A hole in the face fills the void

Its gonna hurt...
Close your eyes, tightly...
Clench ur fists...and hold on to anything, anyone and don't let go until its over.
Is it over yet?
Pain shouldn't come to much of a surprise to me, but it always does...but this time when you plan it, when you make an appointment to get hurt...its not as bad...its better when you expect it.

So from now on ill always expect it.

When he clamps hard on it, know that its only the beginning...the grip follows the burning sensation and agony from stab. He punctures straight through the layers and he leaves you for dead.

Now, that wasn't so bad was it?

But it was.

It is.

He pierced right through...and ill never be the same...

Now im branded, the physical manifestation that ill always be different after him and the hole in my face reminds me that im no longer the same.

After the pain subsides and it stops burning, you become sore and after you can twist and turn metal daggers in the wound..your healed...

But it never closes.

You still have a hole in your face.

But what does this hole remind me??? That post pain, you are never the same but you're still you.

Now this hole in my face shows others who I really am even when I try to hide.

So when they meet me they already know there's something more. They can look right through the hole and see down to my core, the inner most me, the real me. Down to each layer.

STALKING FOR DUMMIES

If you are reading this manual then you have become interested in the art of stalking.
Congratulations on your newly discovered calling.
It will take much dedication and practice to master this art form...but if you are willing to put in the effort and long hours you too can become a master stalker.

Before you begin be sure that you are fully equipped with the tools provided by the kit.
Check to make sure you have everything.
You will need:

1. the hottest casual outfit you own
2. a scarf, glasses and any incognito accessory
3. cell phone
4. pseudo-confidence that hides immense vulnerability
5. ipod
6. PASSION

After securing the check list you are now ready to begin your stalking.

Once you are all dolled up, create a playlist that triggers relationship nostalgia. Select only songs that remind you of the "good old days," of the best days when your relationship was at its prime. Stalking can be a very rewarding hobby if it is done amidst immense positive passion. Stalking becomes a violent, grotesque sport when it is performed amidst pain, betrayal, and heartache. Do not let these dark elements take control of the art form, or it will surely create a black canvas that drowns out the vibrancy of love.

Stalking has a lot of negative connotations attached to it. Do not be discouraged, friend, for these misconceptions and stereotypes will be dismantled with our efforts. You know what type of stalker you are. A righteous one. A benevolent one. A SANE one?

Put your headphones on.

PLAY.

Crank up the music loud enough to still hear your surroundings.

Walk with purpose.

Your speed should suggest you have somewhere important to be, but you are not in a rush.

When you near the location take out your phone and pretend you are texting this imaginary person you are so eager to meet with. Be flirtatious in the way you communicate with the phone, in your body language, the way you connect with your surroundings...

but at all times keep your eyes open and wait.

Wait for an absolution that will never come.

and let it destroy you the way it does time and time again.

the way he always does.

and you'll try to follow these guidelines and fail miserably because there are no guidelines to stalking.

it is the manifestation of passion gone array...

it is strategic chaos.

and you are chaos without him.

When you used to call me mama

"So whatsup mama?"
"Mama"
That's what you called me.
Sin nombre
Nameless.
Don't call me anything, but mama.
Im nobody but mama
Im your mama
And that's everything.

I can hear you now, always, your voice resonating within me...like striking chords, the lamenting strings of my heart.

How could I have ever forgotten what you sound like...
"Mama"

I want to speak your language and hear your vernacular and I want to be deaf and mute unless it's to hear you...

I can hear you now, always, like a somber lullaby and its symphony and cacophony and consonance and dissonance and noise. And its grandeur and its bliss and strikes me dead like a pseuda coma and peace.

"Mama"

And when I hear it im no longer here but there, so far into nostalgia ill never return to wherever we really are. Im mama now and ill never be me. I never want to be me again.

FRAGILE....---->---->DAMAGED GOODS

Carry the package upright.

Please notice the the "FRAGILE" label tapped all around.

Be very very gentle.

And by every means necessary DO NOT, i repeat, DO NOT, drop this package.

But he let me slip

and he let me fall

and i broke.

Now.

Now.

I am damaged goods...

and I'll never love again.

"Ever since you I've been dead inside. I guess that's why I keep trying to go back to you...because I can't feel shit. My heart doesn't work anymore. You fucked me up"

This is what I told the HIM from long ago...the one this blog started with, the reason for the birth of this blog, the one I wrote about and then left behind and the one i pretended to forget about and the one i never stopped thinking about. THE ONE. The one I'll never get over because at least he reminds me I'm still human.

I thought I was healed...that I had finally let go of all the love and the hurt and the everything he was to me...but his absence only makes me think of him more. Returning often to the days when I was human...when I was a woman. I return to those days when my heart was simultaneously filled with so much joy and so much sorrow...but to feel is an amazing thing. I'd rather feel heartache, sincere heartache, than to be tormented by the stoicism my life now exhibits. I've been condemned to a life after love with no love after love.

I feel nothing.

I never feel anything.

And if for some reason my heart skips a beat for someone, in a week my heart stops beating.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I FLAT LINE.

But But it is through HIM that I am able to feel again. Only when I think of him, speak to him do all contradicting and ambivalent feelings come flooding all at once. Speaking to him is overwhelming but sometimes I just need to be alive....Sometimes I want to live in his bad romance, in his sick, in his nasty....then to be dead in this reality.

I want revenge! I WANT HIS SWEET REVENGE!

I told him this...I want so bad to hurt him...because hurting him makes me realize that I still love him. That I never stopped loving him. You only hurt the things you love, the things that you are passionate about...the things that hurt you.

This pain follows me wherever I go, making me incapable of feeling for another person the way I felt for him. I can never let go of this pain....It never goes away.

I want to love him until it hurts me....and hurt him until it kills me.

I want...

I need to be alive again...

So if that means allowing him to destroy me to dismantle the emotionless wall....

then....

BREAK ME

BREAK ME

BREAK ME

OVER AND OVER AGAIN

FORBIDDEN LUST

No.

No No No No No.

No.

You can't like him.

Well, I don't like him...I just...I'm just curious is all. I just want to see what he is like...I just want a taste.

No.

No No No No No.

No.

You can't want him.

Delicious Toxins

Yummmmmmmm
MMMMMMMMM
DELICIOUS


The thought of it in my mouth makes me salivate...nothing can compare to the enormous pleasure I get from it. Oral fixation, oral gratification....goodies oh those goodies....

Yes its better than sex. It is more comforting than his touch...than his embrace...because food, food is always there when I need it.

Food was my first love.
And you never forget your first love.
And you never let go....

I am not sure when or how it happened but food filled the void. When was the first void?

When my dad was never home. Growing up, the only way to guide him back home was through my appetite.
"Papi, I'm hungry."
And from the end of the earths he would reach my door, McDonalds in hand.

When I did poorly on an exam or had a social dispute over my weight...My mom brought me McDonalds and candy.

When I had my first crush and he did not like me, My mom took me to see the only thing that never judged me, that always loved me, the only thing that knew how to love me the way i needed, the way i craved, the way no one will ever love me.

When I had my first boyfriend and consequently and inevitably my first heartbreak, it was indulgences that healed my heart.

And when I was lonely and bored...it was food that was always there to accompany me. Food never ditches me. He is never too busy for me...

When I want to numb myself from the heartache and stress of my daily life....when I want to punish myself for wanting so badly to have a man to love, punish myself for shopping too much, for being self absorbed and egotistic...punishing myself for allowing myself to be caught in empty relationships and allowing myself to use and be used and god settling for less when it leaves me so drained every time.

How is it that something that loves me so much, that is always there for me....hurt me so much?

Food is like the men I have known all my life. He is there momentarily for instant gratification and when he is gone, the consequences of a full stomach and an empty heart weighs heavily on me. It is like eating a bag rocks that sit at the pit of your stomach like an anchor.

