While I Take a Cold Shower...

Yeah. This.

What I want from you

Is empty your head

They say be true

Don't stain your bed

We do what we need to be free

And it leans on me

Like a rootless tree

What I want from us

Is empty our minds

We fake a fuss

And fracture the times

We go blind

When we've needed to see

And it leans on me

Like a rootless...

So fuck you, fuck you, fuck you

And all we've been through

I said leave it, leave it, leave it

It's nothing to you

And if you hate me, hate me, hate me

Then hate me so good that you can let me out

Let me out of this hell when you're around

Let me out, let me out,

Let me out of this hell when you're around

Let me out, let me out

What I want from this

Is learn to let go

No not of you

Of all that's been told

Killers reinvent and believe

And this leans on me

Like a rootless...

So fuck you, fuck you, fuck you

And all we've been through

I said leave it, leave it, leave it,

It's nothing to you

And if you hate me, hate me , hate me,

Then hate me so good that you can let me out, let me out, let me out

Let me out of this hell when you're around

And fuck you, fuck you, fuck you

And all we've been through

I said leave it, leave it, leave it

It's nothing to you

And if you hate me, hate me, hate me

Then hate me so good that you can let me out

Let me out, let me out, let me out,

Hell when you're around...

Let me out, let me out, let me out...

It's hell when you're around.

Opposite End: I Tried

I've been known to not be a very optimistic person. Please, please, do not show such shock in your faces at this great revelation.

However, after spending most of my life making wishes that never come true and hoping for the best, only to be met by utter disappointment, I can honestly say I'm the chubby, human version of a Phoenix. As much as I hate to admit it, I still have high hopes in certain things. Almost like standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for the right sign that it's okay to jump. That it'll all end well.

I'm not saying I just sit here, with both my thumbs safely tucked in my rectum, waiting for things to just HAPPEN for me without me working on them. I don't spend my days wondering why my life is not the fairytale I wanted, because life is all about the tiny happy moments that make every other long periods of misery worth living through. Do I get sick of trying and caring for people that in the end weren't worth it? Well, yeah. Do I have depression and other mental health issues? Who the hell doesn't. Just because I get in a funk for a few days, weeks or months at a time, it doesn't mean I'm weak or stupid. We all have issues. We all deal with them in different ways. We all have grief we carry close to our heart. We are not unique, yet we are not the same.

Naturally, I try to be understanding when I meet someone that sits there and tells me there's no sense in trying anymore. I've felt it. I've lived it. Maybe I'm the one that's stupid for still trying to make something good happen. But, sometimes, by completely giving up and losing hope that anything will ever change, you shut out the new day that's dawning. The things that simply fall on your lap when you least expected them. You shut out someone that's not out to hurt you, that's not out to lie to you, and ultimately - you end up laying in the empty, cold bed you made for yourself. It's no one else's fault. You did this to yourself.

And in the process...you end up hurting people that really do, deep down, care about you. That wanted to show you, that you don't have to take a blind jump into the unknown. Not everyone wants to rush you into new things, or to change who you are. There is such a thing as accepting everyone how they are and loving them for it. No one wants to be with someone that makes you change or that you have to pretend to be something you're not in order to not be so alone.

I guess I only tried to help. But to meet someone that's at the opposite end, where I usually am when I'm feeling lost and ready to give up, has made me sad. Because, I want to fix something that's not my job to fix. I want to show that it's okay to still try again. To have some sort of wish or dream to work towards. To keep getting up when you're down.

I could tell you to it gets better, friend. But you and I know it doesn't. There's no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. But hey, what else are we going to do? Roll over and die? I guess...

But then we'd miss the cake and ice cream. Let's hang in there for the cake and ice cream, shall we?

Email #456098

Hey,

You'll prolly delete this one too. I don't care. It helps to send these and to write, so I'll keep doing it until I don't feel anything anymore.

I want to know how you were able to move on and forget a friendship so easy. How you can be there, on the messenger, and see me online and not even feel the remote desire to at least check in on me. How you can ignore emails that are begging from the bottom of a heart that cared so much for you.

