home. They listened to The Beatles and dressed like the people I saw on TV shows, with their hair worn like Blondie or leather jackets that mirrored Michael Jackson's. My uncles would deck me out in Adidas, Nike or Converse shoes - depending on whatever NBA jersey / Pink Floyd t-shirt they had found for me. My aunts bought me Rainbow Brite and Strawberry Shortcake toys, and sang along to Poison or Bon Jovi as they teased my hair 4 levels higher than anyone should ever have it. Their outfits for me? Leggins, jean jackets with patches and bright tights...in 100F Puerto Rico summer heat. Yeah. But I loved it all. My favorite bands were Metallica and Iron Maiden, and I loved singing the Star Spangled Banner in the shower. I followed MLB and NBA, rooting for the Braves and the Bulls respectively...rather passionately. I was fascinated by the Witch Trials in Salem, the Trail of Tears and William Shatner. I dreamed of marrying Jonathan Taylor Thomas. Of having blonde hair and blue eyes, like the American girls did. Of being a cheerleader. I loved America.

So that's how it was. I grew up reading 'Martin Fierro' and 'Hamlet' at the same time. I loved Robert Frost, Dickinson, Whitman and Luis Pales Matos. I can cook any of my traditional Puerto Rican dishes and I identify myself as Boricua, Latina, anywhere I go. Yet, I am considered a 'gringa'. I have two lives. I work for the IT Dept at a local hospital and aside from my office coworkers and a few acquaintances, no one knows I am Hispanic, much less speak Spanish fluently. My light skin throws them off, I guess. My collection of Marvel Comic figurines and love for rock music do not match my curves and very latino feisty attitude. I'm a nerd who likes Star Trek and still wishes Puerto Rico was free, for entirely different and unrealistic reasons. I like beisbol and futbol, as well as hockey and football. I listen to Jimi Hendrix and Joaquin Sabina. Foo Fighters and Maná. I can dress in so many ways, it's impossible to classify me as anything but Yari.

So there's my dilemma. I can't completely abandon my beliefs and love for my country just because I'm living in this one. I pay my taxes, abide by and respect the laws, enjoy the culture and adapt. But I will not, cannot, consider myself fully American hard as I try. Just like I can't expect you, my American friends, to stop being who you are if ever find yourself living abroad. We must adapt. We must learn to love.

What am I? I'm a walking definition of hypocrisy. In English, and Spanish.

Daddy Dearest

Dear Daddy,

Mom says that as soon as you found out she was expecting, you started to referring to her baby bump as 'la nena'. You knew from the beginning you had a little girl on the way. I was told you used to talk to mom's belly or sing to it all the time, so I would get used to your voice. When I was born at 2:52 p.m., you simply told everyone "I knew it was a girl", and when it was midnight in the nursery and I wouldn't stop screaming, the nurse handed me to you, and as soon as you started talking to me I shut up and simply stared at you. My mom wanted to name me Yamilette, and when you went the next day after I was born to register me, the lady in front of you was registering her daughter as Yamilette. So, in 5 minutes, you came up with Yaritza. Thank you, I like it better. I think it's safe to say we mutually adored each other, from day one.

You guys never had any other kids, but that's okay, because I had you all to myself. You played dress up with me, and let me put make up on you. You took me on sales calls, back when you used to sell office supplies, as early as 2 months after I was born. Everyone in your route always loved when you came by, with me in tow, and always had gifts for me. I remember long drives with you to other towns, and sneaking into bars up in the mountains, and shooting pool with you during your lunch break. I was only 5 or 6 and the people in the bar would laugh at me trying to reach over the table. I always beat you, now I know you let me, you pool shark. You were my brother, my only friend, and you kept me safe from my nightmares when nothing else seemed to help. You taught me everything I needed to know, and made sure I spoke perfect English before I started school. I can't thank you enough for that, you made my school years a breeze. I remember you watching the Wizard of Oz non stop with me, and singing every song. Every afternoon, no matter how tired you were, you'd get home from work and ask me if I wanted to go to the beach. You took away my fear of snorkeling and showed me the amazing underwater world, hand in hand.