I can't move.

SOMETIMES LOVE...

For the past several months I sang "I don't need no love in my life!" I was convinced that cupid could only be a fallen angel, a messenger of the devil, the keeper of all things that break your spirit. How could cupid possibly be a creation of god when sometimes love gets you down? Love has beaten me so often that I could never possibly believe in it again. But love is like giving birth....when you experience it you promise you'll never go through that pain ever again....but time passes and you just forget the pain. You can't possibly fathom how much it truly hurts but then again love comes like an unplanned pregnancy and there you are again vomiting every morning and taking huge iron pills and getting wet nipples and wanting to just die as you push this 6-9 pound creature out of your vag! what the hell! I ripped the hell out of of my vag again!

This new guy has cupid on my ass! and I'm already finding myself vomiting in the morning.

I'm love sick

am I love sick.

It smells like a coat of fresh paint, get a whiff

One gallon of semi-gloss peacock tail paint $23
One gallon of semi-gloss lemon poundcake paint $23
One quart of semi-gloss bonfire paint $15
Two sea sponges $20
Many many rollers and brushes $20
Walls that make up a home...PRICELESS.

My life has been painted with a fresh layer of paint. Vibrant colors that replace the once dull muted colors that have been weathered away by time. My life is just so beautiful right now I barely recognize it.

Its amazing how just a week or so ago I wrote an entry, a very dark entry about headless horsemen and sleepy hallow and my hypothetical dismemberment...I was so sleepy and so hallow. I was almost dead. Then suddenly the winds of change blew in my direction, a warm breeze, melting my heart, warming my soul, making me feel alive again. I closed my eyes, finally fearless of change, that once crippling inevitable entity that has stopped me from progress time and time again, and let it lift me into the sky and take me to heights I had dreamt of reaching.

For the first time since 2088 was sold. For the first time in my entire life I left Ryer avenue behind. As you now know from previous blogs, Ryer held me captive, restraining and keeping me in the confines of mediocracy. "How could you want to blend in, when you were meant to stand out" I once heard this in a film and it has stuck with me since. I am not meant for normal existance but to soar beyond the limitations of normalcy. Im not ordinary, but extraordinary.

My house was painted with the colors of fabulousity to reflect its inhabitant. My walls are painted with the brushes of self. They are decorated with my words, my personality, my taste, my style, my love.

I am finally home.

I haven't been able to call a place home, I mean really home, since 2088 and now finally im free. In stages I let go of HIM, And then my cousins and excess baggage friends, and negativity and then picked up some great things along the way. And it wasn't until I left the past in the past, did I find the hidden path home. It was always there, now, finally uncovered.

Welcome to sleepy hallow

When night falls the headless horsemen rides into the darkness, ravishing me, beheading me, leaving me mindless, lifeless. When night falls the headless horseman seduces me and claims me his corpse bride, and we both ride into the dark looking for the one thing that fills the void.
I live in sleep hallow.
Welcome.
Thanks for visiting.
Im usually just waiting for company.
Im usually here all alone.
Im usually so sleepy. So hallow.
Im usually dead.


Now in days the headless horseman is so angry with me. So frustrated with me. If he could talk he would tell me I've lost my drive to search. He'd warn me that if we stopped looking now we'd never be complete. He wants his head. But now in days I like not having mine. I don't have to worry about my hairstyle and make up, and I never have to brush my teeth. It saves money. Yes, being headless is very economical. But I can't see. And I can't speak. I used to look in the mirror. I don't know who I am anymore. sometimes I miss my head.

A few nights ago I got really lonely and no one was in town. The horseman beheaded all of the townsmen. I was so sleepy, but had insomnia. So I waited for him.

When night fell, he called to me. Riding through the stark empty night and ravishing me. Beheading me over and over again.

I don't miss my head at all.
Im so sleepy.
Im so hallow.

welcome to sleepy hallow new comers.
No one ever visits me.
No one is welcomed here anymore.
Because I ride into the night slaughtering all those that come to town.
Because I've sold my soul to him. Because he is the only one who knows where my head is.

Sometimes I miss my head.
Im so sleepy.
Im so hallow.

THE ULTIMATE ORGASM OF LIFE IS DEATH.

Today something finally inspired me. Something finally drove me to write. To release these thoughts to a public sphere that may help me organize them into something coherent and maybe something less tragic. But I feel utter tragedy nearing. I feel Shakespearean and as I look into the mirror I feel more and more like a murdering bastard. I see Lady Macbeth. Out Out you damn spot, damned spot I say out! But I am already tainted. Stained. Ruined.

In my solitude these past few weeks I have started to loath myself again. Returning to an unhealthy solitude and pushing myself further away from the contacts that can take me out of this self-inflicted inferno. Lately, for some reason the thought of having human contact with anyone makes me cringe. The only contacts welcomed are those of cyberspace, the space where I am simultaneously near and far to humanity. Work has been especially unbearable because i am so sick of pretending I'm happy being a card slave. I have sold my soul to papyrus and my blood has dried on the creases of each birthday and holiday wish.

"Unsex me here, And fill me from the crown to the toe top full Of direst cruelty; make thick my blood, Stop up the access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall"

I want not to feel.

I want to defy the natural order of humankindness.

I want to be hallow.

I want to detach myself from everything that makes me woman.

I want to murder all my inclinations to love.

I don't want to need love.

And yet at my lowest points that is all I can think of.

I have driven myself mad with lovers malady and yet with cupids constant torment, I crave it. Am i just a masochist? Wanting cupid to continue finding novel methods of torture, to lock me away in a lovers torture chamber and let him do with me what he wills?

I am uncertain.

In the absence of love, its good and its bad, not feeling bliss nor heartache just deep hollowness, I lack drive. I haven't gone to the gym all month. I haven't dieted all month. I haven't job searched all month. I haven't open my GRE books all month. I have done nothing but complain. My days go in and out with such lack of meaning that I might as well be dead. Am I not already dead?

In my pseudo-suicidal thoughts a sign came to me.

My sister calls me to tell me that a very good friend of hers whom I have heard about for most of my youth, had passed. He was only 42.

I kept saying "wow" but in all honesty was detached from her experience. Momentarily the thought had erased from my mind.

God doesn't give up. He made sure I was going to get the hint. Even if it meant his face in a burning bush.

My personal trainer texts me to ask me why I haven't been to the gym in so long. He was worried. When I told him about my lack of motivation he told me sometimes we have to make ourselves live even when we want to give up. He confided in me that he wanted to give up because his brother had just passed. But he wouldn't allow himself to drown in the sorrows of his loss.

As if that weren't enough. I insensitively text one of my best friends to bash her about the cloud of death that follows her, seeming to forget that her brother had died just a year ago and that in a week would be the anniversary of his death.

I have become Lady Macbeth.

In wanting to be her, to become insensitive, to no longer feel...I have lost touch with the things that make me human.

That was primitive of me.

That was so demonic.

Double double toil and trouble

Fire burn and cauldron bubble

I'm a [B]-witch.

I have to wake up and smell the potion. I am here on this earth, alive and I should consider myself so lucky not only am I alive but the people I love are too. How strong are these people, my pt, my bf, to endure the loss of their brothers. And I grew scared noticing that DOUBLE DOUBLE HAS TOILED IN TROUBLE...double brothers...and prayed that my brother would be okay. I had just came back from his house and he was not well. And he just turned 43 this week...and the previous death was of a 42 year old, a heart attack, something my brother is susceptible to for multiple reasons including heredity and weight. I was desperate to go see him yesterday, uncertain the reason why.

And I wonder if this lack of passion, this lack of love, would come to an end with the tragic death of my brother. If maybe this would give me the solution to lack of feeling. The greatest heartbreak. The most intense emotion. The most unconditional everlasting love. and the ultimate orgasm of life---death.

