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.