Reminiscing

beautiful, Creative Writing, Family, Journal, Love, Memories, Peace, Perfect, Small Things, Smiling

It’s 1:30am, I have about 5 hours and 10 minutes before I need to be up, but I can’t fall asleep. So, I’m up. And I’m writing. Because I have been trying to go to sleep since 9pm.

All I can seem to think about are my old memories. Very distinct and exact memories.

I can remember where everything went in my last house – the house where we lived as a family last.

I can still here the way the different doors creaked – I can hear the kitchen door that led out to our Asian patio. The way my mom’s desk looked, the stain on the carpet in the hallway just outside my room. The way the carpet came up just enough to see the green tile in my closet. The way the laundry hamper smelled in the hall. How we organized our freezer and pantry. Potatoes on the bottom shelf, onions too, both in wicker baskets. Those rice and blueberry treats mom would get from Costco. The guest house. How it always seemed to smell of barbecue chicken. The closet, weird coats, how we would go out there just to watch tv. The old cigar box in the guest house garage. The tire swing by the horse pasture, the orange grove, the brick wall, the nut trees by dad’s shop. How the orange trees smelled in the summer, the way snails would gather near the sprinkles, our pool. The second story of dad’s shop, how you could hear rain hitting the tin roof. The old war maps dad hung in his office out there. His big metal work table. The way the old blacktop road would burn my feet, mom’s white porch swing, our pomegranate tree. The lemon tree, the tree house we built with Callie. Mom’s garden. The basil plants. our compost pile. The brick fireplace inside, the big solid wood mantle above it. Dad’s bear hanging in the dining room, my pine piano. Mom’s brown rug. My music rack. The little patio outside the door off our breakfast nook. The lights suspended in there. Tig. The kittens. Our playhouse, and the summer we spent at the house before we moved in, sesame ring pretzels. Too much Febreeze. Mom’s clothes line. When dad worked in Vegas and mom made that bon bon ice cream that the whole block loved. Mom’s fourth of July parties. The vegetable stew she would made during thunderstorms. How we could see the beautiful mountains outside our kitchen window. When mom would wake us up by singing. Getting ready for youth group, that shimmery purple eye shadow I loved. The ivy wallpaper we had in our bathroom, the stone walk-in shower that’s light didn’t work so it was always dark. All the goddamn storage space in there. Our craft closet. Mom’s closet, which was always organized. The little garden outside mom’s bedroom, the wall of windows that were in front of her bed. Her beautiful bathroom, the high windows, tall ceilings, wood and stone everywhere. Our beautiful, expensive, World Market table. The wall of windows in our dining room. How mom would let us make an pillow fort out of the living room during the summer when Lacey and Katie would stay with us. That Thanksgiving when Uncle Winky brought his Brazilian friend, who was probably his boyfriend and we were all just oblivious to how gay he was. Sage and Sonia. Spending summers with the Deitz, their treehouse. Going over there to hang out with Jacob and Nate before any of us were out of the 8th grade. The year Jacob started high school, when he started driving, when he went off to college. When Carson started dating that dude with the weird name – playing in the orange groves outside their house, the palm fans. The mule. Callie’s horses. Going with her to mediation in the hummer, taking her to her dad’s house. Going to see movie’s with her and Melissa, always having diet Dr. Pepper and tootsie rolls. When Melissa would decorate for christmas, and their entire house transformed into a winter wonderland. Ms. Terri’s 15 foot christmas tree, staying out until 1am to help get ready for VBS at Foothill. The red berries. When Mrs. Hengst took her Sunday school class to see Mega Mind and I felt super left out.

Oh my god. Carson and Hayley are both married. Jacob and Nate both have girlfriends and are going to graduate college soon. Callie is a Sophomore. Riley and Katie are in college. Lacey is graduating this year. Sonni is at COS. What the hell happened to my childhood? I will never spend another summer at the Deitz cabin. I will never climb frog rock again or go to Dudley Ranch. I’ll never go hunting with my dad again. I’ll never go inside the 38o house…. I’ll probably never see the Sisto’s, or step inside Foothill.. Who knows if I will even see Delaney or Owen.. But I’ll never spend a halloween at their house, or go into  their treehouse with those weird little brown berries that fell off their tree, or see their clawfoot bathtub filled with plants that DD put outside her bedroom window, or watch Owen obsess over Cars or Nate over spongebob or Jacob playing Call of Duty on their family computer… I will never sit on the Deitz porch swing and hold kittens again, or see Boomer.. I miss their pebble walkway and watching everyone play volleyball on summer afternoons while Melissa obsessively cleaned her house.