WHEN DRAMA ENSUES, WHAT DO YOU DO?

My life has been playing out far from what I would call a fiction story.

There is no drama.

Well...until a few days ago.

I fear that my disappointment and disgust with my new found humdrum existence absent from drama and excitement, replaced by routine and responsibility, has resulted in my subconscious sabotaging and the disruption of the equilibrium and tranquility of my life.

Maybe it is because i function better when things are going all wrong, when I'm nervous and anxious. Maybe i am a masochist, who finds pleasure in her self-annihilation. Yes, maybe I am just a masochist. Did I know that this would turn out so wrong and did I plan it purposefully so that it would play out like so? And could I even perhaps be a sadist? To go to great lengths to hurt another, to destroy their happiness and lives? Did I do this because deep inside I wanted to hurt him? I've been known to be vengeful, and i have hurted others because misery likes company.

I am misery.

I am lonely.

But....

This is just me speculating, playing devils advocate, because these actions were not done with these abstract ideas and motives in mind. No. They were done simply under the influence of that evil substance that gets me into trouble way too often. It is because the loneliness has been hacking away at my self-sufficiency and self-contentment. Maybe it is because I am like a desert, burning with passion, but no man lives long enough to cross. My search for this man perhaps had driven me to make such a mistake.

I have grown increasingly intolerant of men. None can fill the void, quench the thirst, tame the wild fires that burn within. No. No man excites me. I want no man.

It seems that I am in what some may call a "dry spell." And it is not because I cannot find someone to put out the fire...so many stand in line armored in gear and their hose erect ready to blast the flames away...but as they approach me with such erect hose I burn out even before the task is complete, no longer needing their masculine potency for amidst their eagerness is my reoccurant impotency. My libido, is dead. But this sexual suicide, this masturbatory massacre has no occurred without logical motive.

My sex-drive death is the direct result of my passion impotency. I have lost the passion for everything in my life. Nothing gets me to that orgasmic, climactic euphoria that results when you do something is the throws of passion. We are driven by passion, whether that be sexual passions, relationship passions, love, heartbreak, sorrowful passions, jealous rage, work passions, dream passions, life passions, hobby passions, goal passions and the list continues endlessly. Because I lack the passion essential in all facets of life I feel dead. And it seems that my libido is the physical manifestation that I am dying inside. The flames still burn but when someone comes to help, it all turns to ashes, just to reignite only moments later. This can only be the torturous punishments of the Grecian gods....Oh Zeus I plead to thee, the King of the gods, spare me your humble mortal servant, for I feel like Atlas punished with world among her shoulders, the endlessness of my torment.

And now...for the actual facts.

What happened?

I am stuck in a cycle. Always returning to where I began it seems. There are a host of psychological reasons I am sure I like to live in cycles. Perhaps I scared to completely move on and leave all the past and my roots and childhood behind. Perhaps the personification of Ryer always calls to me and I eagerly follow behind. Maybe I still search for my comfort zone and security blanket now that my mother is so far away. Maybe I just don't want to grow up. I am not sure. But I continue this cycle and found myself exactly where I left it all behind just months ago.

When this blog began I was heartbroken. I was getting over a HIM that had left me for another woman whom he claimed to love. I was thrown away like trash, if you recall. When all this had happened with baby-momma-esque drama and phone calls and threats there was finally peace. I was stuck in the middle of the ghetto-fabulous life of which I was never meant to be a part of. I am far from what people would consider ghetto. After CEO's and closure meetings I was finally free of HIM. The truth is I do not have an ounce of love for him. I do not want him sexually. I do not want him at all. Or at least I didn't think so....but 4 nights ago I made a mistake of calling him. With a failed attempt to put my phone on private, because technology smells fear, a certain female picked up. And the rest is history....literally history...history repeats itself. So now I am stuck in this foolish drama because of my foolishness. I really just wanted to say hi, as warped as that may seem. I am warped and so jaded. Why did I do that?

I wish I had the answers. I really am not sure why? Did I secretly desire him? Deep inside am I still craving him? Because honestly I thought I was through. But sometimes the subconscious has a way of crawling to the surface when alcohol is involved. What does this all mean?

So now I am dealing with the consequences of something that seems so irrelevant, so childish, so insignificant. I told her it wasn't what she thought...but i guess that's what all mistresses would say, wouldn't they?

I dreamt of it all last night and she was going to kill me....I RAN!!!!! When I woke up my heart was palpitating out of my chest and into my ears...and I was panting so hard...I didn't want to sleep anymore when I awoke...I don't want to sleep anymore.

I have decided to give up these fantasies and stop wanting my life to play out like a story because it never ends well. All great stories end in tragedy...the hero/the protagonist always dies. This tragic epic will end like all great Shakespearean tragedies....Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Othello...we all die...literally and symbolically.

After this situation I am reminded of the good that comes from humdrum existence, of living reality. Today I live reality. No more hypothetical situations and allowing the imagination to take over the rationality.

and the irony of it all is that all i wanted was for it to "blink blue and it finally be you"

now

I stare at my phone hoping it blinks green

green go

green leave me alone

green start anew

green life

green real life

blink green

blink green

blink green.

Still Searching

I have been feeling less than inisightful the past month...maybe this is why I haven't decided to write in so long. Usually some kind of inspiration takes me by surprise and ravishes my mind, resulting in a manic expression of written form...but now in days there are not many things that inspire my creativity. Well, maybe my fashion creativity continues to soar, but so has my writers block. So with that said, I am just leaving my print to remind myself that I am still alive. That I am not yet dead inside...although dying I may very well be.

But as of now I am still alive...

THE RETURN TO NORMALCY

Maybe it was because yesterday I decided to dress in 1950's fashion, with a poodle a-line skirt with teal, gold and orange flowers stemming from the bottom, teal belt to create an empire waist illusion and a teal blouse, pearls, hair rolled up intersecting into a bun. I felt like a desperate housewife from the leave it to beaver sitcom living the American dream of white Pickett fences in suicidal suburbia and Pleasantville and wanting so bad to be in color when i haven't evolved that far yet, haven't advanced and still stuck in black and white....

Color me

Color me

Color me

I want to color.

in the lines.

out of the lines.

To know what life in technicolor feels like...to know what I really look like. Who I really am.

Yes, it must have been this very reason that I decided to reject this return to normalcy andFordism assembly lines and recycled lives...I don't want to recycle my days...I want newness everyday.

Last night was a very difficult one for me, given I had to reevaluate the recycled waste my life has become. After self-loathing and self-annihilation, I woke up with great ideas in mind. No matter how distant goals may seem, how uncertain you are about the things you want, you have to fight for them. Progress is a series of small movements that lead to full, big colored picture. If innovators were too scared or too lazy or too unsure about color...we would still see the world through black and white lenses. I just can't allow myself to exist in such a limited medium. Imagine all the colors that exist today...even just in a crayola crayon box...

The other day I colored with my nephew and our painted worlds had scarlet, and asparagus, and mac and cheese, and shocking pink, and forest green, and just classic pink and blue, but also indigo and exotic shades of the regular mundane tones. I want to be black and white and classic sometimes, but I need the option, the variation to be brick red and salmon...sometimes I just need to be salmon...

Today I started to color my life.

And I can be found somewhere over the rainbow.

ATTN: CONSUME ME

Quick thought: I love to be consumed.

