Walls

I bump left and right.

There's no entrance...no exit.

No light. No air. My clothes feel tight...

...my throat closing up on me.

I'm falling.

Days crawl.

Tired. No sleep. No peace for evil nights.

Echo.

Dear Cora (and the kid in us)

Divorce is a big word for big and small, young or old. Big word for the parents. Bigger word for the children...

This is my letter to my twin's daughter, Cora - and to all those who come from parents that have divorced each other.

Dearest Cora:

How have you been, sweetheart? I've been looking through pictures of you and your paintings, and sitting in awe of how fast you're growing and how amazing you are at everything you do. Never change, never give up...you're so bright and will be able to be everything you ever dream of being.

A lot has happened since we last saw each other, a year and a half ago. I know mom and dad decided to do things separately, and that life at home has been different since that decision was made. It happened to me too, and it makes you feel a lot of things that you never felt before. Sometimes your tummy may hurt for no reason, or you may feel sick out of nowhere. Other days you just want to wake up and everything be how it used to be before. Mom and Dad in the same house. It's okay, Cora bean, to feel sad and confused from time to time. Some days you'll feel angry at mom, dad or both and feel like no one listens to you and what you want. But I want you to remember a few things ok?

Love is a beautiful, wonderful thing. The love two grown ups have for each other is different than the love a grown up has for his/her child. So, while you may have asked yourself what happened between mom and dad, what you always need to keep in mind is that their love for you hasn't changed. It never will. You and Emma will always be their babies. Remember, time answers all the questions you may have now that you don't understand. Remember, mom and dad sometimes make mistakes too. If they do something that hurts your feelings, they are not doing it on purpose. They are also waiting for time to reveal the right answer to them, for time to tell them what's the right thing to do. Remember, that both mom and dad love you so, so much...and you don't have to pick which one to love more. You can love them both. Remember...remember.

Be patient. Life gets so good and you will find that happiness is not where you thought it could be.

I know dad has been acting a certain way that makes you sad. He may be paying more attention to his new girlfriend or to other kids...but no one can replace you or Emma. Ever. I used to think my dad was my own superhero. Then he left our house, and mom and me behind. He started acting different and almost seemed like he wasn't my dad at all. I couldn't understand because I was his little princess. Now he was doing things that hurt. He disappointed me many times. I realized he wasn't who I thought he was.

Sometimes it takes us time as adults to realize we are doing something wrong. We get carried away by new emotions that we don't understand. Be forgiving. Remember, you still have mom who loves you every second of every day like no one will ever love you. You still have her to take care of you when you're sick, to listen to you when you're sad and feel like talking, to cuddle under a blanket and giggle. Don't think that you're doing something wrong or that you need to do more to make daddy be who he used to be. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault or Emma's fault. And while I know those things make you sad, let it bring you closer to your mom and little sister. You three need each other. Not only that, there's so many of us that love you and will always care and want you in our life. Your aunts, uncles, cousins. You have us too, like Harry, Shane and me. We want nothing but for you to grow up happy.

A lot of grown ups say that when a mom and dad go their separate ways, the kids grow up in a broken home. Don't listen to them. You and Emma have two loving homes, instead of one. Daddy will always love you, even if he can't show it in a way you can see it sometimes. And Mommy will always put you girls in front of everything. And we'll be there with you guys. It's not broken, you've actually gained more loving people in your life. Take refuge in Mom and us, and be forgiving of us, too. Never be afraid to tell anyone if something doesn't seem right. If you get a funny feeling that something is wrong. We're here to listen to you. To everything you have to say.

None of what happened was your fault or Emma's fault. You're both loved, wanted and making all of us prouder every day.

Keep drawing beautiful horses and playing with Emma and mom as much as you can. Be silly. Always be silly. Be yourself, because people love you just like you are. Try to keep all the happy times you have close to your heart. They will make the sun come out and shine on the rainiest day.

I'm proud of you. You are beautiful and so strong. I'll see you soon.

Love you very much and miss you,

Yari

Stitches and the Murderous Bottle

I had some sort of tiny tumor removed from my back yesterday. It's the first time since I was 3 years old that I've required stitches.

