Protected: Dear You,

October 26, 2007 - Enter your password to view comments.

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It’s On.

October 7, 2007 - 2 Responses

Today, two of my coworkers came up behind me and tickled my back-fat like one would a cute, chubby three-year-old.  After some giggling (on their part) and under-breath whispers in Spanish, I waited for them to leave.  Then I walked into the bathroom, shoved a finger down my throat, and became an anorexic.

I jest.  Well, partly.  I did toss my lunch when they walked away, but it would never be habitual.  Don’t get me wrong – it’s tempting.  And I know that to you, I’m just an asshole looking for an easy (albeit stupid) solution.  Well, I am.

I’ve been undeservably blessed to grow up in an environment where personality accounted for something.  Where weight has never prevented me from making friends, attracting boys, being popular… Where intelligence, humor, and compassion were traits worth admiring.  Now, in a harsh reality that makes no exceptions for my inferior once-over, the one thing I get compliments on are my eyes. My color-contact lense covered eyes.  The one part of me that’s fake, that’s not me.

Spite…  How funny is it that the facet of my personality that I’ve always considered to be my downfall, may end up becoming my greatest strength?  I was hurt today.  My ego suffered a bruising like it’s never felt before.  But I have to give them credit; those two unclassy mother fuckers have finally given me the motivation to get myself in shape.  Because the only thing that got me through the beating I gave myself in the gym today was the looks on their faces when one day in the (near) future, the only thing they’ll be saying behind my back is “tengo que ocultar a mi marido, porque esa muchacha es mas hermosa que mi gorda y fea cara.”

Promise Ring

September 16, 2007 - One Response

I was sifting through a box of ancient memories last night when I pulled out a little white box and remembered right away what it contained. With a nostalgic smile, I opened the box, and right there staring at me in the face… The smallest diamond you will ever see. I gave up two years of my life for this?  I ask myself. Studying this microscopic diamond laid in a thin, white gold band, I immediately saw all the opportunities I had missed, all the boys I didn’t kiss, to stay faithful to a man who, much like this luster-less promise ring, turned out to be a gigantic disappointment.

Then I realized, there was a time when this pathetic little ring was exactly what I wanted. Flipping through a catalog, it caught my eye and I adored it (I was a simpler, naïve girl back then). Casually showing the photo to my best friend, I put it on my mental wish list and gave it no more thought. It wouldn’t even enter my mind again till weeks later, when my then-boyfriend handed me this little jewelry box, in it the exact ring I fell in love with from the catalog. Looking back, I realized how much I relied on the overwhelming feelings I felt that night to get me through what would become two years of crying, yelling, fighting, abuse, and total emotional warfare. “How did he know??” I’d ask myself. “He went through all this trouble! He must really know me! He must really love me!  This ring is a symbol of our happily ever after!”  Boy, was I mistaken.

No, this ring will forever represent the worst relationship of my life, serving as a tiny – but vivid – reminder of what rock bottom feels like. Looking at it will always bring back sky-high levels of anxiety my shrink’s put me on Lexapro to control, but in the back of my mind, I’ll always remember… Once upon a time, it was exactly what I wanted.

House, MD.

July 25, 2007 - 2 Responses

“I just need you to remember me.  I need somebody to remember me … I just need to die knowing something was different because I was here.” (Homeless Man)

I’ve never questioned myself before.  My worth.  My meaning.  Up until recently, I’ve lived a life of constant validation.  Surrounded by a sea of people that knew me, liked me.  Worshipped me.  I was somebody.  Now I’m not.  So the way I see it is, I have two options.  Number one: resign myself to being “just another face in the crowd”, somebody you don’t give a second thought.  Or number two: stage another takeover. Just between you and me, I think it’s time I take back that tiara.  🙂  I refuse to die begging to be someone’s distant memory.  No, when my time comes – you better believe it is going to be a tragedy.


July 10, 2007 - 3 Responses

Have you ever closed your eyes in bed late at night and were caught off guard at the intensity a certain flashback hits you?  What if that delicious, intense flashback was a memory that had never actually taken place?   When I close my eyes I can remember your lips… your touch… though it’s been years since our last memory.  I can feel you and taste you in ways we’ve never experienced together.  My consciousness, then later my subconsciousness, as active thoughts quiet only for you to manifest even stronger in my dreams, hungrily echo my longing for you in lonely darkness.  My eyes close, and if a reflex I can feel your hands running along my back, your mouth lazily kissing the curve of my neck.  So light, yet so very real… chills run up and down my body as my mind clearly envisions your face on the pillow next to mine… your every freckle, every contour.  The lone dimple that appears at the left corner of your mouth when you smile.  I can see baby blue eyes staring intently into my dark brown ones, searching, questioning, waiting for me to give into your gentle seduction.  We haven’t spoken in two years, seen each other in three, or been intimate in four.  I’ve dated, been in love, and have well gotten over you since then.  But when night falls and I lie in bed alone, fantasies of your presence keep me company until morning awakens me back to reality once again.