As I prepared for the night ahead, deciding that after watching Public enemies I was in love with 1930's and 1950's fashion especially hairstyle; I adorned myself in finger waves and a black tulip mini skirt, a polka dot 3/4 sleeve puff shoulder blouse tucked in, pearls with a antique brooch, and a cocktail hat with a hot pink flower and black veil, totally modern interpretation of vintage and a shocking pink ruffled peep-toe, t-strap shoe. Red lipstick...oh yes! This is by far the best outfit of all my creations...I wonder how could a woman like this, not be loved? How can a treasure like this not be treasured? My fellow bloggers, if you were so lucky to witness this outfit first handily...you would surely agree that the man who leaves me...must be out of his mind!

When I get dressed I imagine reactions and how the world around me might consume me...I just like the thought of being an object, a consumable commodity, an edible entity...when I get dressed I want to be consumed...

Today I will be consumed I have decided...yes...and sometimes there is nothing wrong with wanting to be desired and then to be that thing that satisfies that craving.

Finally Free!

It takes a really amazing moment in your life to realize that all the previous moments were all a facade. That sometimes we make ourselves believe things that we even know were never true. A few days ago I dismantled that facade and finally saw who the man I have loved for a year now, I never really loved. I waited for an intervention but it never came, a divine intervention, but i am glad no one came to rescue me, because I was able to rescue myself.

A few days ago, after a very long and interesting evening/morning I got home around 5 am and still felt my night wasn't over. By now I felt sober and I lay in bed dialing the number, starring and then deleting it over and over again. I wanted to call but couldn't find the words...So I figured that since love letters are my specialty, that I would text instead to break the ice...

After the longest text of my life...i received an instant reply...uhhh I wasn't actually prepared for him to respond...We text back and forth and had an hour long conversation via phone. It was dejavu, because i found myself sprawled across the kitchen floor and him telling me to hop in a cab and see him, and there was reminiscing about good times and requests to put "that sexy shit on." and I didn't have the will power to refuse when I had wanted it for far too long. This may be my only chance to be free of this captivity...or maybe simply to indulge in the forbidden desires that we crave for. I craved him. The thought of having him in my mouth again made me tingle inside. I thirsted for him, and he was the only thing that would be able to quench it.

I asked him one real question, allowing myself to leave the past in the past because I have forgiven him, I asked "Why wasn't I good enough?" He reassured me that I was, that he still thinks of me, that the things I had done to him no woman will ever and has never done. I had introduced him to a world that he will never forget, one that no one can compare to, one he will crave for forever. Upon that statement I had a great epiphany! This entire time when reminiscing, when missing him, it was only sexual. I can never deny that the sexual chemistry, the physical intimacy in which we participated in and shared, will never compare to any other in the past or in the future. But there was no real relationship there. We were lovers...great lovers...star-crossed lovers...but outside of the bed we were strangers. I had committed the ever so common mistake---confuse lust for love! It wasn't until realizing this was I able to agree to seeing him. You only live once right?

I agreed to see HIM. Finally....HIM.

I snuck out of my house like I used to many months ago to see HIM. I looked at my father in a deep slumber and fought back tears knowing how much it would sadden him to see me doing this again. He hated seeing me this way...bleeding in love...driven by the desire for him, by the obsession with him. So many times he would walk into the house or wake up from his sleep to find me on the kitchen floor or the floor of our rooms drinking away my sorrows, waiting by the phone in angst, in hope, in desperation....often wallowing in drunken tears. He has seen me time and time again rummaging through the drawers and darkness finding lingerie and outfits and dolling myself all up, to then fall asleep waiting for a call that didn't come until 4 and 5 am...this is when the call would come and this is when i awakened and hopped into a cab and made my way to him even with eyes still wide shut. I was so blind. This my father knew all too well and as I shut the door with my clothes and accessories and the disappointment...I felt the weight of his uncried tears, of his unconscious sadness...of seeing, of knowing, of feeling his daughter fall into the pit of love relapse and binging on HIM.

I called a cab like old times and when it neared, I slowly closed the door behind me and put on my boots while sitting on the cold linoleum stairs of my building. For a moment I had this sense of impeding doom reaching and I was just so scared. I was scared that maybe I would see him and fall deeply into love with him again. What would I do if it was instant love and what would I allow myself to become amidst such love addiction?

As I neared to his building I thought this is it Ivelisse, you have just committed suicide! This decision, you will surely live to regret..

The building was immaculate melancholy that made me want to cry. Magnificent and tragic. I missed being there, feeling like I belonged there and belonged to him. I like the thought of being owned.

"Buzz me up"

I walked up the stairs ever so slowly, my heart racing, my legs heavy and feeling imobile. Would I ever reach the top? The endless stairway to my heaven, to my hell, to my paradise, to my Garden of Eden, and yet to the inferno that engulfs me in the imprisoning flames of passion. Yes...this was everything i ever wanted, and everything I have ever feared.

Panting now, I reached the top and waited. As he opened the pearly iron gates, there was complete certainty in my attraction to him. I fed off of him and I just wanted to drop to my knees, he's like a little prayer and I can feel his power...yes Madonna, I wanted to pray to him...I saw the face of god and his name is _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _.

Nervous short conversation and then contemplating this was a bad decision and should just RUN, run far away from HIM. But then I remembered my epiphany and I looked at him and realized he was a stranger...He is different. I am different. I want his body, to indulge in his delicious flesh...but past that we can remain strangers. Sex...yes...with no strings attached.

I kissed him...and the world spun into a frenzy...and I entered in the world of lust...Doing things to him that i have dreamt for months and the things that I may never be able to experience with anyone...I satisfied my craving that day and my CEO even contacted me while captivated in HIM...and I text back...because CEO while brief, nanoseconds...it was real. I knew him better in that month, more about him, than I had known about HIM in a year. And by texting CEO back...I let go of HIM.

I left with the most nonchalant demenor, something he has always hated about me. Before I walked out I said, thanks for giving me one last time. He suggested that this may not have to be the last time, but i insisted that I had achieved transcendence and was grateful for CLOSURE. I didn't NEED him anymore. but I know that i may WANT him from time to time....

One last question I asked: "Why didn't you choose me? Why her and not me?" and like typical G-skills, he reversed it making it seem like fate and me being away and excuse upon excuse.

"Spare me I said, keep it straight funky."

"How can you be so nonchalant about this?" he asked.

I said "because I have forgiven you. I'm over it, love. You can never hurt me the way you did, you don't have the power to hurt me anymore."

He replied "I just don't know, it just happened."

I cut the convo short knowing nothing he said would matter, would never matter...because that night i objectified him. That night I castrated him. That night I dismembered him. That night i dehumanized him. He is just a phallus. and my heart is now free!

LOST IN DESPERATION---in DESPERATE need of an intervention

Yesterday I had a second relapse, and these relapses are getting progressively worse. I begged for someone to stop me before this spiraled out of control, but no one intervened. Now I'm calling to you for assistance, I'm desperate for an intervention before I complete this last cry out to him. I think now that my CEO has erased my blog and will not be reading, I am free again to write as I will. Again, i am in my judgement free zone, thank god!

A few days ago amidst a drunken stupor and high in the clouds, I called him, the him from long ago, the one this blog began with. I called private, so stalkerish, I know. It was 4am and he didn't respond. I blamed it on the alcohol and knew that when the sun rose I would be rational again. And as I predicted, after sweet dreams, I awoke and no longer felt inclined to call him. A few days later however I put on my Thelma and Louise scarf and declared it a stalking-day. My sidekick was totally down for the mission, and come yesterday we called his phone acting like a wrong number. Pathetic right? and sober? Yes. I have given up drinking actually, it's really unhealthy, especially when you are over-indulging and for all the wrong reasons. I've been drinking a lot lately, mostly to escape my reality, this is how addictions form. I am well aware of this, but that is the next topic of conversation.