I was sitting there in my open-back medical gown, staring down at my boots and twirling my fingers nervously on my lap. The office was tiny and the medical table I sat on was sort of low, making me feel a bit claustrophobic...or maybe it was the surgical tray next to me with rows of scissors, medical blades and needles which made me start to panic. In any case, I shut my eyes tight and just concentrated on breathing. He had told me it would be quick...and small. He'd leave the wound open and let it heal on it's own. Right. Well, it's me we're talking about, obviously.

25 minutes later, I'm hearing the words scalpel and capsule and he's turned on the fan because everyone in the room is sweating. Although I was glad I couldn't feel pain, I was not glad to be reminded what Novocaine feels like when injected into an already irritated area. But the burning passed, and a few minutes later he had been well on his way into slicing into my skin. Funny feeling, that is, the sensation of people probing your body and the feeling of scissors tearing tissue apart, but not be able to feel pain. Medicine can be cool sometimes. I can't imagine what it felt like in the early years when someone needed to have something extracted from their body, and the only anesthetic was liquor. Wait. Now I feel cheated.

Anyway, I was doing remarkably well until I decided to look at the surgical tray as he deposited my little tumor into the vial with sterile whateverliquidy (I'm such a medical pro, I know). Once I saw part of me and blood, I was done for. I started swaying a bit and feeling short of breath...that nausea that creeps up and makes you break out in to cold sweat. Ricky looked over at me, and said I looked white. At which point the doctor stopped sewing me up and looked at my face for a few seconds and making me lay down on my side. I'm a wimp. I was feeling great, afterwards, in my own ignorance that the Novocaine would eventually wear off. I stopped at Starbucks and saw a kid eat the floor when running through the coffee shop like he was at the park. I felt bad for about 4 seconds, when he was back up and running. It was ok. I had my coffee.

By 8 p.m. it was an entirely different story. My shoulder blade felt like it was on fire. I couldn't get comfortable, every move made my wound hurt something horrible...and I was pretty sure he had gone in there and rearranged all my entire spine, shoulder blade and adjacent inner organs and muscles. No one ever said I wasn't dramatic, people.

So I grabbed my giant bottle of Perrier water, which seems to be my latest craving/addiction/poison, and laid safely on my tummy - prepared to have a very still night of sleep. Failure.

Although my dream began benign enough, it eventually turned into me tied to a hospital bed. Apparently I was in a morgue, I looked around and saw several bodies on tables being cut into with saws, a few gurgling screams...some were still alive. My blood ran cold as this thin, olive skin man with only one eye walked towards me with a bloody ax. He leaned over and said, "It's simple, really. You let me have my way with you, have my little fun or I'll make you die slowly. I'll peel your skin off with a blade, like a fish. I'll pummel your ankles with..." And on he went, describing my slow, painful death. In my head I scrambled for a choice. Live? But withstand this monster's touch and use of me? Die with dignity? What about the other girls? Why were they already dead? They couldn't have ALL chosen to die gracefully. So what if they had said "Yes" to his offer and ended up dead anyways? My indecision was caught short when I felt his hand sneak up my t-shirt and massage me with those cold, rough hands. I felt tears rolling down my face and he just turned around and yelled at his partner, who was decapitating a blond, "This one doesn't want to play. Kill her too".

I woke up as I felt the saw cutting into my left wrist, and as I was opening my eyes, something heavy landed against my left arm and banged against the wall. I froze, terrified. I was definitely awake and there was something leaning against me. I wasn't making it up. Crap.

So I spent the rest of the night completely still, even though I had to pee so bad, because I was afraid of looking at the bed and seeing something horrifying haunting me in my room. It was still there, snuggling closer to me all the way to 6:45 a.m. when I couldn't take it anymore and I flung myself off the bed and looked back ready to scream my lungs out...

The Perrier bottle lay there, looking awfully satanic and suspicious...

A bottle of sparkling mineral water kept me up all night. At least it kept me company?