When I had my first crush, it was YOU I told, not mom. I remember when I was 7, you had a bad alcohol problem. One night it was 2 a.m. and you weren't home from work. Mom was so worried, and then you walked in through the door all bloody and wrapped up in bandages. You had fallen asleep at the wheel, drunk, and totaled our only car into another head on. You almost killed the other family. Mom was horrified, I was sad. Sad that she was yelling at you, my friend. That night she kicked you out of bed, so you curled up in my twin size bed with me and you thought I was asleep, so you cried. I was awake, and it was the first time I had seen a man cry...let alone my father. We were a team, against the 'evil' mom. We'd sneak out and eat junk food or go play basketball. I saw it as you being my hero, I didn't realize you were having problems and needed time away from mom. So mom's mom got sick, and you were the best son in law in history. You stayed with her, even changed her when she was unable to move.

Mom took out her sadness on you, and I hated her for it. No one messed with my dad. Then grandma died, and on top of my broken heart, I saw you guys drift further apart. Then mom got really sick, she was on her deathbed, and you moved heaven and hell to get her help. Which meant moving to Pennsylvania, something that would ruin us forever. You had to find a job over there, something that Mom wasn't happy about. I thought she was being ungrateful, after all we did to save her life. Why was she so mad about you finding a job in PA? It was temporary, right? Until she was done with treatment? I asked you a few weeks after her treatment was done if we were going back to Puerto Rico. You said we'd never move back, that you would never go back to making little to no money and having a 'hard' life. That he was doing what was best for us, and I better get used to the fact that I'd go to high school in the US. To forget my friends, and that I could visit in the summers. I felt my world crumble, and started seeing the change in you. It was the beginning of the end, as far as our relationship went.

You knew mom and I were really depressed living in this new place, and you didn't know how to deal with it. So you started working a lot, 2 jobs, with the excuse that you wanted to provide us with everything we'd never had. Well, Dad, I didn't need money or material things, I needed the one thing I thought I still had in this new country - my best friend, you. I needed for you to see what you're not being home meant to me. I had to deal with mom's depression and health, alone. She took it out on me. Her anger...everything, on me. You're not being home meant I had to walk to school, alone, 20+ blocks in 4 feet of snow regularly. You weren't there when I'd come home after a long day of having no friends, to lock myself into the computer world. I grew up fast, dad. I had to. I still covered for you. When the day would turn into the night and mom would ask if I had heard from you, I'd lie and tell her you called and said you were working late. You stopped coming home, and spending any time with us. I knew you had someone else in your life, and asked you a few times. You acted like I had said the most offensive thing, started blaming mom for 'putting ideas in my head' and the arguments between you both became unbearable.

You blamed her for my depression, for my reclusive behavior and for my going through the drama I went through with a pedophile online. She lashed back and blamed you for being a different man and father than you were before. She blamed you for moving us away from our home. The constant fighting...you guys will never know what it was like for me that last year leading to you leaving us. Because in the end that's what you did. Someone else promised you an eternal honeymoon. That's what it was, no? All love, all sex, all going out and partying till your mid-life crisis desires were fulfilled. You stopped coming by the home altogether, and paying the bills. I was 16, daddy. Guess who had to carry mom through it all? She lost it for the first year you were gone. Your absence consumed her. I had no time to grieve the loss of a father and best friend, I had to pick up 2 jobs during high school to pay for the mortgage and bills. To pay for our food and play 'grow up' while you were off enjoying another chance at being single and young. Mom lost it pretty intensely for a while, and our relationship got so strained all we did was yell at each other. Over you. Because I told her to get over it, that you weren't coming back, and she blamed me for you leaving. She couldn't even look at my face, because I looked like you so much. Nothing I ever did was enough. I was sleepless, overworked, carrying full time school my Jr and Sr year of high school and I had no one to share the load with...my friend was gone. I tried killing myself, remember? You showed up all concerned when mom called you, you both took me to the shrink and what was supposed to be an opportunity to get me help, turned into a session of bitching between you both and I didn't get to speak once.

You never showed up again after that, except for my graduation. I couldn't go to college, pops, because you still claimed mom and me as your dependents and informed the government you paid for all our stuff...so naturally, with your salary, I didn't qualify for any financial aid. Doesn't matter than I never saw a penny of your money, did it? As long as you got to get a big return to spend with your new piece of ass and her two rats.