I’ve only been writing for twenty minutes, but I just took a long journey back into my childhood.. I can’t believe where I am today, when I used to lay awake at night and think about my future. I never imagined my parents would divorce, and moving to the coast was always a desire but seemed far fetched. Going to a public high school? Unheard of. I’ve had three boyfriends? ALLYSA! Y0u were supposed to marry Jacob, Nate, or Caleb – preferably Max. C’mon! You were going to get married in Gramp’s church, with that nasty blue carpet and wooden pews and green cushions, the weird cross with backlights. But too much for that, because it has all been torn out and redone. Now it’s The Road. Those little lights that used to line the stage are even gone. The smell is gone too..  And you have been in every room in that church now, all the mystery is gone. The fear is gone. Now it’s just a musty old building, and the imagery of Burt is dead. You had your thirteenth birthday party there, it was really fun. You worked there, too. When you were 15. You watched your little cousins roam those halls, now. Oh yeah – Uncle Juano got married and has three kids. Uncle Wink has two. Aunt Ne has Ribbon now, and you lived with her as well. You miss that. You also lived with Nana and Gramps, your room was the one with the weird, old closet that always scared you. The one that used to be Gramp’s office with the bottles filled with sand and coins. Also, I don’t really have to tell you this because you kind of already know, but you don’t believe in God at all. But you already have your doubts.

So much has changed for me… I kind of just want to go to Katie’s trailor and just sleep among the musty old smell and bad internet. I want to wake up to the neighbor’s rooster crowing and the hill we all know is Goliath’s grave…

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Regrets

Journal, Memories, Personal, Poetry, school

I tell people not to regret, yet I do.

All of the fucking time, I regret everything.

I regret liking the people that I have, I regret telling people things, I regret moving to the coast, I regret leaving behind my friends.

I regret opening up about things to people who don’t deserve to hear it,
I regret not standing up for those who deserve it.
I regret oversharing.
I regret confessing my feelings to any and every person I have.
I regret leaving my dad, sometimes.
I regret cheating on my homework.
I regret calling out Kayleigh and Cadence for shit.
I regret having flings with guys who don’t matter.
I regret not loving myself more,
I regret being self-confident.
I regret bringing my sheet music up for show and tell in second grade,
I regret blaming Ciera for stealing my sea shells,
I regret being so fucking awkward.

Why can’t I just be normal? Just once.
Why can’t I fit in, just once?
I want to be loved, even just once.
I want to be cared about.
To be hugged, and feel wanted.

I don’t want to doubt.
Or second guess even once.

Is it so much to ask to be loved?

I just want to stand in the big grass field at ERCLC and watch Eric with his RC Airplane class, crashing their planes. I want to listen to the little kids make up ridiculous but genius stories. I want to see the moms who have their lives together, who buy stuff from the bakesales.

I want to organize events like I used to, be in productions with Peggy and Makena and Leslie and Fiona and even Cadence and Abiel. I miss everyone so much.

I miss being able express myself without sounding like some sort of freak – being able to wear my quirky knee-high socks and bright yellow shirts. I miss taking Archery with Eric and getting into Quarrels with Bobbi over stupid Neon Dance drama. I miss game nights, and going out that one time with the schools telescope to watch stars with the Astronomy club. I miss walking into Eric’s office and seeing a picture of me in there from Eli’s mental health photo shoot.

I miss the masquerade dance.

I miss Heather’s Journal class.

I miss despising Abiel for always bragging about her Travels.

I miss Theirry’s exuberant acting

And Katie as Mrs.Dowdle.

I miss the days when I would longingly gaze at Dustyn while he was in PE with Brian.

When I would wait until monday nights when I could go to Youth Group and see him.

I would always chew gum.

I would wear low cut shirts before I had boobs.

I miss sitting in the library with Riley and Lacey because we didn’t have a class that period, when Orion went to school with us.

Choir.

Orion’s broken perfume bottle.

Tiger. Debates in 1930’s.

Trying on dresses for the play in Peggy’s office, or Brian’s, or Eric’s, or Bobbi’s, or Yasoda’s.

I miss ERCLC. It’s my home.

I miss the bright yellow sunflowers that would bloom this time of year, and the pumpkins that would grow outside the library windows – the way Anonda would always smile at me, how I could climb the tree in front of Sage.

I miss going to Halloween parties in Three Rivers, eating Peggy’s chilli and watching the little kids sort and trade their sweets.

I miss house sitting for the Entz, how I slept in Zacks room.

I miss the valley.

I miss Elderwood.

I even miss living with Nana and Gramps.

It’s okay to regret, I guess. It’s okay to miss people, things, and the past.
I definitely do..