You were my best friend. I looked forward to just kidding back and forth on Twitter, and to watching movies together on Netflix or talking about silly shit on text. That's the hardest part, knowing that I lost my friend.

I don't know how to watch The Office without tearing up and hurting. I can't even begin to know what to do with your copy of The Hellcats MST3K. It's in the box it came in, in the trunk of my car. I haven't opened it. I can't throw it away.

I know you're happy now, and I want to know how you did it.

It's been months. How is it not getting any easier? Isn't it supposed to by now?

It's useless to ask you for a brief hello, even though it would bring me a world of peace. Closure.

Anywhere you are in life, whatever you are doing, know that I think of you daily...more than once. I miss you, your smile, your voice, the way you twirl your hair while watching t.v. and how you're able to be the best friend I could've asked for. I don't know how long it'll take me to move on or to forget you. I'll never forget you, I guess...but I mean to not miss you like I do. But I guess I'll get there one day.

Until then I'll send these in hopes someone reads them. Someday. In hopes that you'll forgive me for not being what you needed, but still realize I want to at least be here for anything you need.

Hoping everything is okay for you, and that if it isn't, that it will be soon.

Yari

Calaveras y Diablitos

Payday springs upon me once again.

I have promises to keep, even if the ones made to me are broken on an hourly basis. I will not use it as an excuse to pay back lies with lies.

What does it say about me when I know what someone's doing behind my back, and I'm not even mad anymore? I just shrug it off and think 'Nothing new'. Should I be mad? Should I demand only the best, or at least the equality of what I put into something? Why can't I bring myself to be like every other girl I know, and throw a full blown tantrum? I can't even bring it up and discuss it like adults because, well, I'm afraid of someone being offended that I found out all the dirty laundry. What matters? Shouldn't they be glad I accept them regardless? I only want to address the fact that I'm not stupid, so don't pee on me and tell me it's raining. Actually, don't pee on me at all. That's gross.

I slithered to my desk this morning, and Fabulosos Cadillacs "Calaveras Y Diablitos" was playing on my phone. I thought of home. On a morning like this, in September, this song would be blaring in my friend's stereo while 7 of us were crammed into David's 1994, mint-green Toyota Tercel on our way to the beach. Everyone's elbow sticking to your side, someone would fart, street-racing against a beat up Civic...yeah. Teenager lameness. Get to the beach, fire up the BBQ pits, and music blaring from the open trunk of the car. Waxing the boards (oh, the days when I was fit enough to surf...I digress) and zipping up the suits was done methodically, while the smell of sea, sunblock and grilled meat filled the air. Bliss. I can almost hear the water splashing, the voices of my friends screaming and singing, and I feel the motion of the waves as I sat on that board waiting, feet dangling in the water.

Island living, disrupted by the sound of my phone ringing at my desk. The song has stopped. I'm staring at my dual monitor set up and I hear Steven's voice in the hallway talking to someone about some servers. Now LIT's 'Completely Miserable' starts playing and it makes sense.

The long weekend is almost here. So. That's something.

“No one can lie, no one can hide anything, when he looks directly into someone's eyes.” ~ Paulo Coelho

While I Run Down The Hallway...

And just like that, in the blink of an eye and beat of a heart, time flew and stillness grew. Silence was born, the rose loss it's thorn. I gained it all, I lost it all. I carry your light with me, even though you shine it elsewhere. Your words echoing in my nights, as you speak them to someone's morning. This is what's left.

I keep running down the hallway...

Droid X

This is simply a test post from my new Droid X phone.

Pardon the short spam.

P.S. Picture taken with phone as well.

I Ain't Shakespeare...

But, How do I love thee?

Like I love drifting off to dreamland,

listening to raindrops on a tin roof.

Like I love the rush I feel through my body

when I hear a song with a flawless beat.

Like the joy I feel when my toes are digging

into the warm sand, in my beach.

Like the smile that spreads on my lips,

when I hear a song that means nothing to everyone else,

but it makes your face pop up in my head.