So we called and he was so aggressive and bitter, I allowed my imagination to run for a while wondering what had left him so upset with a "wrong number" caller. Hearing his voice, finally, made me want to fall in love with him all over again, until it hurts. You ever wanted to love someone until it hurts? Loving him was very painful. Sometimes I forget that. His voice was angry, the way I last heard it months ago during our last fight. It has been two months since I heard his voice. My best friend hung up and my heart sank, my legs gave out and I thought this must be what it's like to have a heart attack. The rest of the night I kept thinking he'd call back because he knew. I waited for him to say "Hey I know it's you" over the phone, especially because his voice had an accusatory tone...I guess when you're guilty it always seems like everyone knows. You think he knows? In my heart I think he does. After that call I thought that maybe I just had to see him, speak to him, that I would find him...but hearing his voice scared the shit out of me. How could you ever speak to someone who killed you? Like come on...what would I say? "Hey I know you're an ass hole and treated me like shit, but I wanted to say hi, see how you're are doing, tell you I still think about the good times and have forgotten the bad times because I have forgiven you. Hope your relationship is going well and she is everything I couldn't be for you, to you, everything you wouldn't let me be." ummmmm this is all the truth, but since when do we tell the truth anymore? Sometimes lies are more effective, sometimes I lie because if I lie to him, I can lie to myself...because the truth hurts. So maybe that call is my closure, maybe I can leave that behind, sure that I haven't ran into him because God truly works in mysterious ways...Leave it in his hands.

Now for the big picture....

I have been over indulging in every sinful pleasure there is, trust me when I say this. I was so upset over losing CEO and another failing love affair that I decided the hell with this new Eve, she is so lame...and she's always getting hurt. Ida Cox sings "Wild women don't have the blues," and you're damn right wild women don't have the blues for no man. She is free, her heart is free. I didn't always have the blues like I have them today...not as bad, nope, but I was a lot more wild back then too. So I attempted to return to wild me, over-indulging in the trio: food, alcohol and sex. "No bueno" like my CEO would say. Yes, indeed, no bueno. It seems that I had also forgotten that wild women do get the blues, the consequence blues. She has freedom, but this woman has to deal with the repercussions of her over-indulgences and they can be really intense reparations. Upon being reminded of the type of consequences wild women deal with I called it quits. I had to stop drinking and fucking and eating and getting high in this Ménage à trois and take charge of my life. It just seems like my life is stuck in a rut, in an empty humdrum existence, with series of mundane gestures that carry me through the days. Doesn't it seem like days are just rolling in and out without purpose? without direction? i feel like I just am, breathing, existing but not alive. I was so distracted by the events that make life a little spicier, that i lost focus of the big picture. Didn't this blog begin as a way of self-healing and self-discovery? Then how is that I am still punishing myself? Still participating in self-destruction and self-loathing? It's time to regroup, reevaluate. I want more...and I don't even mean that in the materialistic sense, I need to satisfy my hungry soul. I want to wake up each day with purpose, with inspiration, with motivation. So today I woke up and decided to make my way to the gym to cleanse my body and then to the park to cleanse my soul. I need to plan for the future because what these past few months post graduation have taught me is that time is not patient, it goes on and nothing you can do will stop it.

Time.

Time.

Time.

Time.

Like a Salvador Dali painting, melting away my life.

NOSTALGIA

OK, Ok, Ok...I miss him. Yes.

Yesterday I went back to old familiar ways and I had a blast like whoa mad fun! Sort of forgot how much being myself was before I tried to be too serious. I'm focusing on me and that includes job search, graduate school search and most definitely fun search. I was so distracted and entertained that I almost forgot to think of him, which is pretty sweet considering how heartbroken I usually get. That doesn't mean I didn't cry though, don't get it twisted. Yesterday when the sun set it hit me after being in utter shock. Yoskar Srante sings La Noche:

"Tu amor de noche me llegó

Un claro dia se me fue.
Maldigo al sol que se llevó
Tus juramentos y mi fe.

Tu amor el dia me hace odiar.
La noche apaga mi rencor.
Porque ella viene a recordar.
Que no soy nada sin tu amor.

La noche
Me hace volver,
enloquecer."

When the night fell I just sobbed, and I don't mean those forced once stimulated by nostalgia. No. It wasn't even the kind that you gasp for air. No. Not ridiculous or melodramatic. No. It was the saddest, quietest cry. It was mellow. I sat on my bed and let the tears stream down. It made me realize how much I had actually liked him and how much I'd actually missed him. This month that I had been with him made me realize that I had been confused, crocodile tears and yearning for my ex, when in fact I didn't want him. Now that I have nothing to stop me from going back to Ryer, from seeing my ex, I just don't want to. I finally don't want my ex anymore. I don't want anyone actually. I like my solitude...well sort of.

After night completely fell and I cried in its darkness, my eyes swollen, my nose running, I sighed a sigh of relief and got dolled up and walked out the door. My cousin said I'm too good hearted and I have too much faith in people...my mom told me the same thing yesterday. Apparently I'm naive. What? I didn't even think I was but my good hearted nature, supposedly makes me blind to the true nature of people. Damn...

I walked out the door about 9:00pm and didn't get home until about 7:00am....talk about fun! and to top it all off I was sober! yay!!!!

Today I woke up around 3 pm and walked out the door not much later and just got in around 12am. Thinking about making some moves but not sure yet, and now that I have given myself some down time I can't help but think about tomorrow...

Tomorrow is my nieces birthday and when we gather my brother will ask me how the boo is doing like he always does since I met him and I'll have to say there is no boo. Pito was rooting for the boo...I was rooting for him too. It will sadden me to tell him that once again I chose wrongly.

When I told my best friend about everything that ensued I also had to face the fact that I had made a big mistake. He wasn't the person my friend was talking about...ooopppssss...so maybe he didn't lie. Maybe it was real...It felt so real. It had to be real, what we shared and all. But because of my accusations I also learned about the rawness of his reality that because of mother nature and dumb mistakes I will no longer be able to be with him. I'm upset. and I'm jealous. I should have been her...I deserved to be her.

In the haze of nostalgia I looked to facebook but he wasn't there. And while in intense investigation I remembered our first facebook conversation I saved and I read it. Damn...how was that not real? How wasn't that suppose to last? I'm so confused. I was so sure....If I would have known that right now we weren't going to be together I know that I would have sucked him dry...seen him more, moved faster, gotten all the CEO I could handle...but I took it slow thinking this was everlasting.

I'll save that convo so whenever I am in the mood to take a trip down memory lane...

Ughhhhh....

That is the only way to describe this situation...ughhhh....

BLINK BLUE.

BLINK BLUE.

BLINK BLUE.

BLINK BLUE

BLINK BLUE.

BLINK BLUE.

PLEASE

BLINK BLUE.

Recycled Revenge: a return to symbiosis

Truth is no, I'm not heartbroken. I'm just utterly disappointed in the male species. Since I was young my mother taught me that men were dogs and that all you could do was use them, treat them like shit and dispose of them. Keep them on a short leash she said and when he's good you give him your goodies and when he's bad you punish him. Except for the vengeful part, I don't got the rest down. Since I was very young, I didn't listen to my mother. I was like, yo ma this extreme feminism can only leave someone bitter and lonely for the rest of their lives. I wasn't feeling the role of old bag lady with a million cats. Creepy. I have always been a hopeless romantic, a sucker for love. I thought that maybe love would sweep me away one day, but every time it does it brings me right back to my mother's reality where girls like me get hurt by boys like him and girls like me get lied to by boys like him and girls like me are always left alone by dogs like him...ooopppsss typo...boys like him.

"You aint nothin but a hound dog, been snoopin round my door...You can wag your tail but i ain't gonna feed you no more!" Big Mama Thornton got it on point...