 

Things That Make Me Happy

beautiful, Beauty, Future, Her, Humanist, Journal, Love, Loving Life, Memories, Nature, New, Peace, Personal, Small Things, Smiling

Waking up well rested before 10am
Listening to a song that gives me chills
Seeing a good piece of art
Plants
Dogs that are excited to see me
When my nail polish dries smooth
When the teacher says there’s no homework
Making inside jokes with old friends
Painting with watercolors
When I’ve mastered a song on the piano
The sound of a creek on a warm day
Making forts in orange groves with my friends
Knowing I have no where to be and nothing to do the next day
When I look in the mirror and think I’m beautiful in the morning
Baking
A really good kiss
Hugging for long periods of time
Writing letters to friends
The first cup of coffee in the morning
When it rains, and the smell of dirt roads afterward
Navel Oranges
Cats, when they hold onto your finger and nip at it
The way candle flames dance in the wind
Lemonade during summer
A cold pool
The satisfaction of finishing a book
When I think about everything I have accomplished
New journals
When I’m first falling in love, being obsessed with knowing every detail about the person
Seeing kids play together, making up stories
Doing something outrageously adventurous
Doing what feels right, supporting what feels right
Getting and giving gifts
Christmas – the food, the weather, the friends and family
Sitting by warm fires with my dog, feeling the heat lick at my skin
Camping with my family
Taking hikes in the mountains and seeing new things
Standing in front of the ocean and feeling the breeze catch my hair
When I’m alone and the song I’m making up flows perfectly
Getting out of the shower and all my makeup came off
Fantasizing about traveling the world
When inspiration hits and I do ten projects in one day
When my room is clean and organized
Seeing old happy couples doing simple things together
Watching babies laugh
Fridays
When I feel how much someone cares about me
Learning something interesting
Getting good grades
A good cup of tea
Christmas music
Looking at nature
Loving people
Watching people in big cities go through their day
Looking put together
Organizing messy places
Cleaning something that was really dirty
When I can take care of myself
Seeing happy families
Watching dads spend time with their kids
When someone lets you into their life
Caramels
Outfits that remind me  of why I get dressed in the morning
New jars of peanut butter that’s smooth at the top
Smiling so wide my cheeks hurt, laughing so hard that my ribs ache
Watching people do what they’re passionate about
Making playlists
Wrapping myself in warm fuzzy blankets on cold days
Doing what scares me, what makes me uncomfortable
Being so passionate, loving something so deeply that it never fades
Dark chocolate with sea salt
Attractive people
New bras
When someone understands me
When someone is genuine

Breaking up

Hope, Journal, Love, Memories, Partner, Personal, school, Small Things

I hadn’t noticed, but you stopped saying you loved me four days ago.
I wasn’t paying attention, but you didn’t come to the door when you picked me up today.
It didn’t mean anything earlier, but you didn’t talk to me on the way to your house.

When you dropped me off, you told me not to message you.

You don’t love me anymore, do you?
I guess it’s time to unfriend your mom.

Time to get rid of the gifts you gave me.
Time to prepare for the awkwardness when we see each other in class.
Time to change your name from “Babe” to “That ex” in my contacts.
Time to walk alone at night from school when no one else can drive me.

Time for the fuck boys, the dating accounts, the being a bad ass bitch.
Time for the flirting with guys and ending my nights with binge eating and tears.

Today, we broke up. I started writing this post three days ago, and decided not to post it because I thought we could make things work.

But tonight, as I sat in your car and asked questions about why you had stayed with me and why you wanted to break up with me before, how you felt together.. And I couldn’t convince myself that it would work anymore.

I heard you say you were unhappy.
I heard you say we weren’t compatible.
I heard you say these and I couldn’t say a word.

So I broke up with you.
I got out of your car, and I walked home.
I walked past the place we had our first kiss – where I leaned on your shoulder and felt safe for the first time in months.
I got on the street where I live, and took off my shoes and ran – sobbing.
I saw where you would always park.

When I walked inside my house, my mom asked me what happened..

I texted my friends

I gathered all the stuff you gave me.

I archived our messages, but couldn’t convince myself to delete all the pictures of us on my phone. I’m not ready for that.

I showered.

And now here I am, sitting alone in my house sobbing because I realized how shitty our last kiss was. How I didn’t even say bye to your mom the last time I saw her. How I would have hugged your dogs one last time – but I didn’t think that it was the end, so how would I have known to?

I don’t know what to do. I feel really alone and I miss you, but I know that in a few days, or even weeks, I might stop realizing the things I mentioned. And slowly, I’ll stop thinking about you altogether. I’ll forget about our shitty last kiss, and about the fact that you couldn’t get me to orgasm the last time you tried – I’ll forget about all the things I did for you that I hated (blow jobs, namely).