“It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways.”~Buddha

Get Your Money Back At The Door

I never noticed the mandolin playing in the background of "Omaha" by the Counting Crows. It's almost a betrayal to the song altogether to not be appreciated for so many years in it's fullness. Ever rediscover a song? Ever get a chronic case of the earworm? I have both. So, in the name of all that's awesome and mandolin-y (is that a word?), I'll share this with myself, again...and with you:

The wind poured through the small, open glass window and into your dated, rustic bedroom. I sat on your wobbly futon, taking in the sweetest and most clean breath of fresh air I had experienced in years. The air in the city, back in the east where I was living at for 3 years now, was heavy and tasted funny. Back home. I had just met you in person for the first time the day before. Behind my parents' ever watchful eyes, I had booked myself a trip halfway across the country to spend 10 days with the boy I liked and his friends. They had almost canceled my trip, and locked me up in my attic bedroom the rest of my adult life...but that was just it. I was an adult...and here I was, late March, in a guy's bedroom in my long Pepe Le Pew pajama pants and oversized t-shirt. Hair disheveled, but just staring out the window at the trees swaying in the morning wind while you tinkered with your computer trying to find music for us to listen to.

And there it was, in all it's glory, filling the tiny room with music of youth and freedom. Two people from completely different cultures and backgrounds smiling at each other as the perfect song came on. Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Dosed" started playing and I felt this sense of peace and belonging filled me. The images of our drive home from the airport the day before flooded me and made me smile big at you. You left the song on replay and crawled carefully back on the unstable futon, sneaking a kiss on my neck. You laid with your head on my lap, staring up at me through your thick, dark lashes. I traced your nose and lips, getting tiny flashes of the rock formations on the desert...of the old town across the border where I kept waiting for our first kiss that never came...of the first kiss that did eventually come, when I least expected it, as you filled up the tank on your Malibu in some dusty gas station forgotten by civilization. The rest of the week I was with you, every drove we took or place we went, Dosed would sneak up on the playlist or some other song from that specific RHCP cd...

I returned to my gray city, with snow and dirty air, a week later. I cried the whole plane ride back, and ate all the cookies you grandmother packed for my trip back home to bring to my parents. Heh. Back to reality. Dosed was your song. Our song. How can a song that brings such joy with someone, somewhere...can bring such sad feelings of longing and loneliness when you're by yourself? I'd be driving in rural Pennsylvania, and as soon as the tune would come up, the snow turned to sand...the mountains to desert rock formations...trees to cactus...my car into your light blue bedroom, with the wild mustang paperwall border and the rickety futon. Your eyes. Your smile. Your smell. The guy I would marry someday.

Life changes...music will help us keep those moments. It wasn't all bad. I got dosed by you.

Ho Ho Horrendous

The window's open now and the winter settles in.

We'll call it Christmas when the adverts begin.

I love your depression and I love your double chin,

I love 'most everything that you bring to this offering.

("The Animals Were Gone" by Damien Rice)

I hope you all had very nice holidays with your loved ones, or by yourselves, and that in the midst of it all you felt a warm feeling wrap around you. That was probably me, thinking of you. Or you peed yourself. Either way, I hope it was enjoyable.

The family is here visiting, so I haven't been able to be around as much. Tomorrow we're headed to the New Mexico mountains for snow and things. I haven't baked. I haven't slept. I have not much hope left for certain things in my life, so to avoid feeling sad every day, I'm just cutting those things out. If it's pain now or pain later, I rather go through it now and get it done with. Move on.

I finally went to see Harry Potter 7...a month later. It was dark, gloomy and depressing...as it was expected to be given the point in the books we're reaching in these movies. Death, grief, disloyalty, betrayal, wands and Ron Weasley getting hotter by the second. Bill and Fleurs' wedding was beautiful there for a while. Jesus...I'm sitting here discussing Harry Potter with you. My apologies.

I also went to see True Grit. That was overall good, very humorous in some ways...very real in others. Jeff Bridges was...Jeff Bridges. Matt Damon was fat and pervy. The little girl was, I don't know who she was. But she has a bit of something going on if you can keep the attention off Bridges and Damon throughout a movie. My popcorn was soggy, and my chair squeaked. But I spent the whole day at the movies, which gave me a nice mental break from everything else.

It's Sunday after Christmas. May your gift returns be few and your football be great. To my friends in the Northeast, stay warm in the blizzard. To me, it'll be ok. It'll be over soon.