I thought that after being betrayed twice and left out to dry twice and disposed of twice, I'd have a mighty inferiority complex. Turns out I feel better than ever! For the first time I can say fuck it. I hurted for way to long over the unmentionable and now that CEO is in the same category this can only mean that I am not ready for relationships. I've decided to return to old habits and find really good new ones too. I am going to be a happy single and when a hound dog comes snoopin round my door...I won't feed em no more! I'm going to take this opportunity to live, have fun and definitely find a few toys. That's all men should be toys, thanks ma, I think I'm finally coming to terms with that raw reality.

A return to symbiosis:

When I first met CEO he was my symbiosis, you remember that? He served his purpose in my life, it is finally fulfilled. Today he finished. CEO made me stop crying over the ex and CEO made me stop crying over men in general. Thanks CEO I've lost my heart and I'm so over this love shit. "Love doesn't exist" used to be my motto when I was like 16 and I think I'll return to this dogma.

LOVE DOESN'T EXIST.

LOVE DOESN'T EXIST.

LOVE DOESN'T EXIST.

LOVE DOESN'T EXIST.

Symbiosis: Not only did CEO serve his purpose but an old friend from high school made her way back into my life yesterday and by coincidence told me the truth of our fellow boss, Mr. CEO. Turns out CEOs do play dirty and make profit at the expense of everyone's heart. Thanks old friend, because if it weren't for you he would still be CEO, he just got demoted.

LIES. LIES. LIES.LIES.LIES

He claims he didn't lie....he just withheld the truth? HA!

These are not the most profound thoughts I've had since they are really raw at the moment. But this needed to be expressed.

You know what kills me? That I didn't even want to be with CEO in the beginning. He wasn't really my type and I sort of forced myself to like him on that physical level and now look at it. I should have just deaded him when I had the chance. Great.

But even if it weren't him, it would have been some other body taking his place and he would have done the same thing. Men are all the same.

Anyway this is not an ode to men, but an ode to ME:

I vouch never to believe again.

I vouch never to have faith in love again.

I vouch never to consume myself with men.

I vouch never to give out my heart.

I vouch never to wear my heart on my sleeve.

I vouch to become heartless.

I vouch to let the hopeless romantic die.

I vouch to be alone but not lonely.

I vouch to focus on me.

I vouch to recycle revenge.

RELAPSE

I guess when you have multiple addictions as I do...you're bound to have a relapse of at least one of these...in my case I have had relapses in practically all. I think I'm just weak. It's really not that I haven't tried to be stronger, more assertive, it's mostly that its habit to return to old ways and with my best friend having moments of weakness when I, in the decade I've know her, have never seen her weak, I fell too. Of course I'm not justifying this situation with her failings. I know this is my own fault.

A few days ago I had a relapse.

I went to Ryer.

I went back home.

I know it is only human to battle with inner demons and that sometimes you just lose. I lost. I can't blame it on alcohol. I can only blame it on love, on yearning, on comfort, on longing for something to make sense in my life. When I turned the corner into the block there was complete certainty. There are no always, no nevers, just sometimes, sort ofs and maybes--if I'm lucky. But Ryer, 2088, is certainty...and always home. I stood in front of the building and it was like the ruins of ancient Rome, Greece and Egypt; like pillars of hope, River-valley civilization of Mesopotamia where it all began and we still look to for inspiration and clarity. The burnt orange brick building like an archaic sunset, before pollution and industrialization made us forget the beauties of nature. It seemed far more immaculate that I had remembered it months ago. Why did it look so beautiful? I told the friend I was with I just wanted to go inside and I asked him, can I go inside? But it was 2am and it was just us two in the middle of urban wilderness, urban exotics, urban bliss. He forced me to keep walking, but my feet felt rooted into the asphalt. I am rooted there, and even when they cut me off; when I step foot on the streets that nurture me, I re-branch, re-root. I wanted to sit on the stoops all night like the old days, I even missed my cousins briefly. Momentarily I wondered what happened in between these few years that severed the branches that bound us together and why we couldn't re-root stronger than before? But if I would have stepped foot on the steps, I would have been a trespasser. I am not a trespasser. God, forgive us our trespasses and deliver us from evil amen...yes, deliver me from the confinements of purgatory. I am stuck in purgatory, the transitional space between my heaven and my hell, neither home nor gone. I'm still here, but I'm not home. So I ask to be helped, guided to a new place, a new home, if ever there is such a place than can exist as "home."

Truth, I cried all the way home. But that's usually what happens when i see 2088 and have been away for far too long. You can only get that overwhelming feeling when you have been away from home just for far too long. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, right?

The following day I passed by again...yeah...and this is producing a trend that needs to be halted before it runs rampant producing consequences that all that know me would urge me to stray away from. I don't want to lose myself in the black hole of nostalgia. But can you when the place you once knew is so different now? Memories can not be recreated, reenacted. They are static images that follow with you everywhere but ones you can never go back and relive. Things have changed, people come and go, it's never the same. It's just never the same.

He lied. I lied. They lied.

They say "Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

Whoever said that must have been deaf! Of course words hurt and that means the words you say, the ones you imply and most definitely the words you were suppose to say but never did. Silence is one of the worse forms of word violence. Yesterday I was attacked by silence. Brutally beaten and then murdered by the Silent Killer.

Yes, I am dramatic but hear me out, this is really how I felt. The thing about my very brief relationship that I was head-over-heels in love with was the words. We spoke for hours upon hours and even still would never run out of things to say. I had never experienced that before. I'm going through a quite difficult time transitioning from the loud vibrant euphonious melodies of his voice to the deafening, dissonant cacophony of his silence that resonates within with such lamenting melancholy. I miss the sweet sound of his voice that can lulle me into the most beautiful wistful coma I had ever experienced sober. Pink asks of us, how can anyone feel this good sober? I can tell Pink that when I'm with him, when I hear his voice it's so good, its such a high, that no drug can compare. He is my drug. And I just want one more hit.

He lied. He said that he wouldn't change. He said that he would be in it for the long run. He said I was "THE ONE."

But I lied too. I said I wasn't crazy. I said I didn't get posessive. I said I wasn't THAT jealous. I said I was understanding. I said that I was healed and all about him. I lied. I am so traumatized by my previous relationship that whenever my beloved comes close to becoming "HIM" that unmentionable, the nameless, I get choked up. Im so scared that he will be just another HIM, that I'm not giving him the chance to just be himself. Don't we all make mistakes? I just want it to go right this time, that I don't give it the room to be wrong sometimes. Nothing is perfect. It takes a lot of wrongs to make a right. and surely two wrongs don't make a right. I hate cliches, but this entry is all about cliches:

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. They lied too. Damn cliches...I lied, I told him it was dead between us...I used the wrong words. He said he was busy, too busy for me, he used the wrong words. I forgot to tell him that all I wanted to do was see him so he could remind me of all the reasons why I need him. He forgot to say he missed me. I forgot to put myself in his shoes. I forgot to understand. He forgot to put himself in my shoes. He forgot to understand.

I hate green. Green is officially the color I hate more than anything. I will never consume green again.

Green means go when I'd rather stay by his side.

Green means stay, when I'd rather cross to the other side.

Green means life, when sometimes I feel so dead inside.

Green means money, when "Mo money [means] Mo problems"---babe don't go into song now :)

Green keeps blinking reminding me that he hasn't called, the status light that reminds me of the status of my life, of my relationship.

Blue. Blink Blue. Blue is his favorite color. Blink Blue. Blink Blue. Blink Blue. and remind me he misses me. That he thinks of me. That he won't let go so easily. Blink Blue. Blink Blue. Remind me of my status, that I'm not alone.