Her. The 'friend of the family' that was suspiciously available there for you every time things got a little rough at home. The one that told you she wanted to have kids, and wanted to change the last name of her other two to the last name only you and I share. The one that told you I was acting out (how???) by asking to spend time with you on weekends and the one that limited your phone calls to me. I would've understood, dad, if you were IN love with her. Love is a powerful thing, and if mom no longer made you happy, that would've been a different story. But when you divorce someone, you don't divorce your kid. You were a douchebag, dad. I needed you.

But time passed...and I turned out fine. I worked hard, multiple jobs. Mom moved on, and soon you were dead to me. You called me once a week, as an obligation and I greeted you coldly. You always played the victim to your family. Soon enough grandma and your sisters, my 'aunts', were spreading the word around about how badly I treated my father and how I didn't spend time with him or even wanted to see him. Too bad you never told them the truth, huh, Dad.

Now you're back in our life. You have been. You remarried mom 2 years ago, and had been living with us for the past 3. Everyone tells me I'm lucky to have my parents back together, that I don't know how rare it is for this to happen. Mom took you right in. She never stopped loving you. She forgot the bond her and I had formed while you were gone. Thelma and Louise. All out the window. She took you back, forgave everything and ya'll are back to how you were before we moved to the US. Great. Good for you.

Dad, you see, just because whatever apology you gave her was sufficient for her to erase the last 6 years of our life, it doesn't mean that I appreciate you waltzing back in and being all "FATHER" again. I lost all ounce of respect and trust I had in you. Specially, since you had already come back once and left again. Why would this time be any different? What gives you the right to tell me how I should think or behave? Or to act all hurt that I still can't be in the same room with you without feeling completely repulsed by your presence. Do you want me to pretend I'm fine?

No. I am a firm believer that you pay for what you did in life. You are now paying for what you did to me. You will have to earn my love, respect and trust back. It will take time, a long time. So stop acting like you're the victim of a bitchy cold-hearted daughter. Yes, I have to work on letting all this anger towards you go, I understand that. But you don't get that in order for us to sit down like adults and hash out our issues, you have to accept blame for your mistakes. It helps no one when, in an attempt to be close again, I bring up the subject and how hurt I was - and you take the opportunity to stop me halfway and proclaim "It's in the past, I don't want to talk about it". Well, pops, I do. I want to talk about it. Until I'm blue in the face. I want you to hear the hurtful words I have to say.

You disappointed me. You abandoned me. You thought with your dick, not your head. You broke our bond. Fix it.

Happy Dad's Day? Sure. I'm happy you were the dad you were. You still gave me the happiest moments of my life, the best lessons and the best friendship. I wouldn't trade you for anyone, dad. I still love you.

I still love you. But I can't be the little Yari that lit up every time you walked inside a room.

Good luck.

Ghost

I chase your memory through empty days. It's like loving a ghost, an entity that completely disappears from my life for long periods of life, then when I least expect it, you are there again. You're almost palpable when you are around.

I wish you could put your hand on my chest, and feel my heart flutter to life from it's dull state of existence, just by feeling you back into my life. I wish you could see the smile on my face, and the spring on my step.

But you are a ghost. Sometimes you're there, most times you're not. How does it work for you? Am I your ghost? Just a mist of a thought that pops through your mind whenever nothing else has your attention. Just an image that runs through your mind when you get your human urges. Something you don't have to deal with if you don't want to, one second I'm there...the next you've exorcised me from your life.

I'm tired of chasing shadows. Are you real? Were you ever? Stop haunting me.

What I Wish I Would've Told You - Pt 3

“Oh what a tangled web we weave, When first we practice to deceive”. Sir Walter Scott

Oh you, you lying sack of human waste. You were so useless, so vile, so heartless...it is hard for anyone else in my life to ever come up to your level of sickening lies.