Like I love watching snow cover the sidewalks

and rooftops, and the sound the flakes make

as they hit the ground.

Like I love the browsing the sweets aisle

on gas station stops in long trips.

Like that first sip of Coke Zero in my day.

Like the lightheaded feeling I get when looking

at the night sky, in the middle of a dark desert.

Like I love fall, when the air is crisp and it smells

like cinnamon and spices everywhere.

Like I loved my grandmother's soft voice,

humming as she embroidered a handkerchief.

Like the feeling in the pit of my stomach,

that is both scary and courage-inducing.

Like I love pressing my face against a cold pillow,

and tracing the alphabet with my toes in the air.

Like I love the things that bring me joy,

hope, dreams and peace.

Because the future is never certain,

but when every day involves opening my eyes

and seeing your face next to mine...

What else matters?

I can sing you every song, new and old.

I can write you every poem,

I can trace my fingertips over your chest,

or run my fingers through your hair.

There's no bigger compliment than showing you this:

I will be better. Stronger. Healthier.

Because you make me a better person.

And, though I may stray from our path,

I'll find my way home, to you.

(File that under things I should've said a long time ago...)

Alas, I Must Return To My Habitat

Almost a year ago, I was sipping coffee in a tiny little hole in the wall in Midland, TX.

I was brought to this coffee house with the promise of good coffee and live music. Of course, I knew that along with that I'd find countless fashionable college students with their Apple products, skinny jeans and colorful 'hobo' scarves.

It was a Tuesday evening, and my loneliness was full swing. The coffee was mediocre. The place was warm, cozy but full of the yuppies I tend to avoid. They all looked like they were plucked from the latest fashion magazine, and like they couldn't be bothered with this indie music that was TOO indie, even for them.

I sipped my crappy coffee, happy that I'd at least get to listen to two relatively cute guys, in unremarkable clothes, play acoustic sets (my weakness). The first guy came up, a ginger with a gorgeous smile and messy hair covered by a fedora, named Logan Mason. He looked nervous. He wanted to impress. He was good, and sang overall happy go lucky love songs about holding hands and going to the movies. I smiled at the passion he showed for what he did and clapped, along with the 6 other people there.

Second up was a young man named John Davey. He had torn jeans, a faded, wrinkly gray t-shirt and he needed a haircut. The messy look wasn't for him, but it didn't see that's what he was going for either. It just seemed he got too busy driving cross country with a fellow musician playing in small venues and he let his grooming skills go. I saw him hunching around his guitar, big brown eyes and dark hair, reminding me of someone I cared for that I had recently lost out of my life. Same looks. Musician. I shook my head and sipped some more of my mud in a cup, before I let the memories bring me down.

John tuned his guitar, and as soon as his mouth opened my heart exploded into tiny bits of joy and sadness at the same time. He sounded the same as my old friend, and I couldn't help but tear up...the music kept getting happier. He sang lots of Irish folk songs and quirky little tunes that left Jason Mraz behind, eating his dust. Until, in the midst of all the happy songs, the sneaky bard presented us with an old tune he had written years ago. It was simply titled The Process and after hearing the first 3 strums, I knew it would break me. It did. I hid my face slightly with my curly hair and stared at my hands during the whole song. The tears wouldn't stop, and soon I was quietly hiccuping and sobbing. The wound had reopened in my chest and there was nothing I could do but listen to every word and let it sink.

I bought his demo, alas, the song wasn't on it. I shook his hand and he was very polite. I bought Mason's cd too. However, that song haunted me for almost a week before it finally disappeared into my mind. Until 4 days ago, when on John Davey's MySpace page, he had posted The Process for all to hear. No. I still can't buy it. But I hope one day I can. Meanwhile, it's been on a loop in the background playing while I transcribed the lyrics.

Sometimes songs are written for the sake of hits. Other times songs are written to share with the world how you felt, and what your opinion is. Then again, this song was just written to make me both believe in love and realize it does not exist. Not in this form. Not for me. Is it sadder to hear what you want or what you had?