Because i don't know if my phone will blink blue...in hopes that he may be curious, still have my blog in his bookmarks, maybe his sister will wonder what the "blog girl" is upto and he'll be notified. For at the moment we are silent. Silent forever I don't know, but because the lines of communication are severed, I will write him here:

To My Dear CEO, To _ _ _, you fill in the blanks:

This is the first time I do this. Consider yourself the luckiest man to have ever known me. In all my years of journal writing I have never thought that it was relevant or effective to let a man read my diary. It's the private space where my thoughts are not edited or censored. I don't have to be someone else or sugar coat anything on the pages of my diary, I can just be myself. I feel that my diary is best compared to our relationship. In that space, in our world, I was free to be myself all the time. I didn't have to pretend to be anyone normal, sane...i was thoughtful and morbid and ridiculous. I was just Ivelisse 100% of the time. You let me live out my diary in real life. And because of that, for allowing me that experience, I will share something with you that I haven't shared with any man. These are words that even the closest to me have never seen. This letter was intentionally meant for you, but because we are in the public sphere of cyberspace...other will be reading...but pretend now that it's just you and I, that is how I like it best, just US.

"Dear Diary, June 2, 2009

So _ _ _ calls me for the first time and lord! He has the sexiest, dreamiest voice ever! OMG I am so open! and feeling him like whoa..."

"Dear Diary, June 4, 2009

...Still speaking to _ _ _ and its been awesome. We talk first thing in the morning and last thing at night and all throughout the day. He is great!...He enjoys the way we connect. I love the way we connect--

example: _ _ _-"what do you taste like?"

me-"I taste like an oxymoron"

_ _ _-"Bitter Sweet?"

Uhh YESSSS!!! He just gets the way I speak and I totally feed off of it, he feeds off of it. We spoke the entire day, I mean the ENTIRE day. he text me at 8:30AM talking about he can't sleep and from that moment until 11:30AM we texted til he decided to take a nap and then by 4:30pm-ish I get texts until 12:00AM, then he says gnite and around 12:40 he says he can't sleep. I write back but fall asleep. I text back this morning and by 12pm I get his text and he continues to text me. Even while in the shower-oddd! and the cycle continues. I think that no matter where this is headed, its definitely the direction I want to go. I'm willing to take the risk and see where this leads me."

Your eyes have seen the FMEO (for My Eyes Only) words that were transcribed identically from the pages of my diary. You have just experienced and authentic Evy moment, this is what it looks like inside my mind.

Now why have I shared this with you you ask? Well, its rather simple: I just want you to understand why this has been a difficult transition for me, from talking to you literally the entire day to texting once if I'm lucky and most of the time no phone call. A day off without seeing me? Without talking to me? Not even to say babe I really wish I could see you...you would see me even if it were for an hour before work...you have changed. From the very beginning as illustrated by these journal entries you were always available to me, always looked for me and not because I asked for it, because you couldn't stand not a moment without me. Now you have many moments absent of me...Before when either of us didn't pay attention to one another WE would feel neglected, now it seems I am the only one who feels neglected. You couldn't get enough of me and I loved how addicted you were...now I'm the only one addicted, going through _ _ _ withdrawal, in _ _ _ seizures, in _ _ _ night sweats. This was a trend that lasted beyond our first week of talking, but everyday for an entire month after meeting you in the flesh and falling head over heels for you we were still inseparable. If I could be sure about anything it would have been our conversational chemistry. I loved speaking to you via text or phone. At our first date we ended up sitting in the car and talking all night long. It was better than I could have imagined our first date to be. I remember when I was away at my brother's house in Yonkers I sat on the living room floor attached to my charger and spoke to you until the early hours of the morning, for three hours, and even still I had so much more left to say. We don't talk on the phone anymore. I think I love speaking to you because you're my friend. I feel like I'm losing my friend. You are my lover and friend in one. I miss kicking back and talking shit with him, just laughing and laughing and laughing with him. I miss my lover too, but I miss my friend so much more.

I want you to know that I understand why this has to take place and I'm trying so hard not to be selfish. I want to be understanding but it's so hard for me. I hope you understand that selflessness is not one of my better qualities...I am so bratty and spoiled and it didn't help that the first weeks you spoiled me like whoa. Now I've gotten used to you feeding my attention-whore-syndrome.

I'm going through _ _ _ withdrawal because I was forced to quit you cold-turkey. Give me a patch, some gum, lower dosages, just one more hit! PLEASE! SOMETHING ANYTHING TO HELP ME WEEN OFF OF YOU! I did warn you from the beginning though...I have an addictive personality and you...you're just so tasty, so yummy, so intoxicating...how could I not get addicted to someone so deliciously addictive? The other day you called me a "fiend" and baby you know what? I'm craving you so badly. My sweet spot needs your goodies...

Here are my honest words, because we promised to be honest all the time. You started this with honesty even when I didn't want to hear it. Promise you'll always be honest. and don't change. If you're in say you're in and mean it. And if you're out, say you're out and mean it.

I lied. I said I was out. I'm still in, if you're still in.

Love Always,

Ivelisse

Playing Scrabble in Silence

Ok, yes I failed at being wordless, but in my defense I did say that I would most likely fail because I am obsessed, addicted to writing! After experiencing blogging, I just can't go back to just the diary. I tried! I've written about 10 entries in one day...that sounds like a word addiction. The first step is admitting you have a problem.

Hi. I'm Ivelisse and I am a WORDAHOLIC.

Bloggers: Hi Ivelisse.

Today was a silent day given that I have lost touch with the human race and have fallen out of the sphere of communication due to the semi-disconnection of my phone(can receive incoming call and texts). So I resulted in the thing that i dread more than anything: SELF ENTERTAINMENT! Ok I am cool and all but I don't really think that my company is so spectacular that I just want to hang out with myself. That is pretty lonely. The weather didn't really help either so I just stayed home. I was choking in the wordless air. Silence makes me feel uncomfortable and sort of sad. The thing about silence is that you have too much time to think. Today I just didn't feel like thinking for once, so instead I attempted to embrace the silence and decided to play a nice game of silent Scrabble. How do you play? Basically you don't make a damn sound and keep yourself busy with words in any form.

First I wrote back to Danielle's comment on the blog, so thanks Danielle your the initial reason why I starting playing the damn game. How did anyone expect me not to blog when Danielle made me respond to her comment? It was inevitable! So yes, I absolve myself from any responsibility. You hear that Danielle!!!! I blame you!

Second I worked on my resume and cover letter and applied to like a gazillion jobs! So tiring and tedious and this is the most boring form of word use of my life! I'd like to skip the talk about my credentials as a creative mastermind whom according to my cover letter, yatah yatah "diversified markets...globalization...contribute to your company's versatility..."yatah yatah yatah. Omg! How boring! I did this for most of the day...thinking about committing suicide in the process because none of these jobs were the jobs for me, but whatever I'm broke and currently have no life and I'd like to get a life ASAP. Right about now I'd internship or volunteer just to make use of my abundant wasted time. I wish I had homework...isn't that so nerdy? Oh well. I WISH I HAD HOMEWORK!!! well finding a job I guess is like homework but you graded so much better...MONETARY GRADES...SWEET.

Third, I took out all my fiction and fashion how-to books and learned. I learned about things I already know but could be better at, things I had forgotten and of course, new things. Did you know that zippers weren't used in garments until the 1930's? or how about that it wasn't until the 1980's that celebrities became trendsetters such as Madonna and Michael Jackson? Yep, its true. Prior to that the fashion trends were worn by celebrities, not set. Interesting right? How about that I'm perfectly sane to be so contradictory because according to Charles Baxter essays on the art of writing fiction the discrepancies between desire and attainability is at the core of every great story. Desire and longing is the epitome of my life story. Today I also learned that when removing mascara you must close your upper lids and swiping the cloth or pad in a smooth light downward motion because grinding it can cause lashes to fall out. I bet you didn't know that...Ive been removing my mascara all wrong all these years! awful...I probably have no lashes left.