Time for nachos.

Con Te Partiro

I'm sitting at work on a Monday morning, swamped under innumerable support calls and sipping on my 4th Coke Zero in 2 hours.

I'm listening to my music, as usual...and out of the haze of metal and blues (sprinkled with a heaping dose of spanish rock)...Andrea Bocelli's 'Con Te Partiro' comes up.

A smile spreads on my lips and I start giggling to myself. I remember my twin's giggle when I'd start singing this song, horribly, on the mic in a Yahoo chatroom. Especially since I sounded like a mix between Beeker and Ms. Piggy when I try to sing it.

I miss her. I miss that. I miss us.

And then Alan Jackson's "Good Time" comes on...and that was Jeff's ringtone. *sips drink quietly*

I've Done Alright For A Girl

The memories we've buried

Have just taken seed
When springtime comes
They'll turn into weeds
And they'll creep through your window
to smother your dreams...

...Yeah, fate has a funny way
of coming around.

The guitar, covered in dust and without a single string in tune, has been sitting in the corner of my bedroom since July. Around the same time I lost all interest in playing it, and music started hurting.

I picked it up two nights ago, when I felt the same hurt that made me put it away in the first place. I played for a while, took this picture and figured, what doesn't kill me...may not make me stronger, but hey, makes me who I am.

I think certain things are dying, and many more will be over. I have my family flying in from Puerto Rico on Dec. 21st and staying for a few weeks up here...in my very tiny two bedroom home. We'll go to New Mexico, see snow and play in it. I'll probably bake while my two aunts and mom, three sisters, sit on the counter laughing at the stuff I come up with and how much like my grandma I am. We'll get quiet, I'll crack a joke...

I'm going to sink in the tub for a bit. Please get out of my head.

Howling

There's a show I just finished watching on the Spanish NATGEO channel titled "Human Pray", that has left me with a new view on a topic that has been a source of terror since my childhood:

Wolves.

I've blogged a few times about how wolves scare me and have been the main villains in a recurring nightmare I've had since I was 7 years old. I've also mentioned how, aside from scaring me, they are one of my favorite animals - after the llamas and seals.

When I was a kid, my father used to think it was funny to howl in the middle of the night until I'd be so scared, I'd be in tears begging him not to turn into a wolf. Funny pops, ha ha. Use the phobia as a joke. Sweet.

The show interviews this family with three sons that decided to go camping at a national park in Canada. They canoe up the river to a secluded part of the forest, about 3 hours from any civilization. After a day of fun and leaving their campground unattended, they make a fire and start cooking dinner. They hear a wolf howling in the distance, and they all join in and howl back. They hear the howls closer, but think nothing of it. In fact, it's such a gorgeous night, they decide against sleeping inside the tents, and opt for a night under the stars...

They put the 3 yr old between his older brothers, who are 11 and 9. The parents go a few dozen feet away, and everyone goes to sleep. Honky Dory. Naturally, in the middle of the night, the wolf found them. He literally was eating the 11 year old's face off, the kid didn't wake up until he felt he was being dragged away fast into the forest. Kid screams, parents fight off the wolf who kept coming back time and time again until they got the hint that A) the wolf was hungry and B) their son lost half his face and was bleeding to death. Canoe their happy asses 3 hours down the river, then 4 hour drive to hospital. Kid made it but is traumatized by wolves.

Ahem. This comforted me greatly. I now realize wolves can't hurt me. Ever. Here's why:

I will not ever camp in an area where wolves live.

I will not camp more than a few minutes from civilization. Screw Bear Gryllis.

My ass will not cook and leave food outside...even if I'm just surrounded by raccoons.

My ass will also sleep INSIDE a tent, with a big ass knife and a shotgun. In case the Zombie Apocalypse begins while I'm on vacation.

In general, I'll limit my wolf contact to nightmares, zoos and on the t.v. Even then, I probably wouldn't howl back.

I need sleep.

Closed Until Further Notice

I think I've shut down for the time being. I haven't bothered looking at my phone or obsessively checking Twitter updates since about 7 p.m. last night. I have spread myself around too thin and carried everyone's loads without making time to carry my own. As usual. Nothing new.