Where do I even begin with your story. It's simple. You lied. Every word. Your name, your age, your intentions. I must've been easy bait. Yes, I was jail bait. Still, you went after me like the biggest trophy to be possessed by a man. You hid behind your carefully crafted identity. You said you were 21, I thought you had the most beautiful smile ever. You asked me how long had I been online, I answered "A week". I can picture your black eyes gleaming like the soulless, death-like eyes of a shark. You freaking sick pervert. How did you like 15 year old Yari who didn't know people online lied? She was tasty. She offered everything freely to you, and lost all dignity. She gave you what she would've never given anyone else, even after marrying them. You sick, diluted, sociopath. How DARE you use your son's photo to pose as you. You even used your granddaughters as your own twin daughters! Oh the single parent, with the 'bitch' of an ex-wife and the endless list of catastrophes that always seemed to happen to you. Do you realize you were my first 'real' love. You weren't a screename, or a series of images. You were my first full blown, skip in my heart, spring in my step, marry you right now love! You sat there and you LET me believe all you spewed. Oh we were running away and marrying right after I turned 18 were we? As soon as I graduated High School we'd run away to Germany to your family's house, right? You even had your twin granddaughters call me 'Mommy' on the phone. SICK. FREAK. You told me to do unspeakable things on the phone, online, on webcam. I lost my parents' trust over you. I lost myself. I killed the Yari that could've been.

How can I forget to address this, dear 'Ronnie'. Your lovely phone calls, going through some sort of tragedy. First your dad has a heart attack...right. So how else would you 'grieve' said fake tragedy other than calling your 15 yr old gf who believes anything and telling her you were blowing your head off. Oh yeah, then disappearing for 3-4 days. Do you have ANY idea what I went through every time you threatened to harm yourself? Here I was, on the opposite coast of the US, locked up in my room going insane. I'd cry myself to sleep, wake up shaking and checking my computer frantically for any news of you. I couldn't even let my parents know what was going on, because our love was forbidden...you at 21...I at 15. LO-freaking-L. Everyone around me knew you were yanking my god forsaken chain. I mean your dad 'dies', your sister gets 'mugged and raped', your ex 'takes off with the girls', your mom gets stricken with 'cancer'. All in a year's period? Wow. Some luck. Oh yeah, your truck got stolen, your house burnt down with you in it...and you have the awesome power to heal and call me from the hospital a few weeks later. Just typing all this makes my blood run cold and moreover, makes me want to hop in my car and drive my ass to California and beat the living daylight out of you.

How did we end...Let's share it with the world, shall we - dear? In May, 2001, I was shipped off to Puerto Rico after my parents found out about us. They figured no internet and no cell phone would teach me a lesson and break us apart. No way! Not us! I'd sneak into my cousin's laptop and talk to you, not to mention I gave you the phone number to the house I was staying at, and you'd call in the deep hours of the night. Then you didn't call anymore. No emails. A day. Two days. A week. Our last conversation had ended with you screaming "I'm going to end it!", while I pleaded for you to hold on just a little longer. I didn't eat or sleep until I heard from you. My parents called from Pennsylvania daily and would yell at me to come to my senses. Until I got an email, two weeks later, end of May, from your 'sister' that stated the following (Oh how I wish I could forget it): "Yari, Ronnie died in a car accident. We are burying him in Germany. Is there anything you want said at the funeral?" My cousin says I screamed. I just remember laying on the floor of my room, back at my grandma's house. My friends were there, Tatiana was fanning me and stroking my hair, Rebecca was rubbing my back and shushing me while I wailed my heart out. They both looked like they pitied me, like they knew I was going through something I didn't need to. Like they saw right through your lies. They were right.

Let me explain to you, darling, what the following two months were like for Yari, ok? You were in my every waking thought, then haunted me in my sleep. Your voice, your laughter, your words replayed in my head until I was tired of going insane. I sliced my wrists 4 weeks into it, just to stop the hurt your void left. Stupid, silly girl. My friends left me alone, because I asked them to. My parents shipped me back to PA, and I spent the summer in the attic (my bedroom) avoiding them. I lost 75 lbs, ha! me!, and started abusing alcohol. My mom blamed my dad for putting internet in our home...my dad blamed my mom for not watching what I was doing all the time. I blamed myself for their separation and divorce. I looked at your picture on my PC screen until my eyes hurt, and I missed your AOL IM window, with the navy blue background and bright yellow letters. I re-read your emails over and over, looking for something I had missed or maybe for you. I found you. A new email, from you, in August. Wait...what? "Yari, I was in the hospital this whole time. I'm better. My sister doesn't like you and wanted us to be apart so she typed up that lie. I'm okay. Please let me talk to you." Wait...what? WHAT? You mean to tell me I almost killed my stupid ass over you? Over a lie? That you put me through this for nothing?