Fourth, the best part of my day, reading my own stories. I found my folder that I holds some of my stories. Two of my more recent and favorite are "Treasure Hunt" and "The Taste of Ambivalence" and I enjoyed them thoroughly! Actually it reinspired me and it reminded me how powerful my voice is, how potent my WORDS are! How could I ever be silenced and wordless when I wasn't meant for that. I was meant to use my words, no matter what consequences result from them. These stories hit close to home and i started thinking about my story history and what basic trend follows these stories. I found a common thread and wondered what I would call my short story collection when published. I thought about "Blue Collar Blues" but I'm sure I've seen that somewhere. Something original, Adolescent Divorce...nah that's lame and too academic...ok so the point is that I have no idea what I would call my collection, but I do know that THERE WILL BE A COLLECTION! How have I lost sight of my ONLY life goal...I mean I'd like to accomplish more but the one thing that MUST be accomplished is PUBLICATION! I think I have a talent and a gift and what does Spiderman's uncle say again? "With great talent comes great responsibility?" Nah, I definitely got that wrong, but whatever you get the point. I feel like the WORD SUPERHERO! Call me Scrabble...hahaha. The thing that I learned from todays silence, is that alone is when I am most creative, most thoughtful, most inspired. Why do you think I am so profound amongst my isolation in both Tennessee and Puerto Rico? Because it is only when I converse with myself, when I sit and think, that a masterpiece can be created. I remember at school sitting on the couch or at my desk for hours typing away like a mad woman just listening to music and allowing emotions, memories, thoughts, curiosities, questions to completely consume me, creating a new world translated from mind to paper. This is what I do. This is who I am. How could I just forget that?

One of my favorite lines in one of my stories says "It bothers her to know she has the blood of a master knotter but will never be able to learn from him." I have the blood of a master writer...and I will not let that go unnoticed. No. So I will research how one gets published, gets noticed and I will begin my journey as a writer. I may have to be a teacher, a researcher, a secretary, a stripper to make some money but I know that the only career I was made for is Author.

So tonight I write. I feel that tonights story will be an idea that has been marinating in my brain for a while now but I haven't been sure how to organize it. If I had to choose a direction with a title I think I'll call it either "Marlboro Barbie" or Virginia Slims Barbie" or "Barbie smokes cigarettes" or "Smoking Barbie" clearly you get the main idea.

WORDS

WORDS

WORDS

WORDS

WORDS

and no one can silence me.

WORDS: SPELL: G-O-O-D-B-Y-E--leaving it in the hands of God

This will be my last blog in a very long time.

I need a break from words.

Which seems strange given that words are the reason I live.
Words give life to concepts, to thoughts, to ideas.
I have been impregnated by thoughts that invade my mind, torturing me through my days, tormenting me until I give birth to them on paper. After the sweet painful release I am calm again, free from those imprisoning thoughts that can draw me to ruin the very things I love in my life.

I can not help but to wonder why as writers, we over analyze our lives? Why is it that every moment in our lives must play out like a scene, a melodramatic tragedy, like fiction rather than simply our lives? Why is it that writers live in these fictional worlds that they have imagined for themselves, altering it, changing characteristics, antagonists, plot and scene? Why is that I have manipulated the scenes in my life in order to make them more interesting, to fix dialogue and throw in symbolism and foreshadowing for my pleasure, for my writing gratification? It seems that I have created a script, if you will, with a permanent soundtrack that follows my every move and thought.

For once I would like to stop playing god, stop creating these fantasy worlds that i insert into my reality. For once I would like to stop playing god, playing with the rules of nature, forcing love to go as I HAVE DESIGNED IT, rather than the creator himself who has given birth to life as we know it. I can not keep thinking my life is like one of the stories I have written. Yes I am the author of my life story, with the power to narrate the decisions that I make...but what happens when the author takes complete creative control, forcing the story to take on forms that it was never meant to take? When we force our lives to be molded into cookie-cutter shapes, we do not give it the freedom that every story deserves.

A true writer knows that when writing a story you must let it flourish on its own. A real writer sits at her/his desk with ideas, characters, plots and when writing, half way through...even when reaching the end, the writer may realize that the story reshaped itself into a new one. The original concepts are lost in new ideas, and these ideas that were randomly produced by chance, by free will, that is where THE TRUE STORY LIES. I started writing my story and like I've done time and time again, I forced it to go a certain way. I said: "The plot is love. The characters are him and I. The conflict is confusion and doubt. The foreshadowing is blogging. The ending is heartache."

A good writer knows when to abandon a story. We,like parents, must sometimes allow our babies, our stories to run on their own and if they are not successful we must nourish and guide them. But like "tough love" we have to know when to leave them alone until they are ready. Some stories die. We have so much love and dedication to our babies, we have seen them grow from mere ideas and WORDS into full length stories or novels. We started with a character and then create a family. We grow so close to our WORDS that we don't know how to let go.

This story...this scene from my life story...was manipulated until death. Today I will murder it. I will abandon it. Half way through the story I realized that it was going in the wrong direction all along. I was guiding it the wrong way. So now after almost losing something, someone dear to me, I have realized I have to let go of this hold I have on the story. I have to let it take on its own form and hope that the end result is beautiful. I have to have FAITH. Something that I have probably never had.

My WORDS....
Truth, my cyber audience, my WORDS have gotten me in trouble countless amount of times. Because I don't know how to keep quiet...because if I don't let it out I feel like I will die, I release, sometimes word vomit that I have not contemplated long enough to see the consequences of. So for the first time in my life I will not use my WORDS to tell the story, but let the story tell itself.

When I was six years old I wrote my first short story, it was about ice cream. When I was nine years old I wrote my first poem, it was about a toy. When I was ten years old I wrote my first love letter...it was done on crayola art studio and had a fun border and the end it said check the box yes, no or maybe. That first love letter totally got me in trouble. I wanted to show my friends and i put in my notebook and when i reached for it, it was gone. Apparently, the recess assistant found it and she knew my mom, the parents association lead member, and lets just say she wasn't too happy about having to tell my mom that by ten I was already professing my undying love to boys. "She's boy crazy" she said. I begged and promised that if she didn't tell my mother, I would never write another love letter again! Guys...I definitely lied! I've written so many love letters in my day you'd think I could make a collection, "The Greatest Love Letters." I wrote them again when I was 11, and 12, and 13, and 14, and 15, and 16, and 17, and 18, and 19, and 20, and 21. Many were never sent. They never reach my beloveds eyes, but rather are still found in the pages of my diaries or stored away in my memory boxes. Many are just for me to get those thoughts OUT, exit via pen. The ones that do reach the hands of my beloved, in every case scenario, has created an unwelcome drama. And now I perhaps have written my last love letter. Perhaps I have written my last nonfiction story in this blog. I have a tendency to be honest about myself...at the lunch table in high school everyone gathered around to hear my stories. They awaited the fascinating tale of my journeys and escapades of the weekend. What did Evy do now? they wondered. And with notes passed during class or a loud reenactment of the scenario, everyone laughed and gasped and always wanted more. I guess I am accustomed to telling my story, because I feel that my story is the REAL story to tell. Mine, is the greatest story, the most real, the most sincere, the most tragic, the most exciting, the one that I know the best, but the one I understand the least. Because I don't really understand myself or my life, or what this is all about, it is the story I can't stop telling. But perhaps in retelling these autobiographies, I have forgotten to just live it. I have been working on my memoir. I have always wanted to write a memoir. When I reread the written pages, they seemed like just WORDS. How do you do justice to life with words? It seems that i have been living my life on paper, animated and translucent. I am the translator, the mediator between experience and story. Maybe this story shouldn't be told. Maybe this life just needs to be lived. So I am going to exchange WORDS for EXPERIENCE.

I can not be sure if this will last, given that my soul fiends for WORDS. But I'll try and see how loud, how clear the silence can be.

Wish me luck.