I was sitting in my car, and all these words came out. I was babbling, blurting, being angry for things that are part of the past, explaining how bad it really was inside my head. Ricky just stared at me as I went from laughing, to crying, to screaming, to sighing and joking about just ending it. How it would just be easier for me to remove myself from the picture, rather than disappoint everyone and become a regret in their life. The whole time I was letting every single word out, my phone was going insane vibrating and bleeping for attention...it remained in the pocket of my hoodie. In all actuality, I wanted to slam it against the wall and just forget everyone. I'm only one person, and I need a break.

It's like...if I have time to tweet or update Facebook, that means I have time or the desire to open myself for everyone to come and take, take, take from me. No. It just means I thought of something funny, and I tweeted it. It doesn't mean I feel like talking. If I don't reply to you but to someone else I do, it doesn't mean I have time for them and not you. It just means I felt like answering something, and not another. I feel like every time I try to be there, the unmovable rock, I end up frustrated. Drained and exhausted. Because I get to vent .2% of what's in my brain before you turn it around and make the conversation about you and what you need. So. That's that. I won't be around much for anyone. No one gets to pour their stuff on me for me to carry around and fix. I'm tired. I need my own space to figure out my own issues and where MY life is going.

So, anyways, after my tantrum, I sat in the tub and just cried it all out for a good hour or so. I didn't feel great, but it was better. The silence was great. I curled up into bed by 10 and grabbed my zombie book. I read. I hadn't had the desire to read in months. Sure enough, I couldn't battle sleep from taking me away...in a few short moments.

I dreamed I was on vacation with my parents, aunts from PR and my friend Bryan in some sort of huge hotel in the Midwest. It was the morning we were all coming home, and two things happened simultaneously.

As I exited my hotel room, my dad pulled me aside and said he was leaving our family again, leaving mom. He couldn't take it being with her anymore, he was sorry and that he had tried to make it work. That he had already told her and he'd call me from the road. I sank against the wall and just mumbled "Not again. Please, not again". I went into their hotel room and saw mom, laying on the bed staring at the ceiling, with her arm resting over her forehead. Her eyes were swollen from crying and she smiled at me. That's just how she looked the day Dad said he wanted and divorce and was leaving, when I was 16. This was an exact replica, and it was awful. Dad went over to her and started saying how he was sorry, that he had really given it a shot and he wished her the best. She just nodded, accepting defeat and it angered me that I was once again, left to pick up the pieces of his mess.

At the same time...

I turned to look at the doorway, and Bryan was in his fatigues and with his Army duffel bag. My heart sank to my toes and I asked him where he was going, why was he in uniform. He said he had signed up to do another tour and was leaving in a 2 hours. That it was something he had to do. I demanded to know why he would do that after he said he was done, and that I didn't want him to die. He just hugged me and said "It'll be ok, sweetpea. Thank you for everything. Chin up.", and walked off quickly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. I was standing in that hotel hallway, with him walking away in one direction and my dad walking away in the other. I didn't want to chase after my dad and beg him to stay, even though I knew he would just for me. I didn't want to chase after Bryan and beg him to stay, because he wouldn't and I'd be broken beyond anything.

I woke up at 4 a.m. as my phone was ringing. I stared at it, and closed my eyes again, crying a bit before falling asleep.

And this is where I am right now. Focusing on getting everything done at work quickly. Clearing off my desk of any tasks and wondering if I can make it through tonight.

And yes, I cut. I hadn't in weeks.

I'm stronger than this...I just have to fight for it. I will be better, for my own sake.

Walking Dead...

It's only fitting that my new favorite line in a t.v. show comes from my latest obsession, "The Walking Dead".

At the end of last night's episode, there's this scientist recording himself with his little monologue where he explained what went wrong and how he felt guilty for the outbreak.

The camera backs out as he's rambling. He's alone, in a big room full of computers. The last one left in there in a new world run over by the zombies he helped create.

He's sort of laughing, musing, when he says something along the lines of: "I think I'm going to shoot myself tomorrow. Yeah. Kill myself. Unless I'm too drunk. Maybe I'll just drink a lot."

Yeah. Maybe. Sounds right. Tonight.