I think I'll learn how to play this song...

GO LISTEN: The Process by John Davey

THE PROCESS:

If I were a bird
I would fly to the branch
by your window
Your window.

And I'd watch as you slept
and you breathed in and out
so contently, slow.

And the night would go by and
the sun it would rise
and I'd be there
to tell you 'hello'.

And to sing you that love song
that you have been waiting to hear
that I wrote you last year.

And you'd pat my head
and you'd get out of bed
and yo'ud tell me you loved me the same

And I'd hop through your window
and revert to my shape,
and we'd go on with our day...

And we'd go down to 5th St.,
and buy us some coffee
and talk about all sorts of things.

and the day would pass
and I'd say, "Alas,
I must return to my habitat"

With 3 final words
I change back to the bird
and we start the process again
yes we'd start the process, again.

~John Davey

The Night Has A Thousand Eyes...

Last night. In my head. In a galaxy far far away:

This couch is comfortable...I love how it cradles my neck and holds me close.

Maybe I'll sleep tonight, although it's already 1 a.m. and I'm completely wired.

This is a cool phone, I have to tweak it this weekend. Oh! crap! I have 5 Word Wise games going, it's probably my turn...HOW DOES HE GET ALL THE GOOD LETTERS?! UGH!

I should mess with the weather widget some more...no. Stop.

I'm hungry, but my sugar is too high already. My heart's beating too fast. Breathe.

Just leave me alone, stop messaging me, I don't want to talk.

Iowa should be nice in September.

30 days. I'm nervous. Maybe this is a bad idea. I don't think I can do this. I'm such a loser.

I have a bad feeling. I want everything to just be over and done with. It'll be easier for everyone.

I wonder what Cathy's doing?

Gotta pee.

He loves me. He loves me not.

Silly girl.

Oooo I like this song.

It's 2 a.m.?? Sigh.

*falls asleep* *dreaming a white hand is gripping me by my neck, choking me and shoving me off the bed* *falls off couch, hits head on iron table, opens gash and bleeds*

Great. Just great. I wonder if I need stitches. I'll wait it out.

I'm nervous. *checks phone* *checks Twitter* *biting lip*

I'm hungry. My chest hurts, stupid murmur. Oooo I gotta pee, again.

*rise out bloody towel, presses it on head again*

WordWise. My turn. W-H-E-A-T. Take THAT, hmph. Wait...only 12 points?! Sigh.

I'm sleepy. Should I sleep with a concussion? *alarm goes off*

Time for work...

I'm just going to quit everything. It'll be easier. It'll hurt less.

Right...work.

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying of the sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

~Francis William Bourdillon

The Real Yari

As many of you know, I often use my blog as a place where I can share my thoughts, my dreams/nightmares, my writing, my music...my fears.

I often hide behind carefully crafted self portraits with my BlackBerry. I let you see what I want you to see, and say the things that you want to hear. I keep my true feelings about you hidden for the most part, until I get enough courage to let you know. Once I do, I'm met with several outcomes: A) You can care less, B) You're lying to my face, and think that I'm blind and C) You want me to give 150% to you, even when I'm uncomfortable being that vulnerable, and you give me...maybe 15% back.

I think I'm tired of hiding. I think that at this stage, I want the people in my life to be in my life after knowing the things about me I normally hide.

I am 26 and still suck my thumb. Daily. I thought it was when I was really sad but it turns out it's just comforting.

I am 5' 9" and weight 275 lbs. I don't know why people always seem shocked to read the actual number. Apparently I'm kinda of tall enough and have the Puerto Rican body to hide such a massive amount of fail. Below are the most recent pics of me:

Yes. That's me.

I don't like it when my intelligence is insulted. I can read timelines, comments and status messages and *gasp* know how to put 2 and 2 together. The more you lie to me, the more I'm blown away that you didn't care for me enough to be honest with me from the beginning. I know the secrets you say 'are not what I think'. I know more than you think. I don't bring it up, because somehow you will find a way to make me feel guilty for seeing something that's blatantly obvious. I just let you either dig yourself out or deeper.