Hey Ronnie, guess who had friends in the right places? Guess who figured out your real name and where you lived? Guess who found out you were really 41, VERY married, with 3 kids and 2 granddaughters? Hell hath no fury like I did, right then and there. I told my parents everything, they reported you to the authorities and you were charged as a pedophile...remember, honey? I ruined your public record, sweetie. You were a disgusting excuse for a man, and now the whole world knows. This is what I should've told you, a long time ago: You stuttered on the phone like a retard, your kids are gonna be ruined because of you, your wife is equally sick for defending you, you - babe - are scum of the earth. No amount of money and forgiveness will clear your name from what you did. You taught me a hard lesson, and I paid for it. But I took you down with me.

You are the only one, I miss NOTHING about. EVER. When your memory crosses my head, I think of how badly I want to stab your eyes out and shove them up your ass...for the side of me you saw, that I gifted you and you didn't deserve.

Hey Ronnie, go die in a real fire. Go really blow your head off. Go get in a wreck and die. Go OD on something. I spit on you. Spit! Lulz.

Song: Breakfast After Ten - Blue October

What I Wish I Would've Told You: Pt 2

Why did you do it?

The suffering musician, the lonely suffering soul. You sat there in your cocoon, fighting hard to keep everyone out. No. Excuse me. Fighting hard to keep everyone that cares insanely about you and loves you out. Woe is you right? You who have been dealt such a hard card in life, with your guitar and your writing as the only things keeping you company on cold nights. Grow up. Just because you're sick it doesn't mean you have the right to treat others like you do. It doesn't give you the right to assume you will face the rest of your life and what happens in it alone.

You took for granted that I cared, nay, loved you with all my heart. That I would've been there until your end, or mine. I wouldn't have cared what I would've had to do to make sure that you were always comfortable and had everything you needed. That's not something you could've asked from any one. Yet I offered it freely, asking only in return that you would never stop making me feel the way you did. That you came through with your promises. The worst part? You knew what I had been through already. You knew that I was only enjoying spending time with you because we'd play guitar and talk about music endlessly. You were my best friend, that's all I wanted. So why did you cross that line? Why did you start with the romantic one liners, and the promises of running away and leaving all behind? I didn't ask for that. Yet there you were, spewing a romance novel out and poetry like you were freaking Shakespeare.

I hate that you acted like what we had never existed. That you made me feel like I made it all up in my head, like some stupid 15 yr old with her first crush. Like I didn't still have the emails with your promises or the voicemails and text messages declaring your love. Get over yourself. I wonder, though, do you tell her the same things? Do you play a song and say 'This is for you, beautiful' like some Casanova with a guitar? Do you send her emails during the day saying you wish you were outside her window, throwing rocks to wake her up in the middle of the night and take off to the ocean? Does she know you hate mushrooms and love mashed potatoes? Every other useless thing about your life you shared with me, to show me that you wanted us to be close? Of course she does. That's how you play.

I should've listened when they told me you had a pattern, and I was just another cycle. But thank you for this:

For singing to me on the phone until I fell asleep. For learning to play new music I liked. For the letters I got on the mail, which meant more to me than just a typed up email. For making me feel talented and beautiful, and learning Spanish in order to read my poetry. For sharing part of your life that not many knew, or at least, not our mutual friends. Thank you for the Baboon plush you got me, and for it being appropriate and perfect. Thank you, for inspiring me to commit a felony in a national park just so I could get you something nice. For the little bursts of love, thank you.

Thank you for not even being my friend now. Which is all I ever wanted from you in the beginning. Hope you have a long, long, long life.

But I will end this, the same way. Every hurt you caused, made me scratch off your name from my heart. You will never find another me. Ever. Good luck. Try to be happy. I am in a better place, now that I've dealt with you. I won't go down the same road again. I win.

Song: "Wasted" by Brandi Carlisle

What I Wish I Would've Told You: Pt1

You should've left me alone.

I wasn't looking for anything, but there you were, in all your glory, with those piercing eyes and the sense of humor that mirrored my own. I don't even know how you popped into my life. You were out of my league, at least I thought, in the looks department. There is no way that in real life you would've given me a second look when walking past me.

