I am drunk.

Writing comes easy to me when drunk. As if things just turned clear. As if the anxiety got blocked from all the booze in my system, and I did not have to overthink every single thought.

We rode an uber home and I felt so happy. So happy and full of joy and not scared at all. 

I started thinking how I hadn't been this happy in a long time, but while looking out the window, and really considering, I've never in my life been this happy before.

For so long, scared has been the default. It's a constant awaiting something going off and the shit hitting the fan again. It's a worry that never stops; will I be safe this time? Who is the next one to leave me? When will this happiness end?

But right now, I don't fear.

Right now, I'm completely and utterly happy.

Life is better than ever. I have the friends I never thought I would surround myself with and the way they care for me shows to a level I can't deny, I'm living in my favorite place in the world, I am amused every time I look out the subway's window and stare right at the buildings that touch the sky. I am loved and love the guy that sometimes I swear I produced from a dream. I am getting married. 

I am so absolutely happy and not scared one single bit. It's actually weird putting the wall down. I am ok. I am just fine.

Maybe the Cornelia Street is just about to hit.

Maybe not.

Maybe I've been surviving, and I'm just turning towards the side of actually living.

 

I was never afraid when my father was around
as short and skinny and sick as he got
I somehow knew that if he was next to me
absolutely nothing bad would ever happen.

The man summoned a strength that I still don't quite get
he was the bravest and smartest man ever
and I keep comparing every other one to him.
My father would've done it differently.
My dad would best your man, anyday, anytime.

Only time I was ever afraid next to my father
was when I was 10 years old and he had fainted in a steam room
he was deep in his disease by that point,
what we thought were diabetes consequences
but were probably result from a hidden and undiagnosed lymphoma.

The first time I summoned my father's strength 
it was to get him out of the steaming room
I pulled him out through the floor and screamed for help
in an empty gymnasium.

Security guards came running,
uncle Noé took him to the hospital,
I visited a couple days later.
I felt completly alone.

But I have summoned this particular strength
time and time again when needed
for my mother, for myself,
for the underdog kid in a class.

I think I am a small but strong person,
I'm not afraid when my dad's strenght is pulled
he is with me when I'm fighting
and if he is near I can't fear.

 if there was one thing I am thankful for 

is that after all

you made it easy

pulling of the bandaid is less painful

if the bandaid doesn't stick well to begin with

you make it easier to leave behind

when you're too much of a coward to come up and face me

thank you for not even trying

thanks for being a full ass wuss

chin chin

 

    I'm truly doing my best. Working on myself, I'm back in school, absolutely in love, taking care of myself and my body, respecting me and my boundaries, exploring my pleasures.

    And yet, it still rocks the boat how much she's unwilling to step up and be my mother. And I know it's not my fault, I know I'm not to blame. No matter how hard I try to be PerfectDaughter.com I cannot. No matter how much I break my back trying to make you proud, I can't push you to be what I need. And it's still incredibly hard.

    "Look at me!", I seem to shout from rooftops, "Look at how much I can do!", while saying yes to every responsibility that comes my way, do it perfectly, if I can't ace it why even bother? I need to do it nicely, I need to make it pretty, the shinniest, the most natural, look at me, barely any effort, look mom, no hands.

    How long will it take me to get to a point where I no longer care? Where I know what's going to happen and I just go with it. I feel like I did one bad daughter thing in my life and she keeps bringing it back to haunt me. Sorry I didn't inform you my boyfriend had moved in with me when I was 20 a week after he had done so. Sorry it apparently was the worst treason you could possibly stand.

    I don't feel like tossing rocks back your way. I've done that enough. Telling you how you've hurt me only makes you feel bad and I feel like I'm the bad one. For reminding you. For being a living memory of your faults. For surviving it and not shutting the fuck up, "Let it go, Loretta" you say, "it's been so many years already."

   I'm getting older, I've got more on my shoulders
But I'm getting better at admitting when I'm wrong
I'm happier than ever, at least that's my endeavor
To keep myself together and prioritize my pleasure
'Cause to be honest, I just wish that what I promise
Would depend on what I'm given (not on his permission)
(Wasn't my decision) to be abused.

    It's going to take some time, I guess, until I feel like I can say this. Like I can express it somewhere else that is not an online blog that nobody reads, and my pillow at night, stained forever with mascara from my wet eyelashes. It's waterproof mascara season. 

    Spring break is about not breaking myself.

 

When it becomes too much
when I turn out to be too little
when the leaves of spring fall down and
no more purple petals stain the sidewalks
when the huge city feels like it can swallow
everything that brings you happiness
when everything you want nearby
is too damn far away
when I no longer hold your dreams between my arms
will you leave then?
or will you stay
like a trapped little bird
whose cage is decorated beautifully
but who is too sad to sing anymore
will you leave?
when my tears cannot be hidden behind closed doors
when my body becomes too much of a burden
for one man to handle
will you?
will you stay because you promised?
because your word means more that your soul to you
you'd rather be miserable than untrustworthy
you'd rather stay, broken,
than leave and break me
will you leave or 
do I have to keep forcing you
to open your eyes and see
that I'm not worth the pain.

 

Here I am once more
playing a game of Russian Roulette
in which I know that
the cold bullet of another love
will surely end me.

 I dig that when I sit down

with a group of close women

and I mention a man

A man I like and respect

I get comments from them

“Yeah, he's always been nice to us"

"Nothing to worry about"

"My very close friend"

You passed

You're a safe one

You're a cool friend to have.