I am, and have been for 13 years, a cutter. I go through phases that are directly related to how lonely I feel/people disappointing me. Yes, I have attempted suicide twice before. First time, I got my stomach pumped. Second time my mom found me and and removed the neck tie from around my neck. I was hanging from my bunk beds. I am on anti-depressants, but I have not bothered going back to the shrink. I have an appointment on August 24th. I will more than likely, skip it and self-diagnose me as cured. This is my left arm at the moment:

Don't like that I'm posting this up here? Close the screen. I'm done hiding.

I became an alcoholic at the age of 17, in Puerto Rico. I worked from 12 - 7 every day or 2 - 9, and then went out with my buddies to shoot pool. Every night. Of course I didn't notice it was alcoholism, since to me it was just drinks with my friends. My night consisted of about 9 double shots of Jose Cuervo, 3 screw drivers, 6 bud lights and 2 amaretto sours. When I moved back to PA when I was 18, the first night I was back home with both my parents I thought I was going to die. I didn't know what was going on but I was shaking, crying and throwing up all over the place. It took me about a week to get back to semi normal. By then I realized what it was. I swore never to drink regularly again. I had a brief relapse from Nov 2008 - Jan 2009. At that point my drink of choice was a bottle of Knob Creek and a 12 pack of Budweiser every 2-3 days. I stopped that quickly and have been doing good since. Every other month I'll drink a lot a night or two, but mostly when out with friends.

I am not, however, as messed up as I seem to be most of the time.

I've had full time jobs since I was 16 and have supported my mom, payed mortgages/bills with no help and still managed to get straight A's all the way to HS graduation. I've never been fired of a job, and have only had 3 jobs since HS. Two years with a chiropractor in PA, I resigned that to move to TX and got a job with a chiropractor here for 6 years. I resigned and now joined the IT staff at the local hospital. I live a pretty stable life. Predictable. Safe. I was the good girl that never snuck out and when I married I was a virgin. Squeaky clean. Good kid. Despite the alcoholism I never failed my family, friends or work. No one ever knew.

I have, without a doubt, one of the kindest and depth-less hearts you will ever encounter. When I say 'I love you', I mean it. No, it doesn't mean I'm IN love with you, not always. It means that when you are down, and the world keeps trampling you over, I'll pick you up and take the blows for you. It means that I will get in debt so that you can have something you've always wanted. No questions asked. It means I will be walking down the street, and hear a song or see something, and your face will crowd my mind and my heart will feel like it's bursting. Because I love loving. I am loyal to those near my heart. The only way you will ever get rid of me, is if after I treat and love you this way, you turn around and get joy out of treating me poorly.

I LOVE laughing. I love making others laugh. I've always been a clown, an entertainer...and I have no shame in admitting I have the sickest and most cynical/sarcastic sense of humor you can imagine. I often don't display it, again, because I respect the people in my life that might not understand I'm merely joking. I absolutely adore toilet humor. There's no way you can gross me out. I actually encourage you to try. So when you see me being all emo and crap, just ignore me, it'll pass. I just need to vent song lyrics or thoughts out. I then reboot and am back to having only one purpose: making you smile.

I do not have a college degree, nor have I ever set a foot in any institution of higher learning after I graduated high school. I do, however, have the capability to learn quick and photographic memory. I am a fast reader and my comprehension skills are pretty sharp. I'm horrible at math, but excellent with puzzles of any kind. I'm a visual person. Sketching, photography, painting, carving, molding...anything I can use my hands for to show you what I'm seeing is in my head is a good skill. I was reading full books by age 4, my first book was Boy by Roald Dahl. It's still my favorite. Very few things bring me more joy than reading, writing and music.

I absolutely despise talking about religion or politics. I will simply nod and not offer my opinion.

I have an obsessive personality. I have intense emotions and a short fuse. I cannot be trusted with money. I'd gladly give my life, if it meant you could live yours happily. All you would have to do is ask.

How many of you are still around?...