We met by random mistake. I had seen your name around, I'm sure you had seem mine. You sit there and you claim you always had a crush on me, but were always too afraid to approach me. Bull. You were waiting for me to fall on your lap, just like you wait for everything else to happen for you. You sit there and claim you have the worst luck ever, that I was the best thing that ever happened to you. Why didn't you fight to make me feel important? Why did I always have to make the first move? I pretty much gave you the biggest ego stroke of your life.

You told me once that the day you went 24 hours without talking to me or hearing about me, you'd go insane. You son of a bitch. How DARE you ignore me for days at a time? I don't care how busy you are, nothing on God's earth should ever prevent you from saying at least a 'Hello, I'm missing you' during the day. I gave you all the space you ever needed, I never bothered you when you were busy. I just sat and waited, like a freaking goddamn moron for you to remember me. Your girlfriend. Your honey. The love of your life. The only reason you worked so hard. The reason you wanted to be a better man. This is how you treat me? Like I'm some sort of obligation? Something you will get to when you're not busy watching t.v. or working OUTSIDE of your normal work hours?

I was NOTHING to you but someone to love you for being mediocre at a relationship. It takes 50/50. You, gave me a few sweet words and a handful of your week. Shove it up your ass. I don't need it. I deserved better. I was patient. I was understanding. You were a jerk. You will be alone forever. I hope you hurt and have no one there to ease it.

I loved the way your hair fell on your face, all disheveled. The way you stared at me, when you thought I wasn't looking...you almost looked like you adored me. That little grin that told me you were up to no good. How hard working you were, when it came to your job. How smart you were, and your witty jokes...even thought you always claimed you were stupid. How happy you got when you ate cookies or chocolate. How deeply you love your family and the place you were born, and the way you thought I was an amazing writer/musician. I'll miss the early memories, when you'd watch me sleep...or I'd watch you sleep. We had the exact same sense of humor, and likes when it came to shows and t.v.'s...so I'll miss watching those with you too.

But I will end this, and all the other posts, the same way. Every hurt you caused, made me scratch off your name from my heart. You will never find another me. Ever. Good luck. Try to be happy. I am in a better place, now that I've dealt with you. I won't go down the same road twice. I win.

Song: 18th Floor Balcony - Blue October

The "What I Wish I Would've Told You" Series

Many times we find ourselves measuring our words when faced with people that more than likely need to hear them unedited and brutally yelled at their faces. In our head we feel like pouring out every heartfelt curse, blessing, love word we can come up with at that moment...but something bigger stops us.

If you're like me you are stopped from venting face to face at someone for one of two reasons. The first one is the obvious one: Word Vomit. I tend to fire my words without thinking them through in my head, realizing how low the blow is going to hit. So, I boil in anger for a while and get short with someone when I'm angry. Eventually it passes, but I find myself having a breakdown months later due to holding all that in.

The second reason would probably be considered the opposite: Fear of Rejection. I felt too much or the feelings were too deep towards that person. In my head, I wasn't good enough for them or I didn't want to scare them away with the intensity of my love towards them, so I never blurted out the 'I love you' at the right moment. I never told them what about them made me happiest.

So the next few posts will be directed towards specific people I have loved or cared for in the past, but never had the guts to tell them how I really felt while I was with them or after we parted ways.

This is for you all. Don't like what you read? Think it applies to you? I'm done biting my tongue.

Haunting...

I was recently discussing paranormal experiences with a good Twitter friend and read some of his blog depicting experiences he had in the past with ghosts or spirits, when I unwillingly thought of the things I have seen myself in the past.

Now then, there are certain things I do not like talking about out loud due to personal beliefs/fears. Some of those have to do with spirits/ghosts/paranormal, and my encounters with it growing up. Half of me seriously is deathly afraid to speak it out loud and the other half knows you will all think I am insane or making it up.

However, I did promise him I would share it with him, since he shared his with the world. So, read, ponder, digest, whatever. Here it goes.

