Scared.

      And the worst part is…I’m losing my will to speak. Something’s telling me I should go back on Zoloft; even if it drives me to pull an Eric Harris. I don’t understand myself…I’m not happy with where I am in life. I’m not happy with my shell. I only feel love for my boyfriend and my dog. Occasionally my family whenever our paths cross. My spirit is weary and sometimes I feel like I don’t have the stamina to hold onto this life much longer. I don’t even understand my life any how I got to this point. My creativity is at an all time low. That alone makes me want to put of glock to my head and blast off. I can’t even doodle correctly anymore. Zero talent shines through. Creative writing such as short stories and fan fiction…haven’t been able to write those in months. Maybe even 2 years. Writing used to bring me such joy. Escapism was my best friend. Now all I write about is my pathetic, lonely life. I look forward to the weekends. Some Saturdays, I get to visit my Mom. And Sundays I get to spend the entire day with my boyfriend. Those days get me through the week. But I never get a day off from worry. Everyday I’m scared to death that my baby isn't doing well. I've had to lift heavy objects in the midst of cleaning and such. Not to mention those 2 weeks of duster abuse that I had going on about 4 months ago. ..And today I’m 4 months pregnant. I have nothing more to say today.

Progress

      Why does the timid girl tear herself up for being that way? Bold and vibrant for a moment... then shy and distant in the very next instant. Her polar opposite state of being makes her the shining light that she’ll always be. Cycles, changes, and stages are not to be feared; But accepted, and applauded. As long as you remember: only a fool stays in one place and vows to never move ahead because of the familiarity associated with living in the past. Living in the present is ideal. And oh what a gift it is when you realize that you’re so far ahead from where you used to be. Progress.

Sad face..

      Odd girl out comes to mind. It’s hard for me to feel happy. It’s never been easy for me to phony a smile. Shouldn’t I be ecstatic when my boyfriend comes home? One third of the time, I’m not. Why? I don’t know. Mood swings? Am I just grumpy? Well I feel grumpy. I don’t feel happy. Today Blanket turned 11. I wonder if he’s happy. It made me smile this morning seeing pictures of him looking older, smiling n such. Why can’t I just pretend? Better yet, why can’t real, authentic happiness find me? A part of me just wants to run, and abandon everything I built over the last year and search for myself. No matter how much I learn about my existence, and begin to appreciate the mere privilege of being alive, I continuously find myself caught up in the gunk and yuck of blackness where dying seems to be the only escape. Even tonight, I wished I was dead. I contemplated suicide, and I’m still waddling in the sadness.

Humiliation

      It really feels like no one understands me here. My mother-in-law and I are the closest. His brother seems to only see my skin color, and his sister seems to barley want to see me at all. She cried when we first broke the news. And not tears of joy. They were clearly tears of disappointment and fear for her brother’s future. She hugged me and said something to the affect of, “Well you’re a part of the family now so I have to accept you.” Those were not the exact words but it really did throw me off and ring to that affect. It’s true I’m beginning to stay up in my room more often. Of course, I’m never just sitting in silence or in darkness like a depressed vegetable. I mainly keep myself busy with my online courses, thought provoking podcasts, and documentaries, or just simply journaling like this. It’s not ideal; and I do feel a bit antisocial. But I didn’t start off like this. It was only as a result of how little English is spoken and how left out I feel from their conversations. Sitting in front of the TV all the time is a big “no no” in my life, period; And even worse when it’s always telemundo. I’ve tried to take interest in the soaps and news programs and use them as a way to pick up Spanish, but sometimes it back fires.

      I made the mistake of asking what the name of the program we were watching was one day while my brother-in-law was in the room. “She’s retarded.” He said referring to one of the girls on the show. I sat there for at least five minutes watching what I believed to be a mother crying over her daughter’s disability. The girl did look a bit weird. She wasn’t speaking and her glance would dart towards the speaker then back down to her lap every 30 seconds or so. Eventually I had to comment, “She doesn’t even look retarded. She’s pretty! They should be grateful the girl isn’t cross-eyed or something instead of crying!” I blurted out. My mother in law didn’t understand. she was too busy crying. My sister in law didn’t pay me any attention. But my brother in law was like, “Who’s retarded? What are you talking about? Who’s cross-eyed? You’re so mean!!” Finally the television showed a picture of the late Jenni Rivera who had just passed recently. Taking another look at the people who were crying, they all looked like they could be related to her. The program was talking about her death. Not a mentally retarded person. Embarrassed, I just went back to my room. Being the butt of every joke just isn’t fun.