The earliest I remember is staying at my grandfather's house on my dad's side when I was about 3-4 yrs old. My grandfather had passed away when I was 2, however he had been a lifelong believer/practiced Santeria and some voodoo. This fact alone creeps me out to this very day. Anyways, the bedroom I slept in with my grandmother, still had all his saints and candles inside the closet and at that age, I really didn't understand why I hated being in that room alone. Every time I was alone in that room, from that early age until my grandmother moved out when I was 11, I saw a shadow of a man outside the window. I would tell my grandmother, but she'd just tell me to lay facing her and go back to sleep. It was this dreadful feeling in that room. I'd hear steps around the bed. I felt my name whispered in my ear and even the warm breath against my neck. I'd feel someone playing with my hair or a hand resting on my feet over the blankets. She had a radio that would turn on and off all night. Grandmother never seemed scared, just tired of it and just able to ignore it. Blah.

I also had things that started to happen in my bedroom at home around the time I was 7. I started having nightmares every night, like the one I blogged a few days ago. Toys would move without explanation. Again the name whispering in my ear, until one night when I was 9 and I saw a hand come up the side of my bed and start pulling on my blanket until it uncovered my arm. I was sure I was dreaming so I just felt my breathing go quicker and moved my arm...the hand grabbed my arm by the elbow and pinned it on the bed. I screamed my lungs out and dad came running in. He turned the light on and there was, of course, nothing there. But the sheet was crumpled just like I had seen the hand do it and there was no one that could make me sleep in there again. My parents ended up having to put a mattress in their room and I slept on the floor of their room until I was 11. I was formally kicked out back to my room, the nightmares continued. The whispers/shadows did not.

I've woken up with scratches on my back after dreaming with ... things. The latest I felt was when I was up in Boston visiting my sister Cathy. We were downtown, walking the Freedom Trail (...or the long ass walk that would never end) and we arrived at the old cemetery by The Common. We walked through the tombs and took pictures, but when I reached a corner of it, by some old OLD headstones...I started feeling nauseous. I desperately looked for Cathy and she was on the other side of the place so I sort of stood there kinda frozen. I felt a small hand tugging at my shirt and almost climbing up my back, wrapping it's arms around my neck. I could've sworn it was a little girl, about 5 yrs old. In my head I could feel her, see her on my back...but my eyes saw nothing. But I FELT HER. It was insane. She was telling me her feet were burning, that it was hot. She kept asking me to put water on her feet because they were burning. I got more dizzy, felt like I was choking and started walking out of that corner as fast as I could. By then Cathy was pulling me out of the cemetery as I was telling her what was going on. She told me to breathe and we sat down in The Common for a while. Eventually I couldn't feel her anymore, the farther I got away from those tombs. I couldn't explain it. I just wanted to cry. I felt so sad.

There's other things...but I don't want to go there. When you've grown up in a house where someone did devil worshiping...things happen you just don't want to remember.

Adieu.

Tears

Tears - by NJ Belopotosky

Laughing.

...Laughing.

At my jokes.

Screaming.

Crying.

Inside of me.

Having
fun,

with my friends.

Streams of tears
drip down my
heart.

I smile,

when I
see
you.

You smile,

when you
see
me.

I
bleed,

when I
see
you.

You smile,

when you
see
me.

Screaming.

Crying.

Inside.

Laughing.

Smiling.

I
wave
to
you.

(Thanks to Cathy, for once again finding the perfect poem. I couldn't have found better words.)

Isolation

I live in Odessa, TX. This is how far away I live from the people I care about most:

Grandpa/family/best friend David/real home:

~Mayaguez, Puerto Rico - 7 hours on a plane...thousands of miles.

Cathy:

~Boston, MA - 1861.6 miles

Brendan:

~Auckland, New Zealand - yeah...a long ass way.

Arelys:

~Orlando, FL - 1274.3 miles

Jeff:

~Moncks Corner, SC - 1305.9 miles

Shane:

~Burbank, CA - 1174.8 miles

Scott/Angie:

~NYC, NY - 1657.8 miles

Shante/Neysha:

~Allentown, PA - 1610.4 miles

Alex:

~Victoria, TX - 382.8 miles (still a long ass way)

So I'm in no position to say: "Man. I miss the crap out of so and so. I should hang out with 'em tonight". Nope. I'm homesick for my island. I'm homesick for my friends. I'm even homesick for people I've never met. I'm a weirdo.