But I am glad that we ended things before it got too serious. I couldn’t have been a military/army wife. I didn’t want to have kids. The fact that you went to church with your dad annoyed me, and honestly – we just had a lot of things we disagreed on.

It wasn’t until I realized that you couldn’t or were unwilling to make the same sacrifices as I was, that I knew we weren’t going to work. I thought you were okay with how liberal/needy I am, but I guess not.

I’ll miss getting lunch with you. I’ll miss meeting you in between classes. But we are over now, and I’ll just have to get over that.

Say Anything

Hope, Humanist, Jealousy, Journal, Love, Memories, Partner, Personal, Poetry, Small Things

I don’t want to hear about your ex,
or the sad girl who needs your attention.

I don’t want to hear about your last relationship,
how things ended.

I don’t want to have reasons to be suspicious,
I don’t want to question if you care.

But when you talk about the sad people,
the people who needed you..
I feel like you don’t care about me.

We already are hardly talking.
We already have sexual issues.
We already have trouble communicating.

When we’re sitting in your car,
you don’t talk to me.
I look you in the eyes, thinking
“say something, say anything
but you are silent.

I just want a conversation,
a dialogue between two people.
I want a witty banter.

I’ve had enough of uneventful,
somber, silent, painful car rides.
I’ve sat in cars with guys who never talked.
I’ve been left sitting in the silence
wondering if they’ll ever open their mouth.

Say anything.

It makes me selfish.
It makes me a bitch.
It makes me jealous.
It makes me who I am
And nothing less.

Love Many Times Over

Her, Hope, Journal, Love, Loving Life, Memories, New, Peace, Perfect, Personal, Poetry, Small Things, Smiling

I live for the feeling of excitement,

The moment you realize you’re doomed.

When the emotions capsize and leave you helpless

In the otherwise dead, lifeless world.

It’s much like the sensation of cold wind on warm day,

Leaving your neck hairs standing on end.

The fastened heartbeat, shallow breaths,

Future flashing before your eyes.

When you realize you’re in love again.

Poetry

beautiful, Beauty, Hope, Humanist, Journal, Love, Loving Life, Memories, Nature, Peace, Perfect, Personal, Poetry, school, Small Things, Smiling

Sweet voices, little voices

they wander in the garden.

Saying words that mean so little –

Saying words that mean so much.

Their words traverse through the garden,

they wander aimlessly.

The little voices have little feet

that will carry their bodies far.

Listen – I can still hear the arguing,
The breaking shot glasses against the wall.
Neatly tucked away in the dark, I huddled; weeping in silence so the beast would not hear.
Tightened breathing, darkened room, cold doorframe where shadows grew.
When there was silence, it was overwhelming.

He was convinced they were listening, prying at our family, peeking behind our doors.
I crowded into bathtubs, hid from bullets that were seeking.
Covered the baby with my body, cried to Jesus to stop the fighting.
Diesel engines left running, in the haunting nightmare I couldn’t be woken from.

In my mind, they will always be there. The noises will stay.
Alcohol being poured, drunk men chattering on the porch.
The sound of the locking door, parents fucking
Not thinking about their poor daughter’s ears a wall away.

 

Journal, Memories, Personal, Poetry, Poetry Wednesday

Happy Father’s Day: Whores and Addiction

dads, Domestic Violence, Family, fathers, fuck you, Journal, Memories, no trust, Personal, sexual harassment

This Father’s Day I will quietly, but unashamedly, denounce Father’s Day because my father was no father to me.

For years, I would listen to the sound of his voice echo throughout our house as my family would try to sleep. His drunken, loud, angry voice yelling at my mom about things she could not control. The same man who threw my sweet, innocent puppy into our concrete patio,breaking some of her ribs…

ronpup

(This could be her as a puppy, the resemblance is uncanny)

The man who slept with prostitutes when working out of town – and didn’t tell my mom before sleeping with her again. Who drank profusely and stared at his twelve year-old daughters breasts that puberty had spit upon her chest. He wasn’t a graceful man, he wasn’t a nice man, he wasn’t even kind. As the naive and uneducated kid that I was, I loved him. He made my life. I was Daddy’s Girl.

As much as I wish I could still accept him, I know things that tore apart any love or sentiment I had for him. He did things that can’t be reversed with an apology, or with a fatherly kiss on the forehead. Even those kisses he planted on my forehead when he left for work have been tarnished because of reckless actions he didn’t have to take. He let his addiction come before his family, he let his love for whores come before his daughters, he let his lust for breasts taint the way I will see him for the rest of my life.

We lived in fear of what he would do next and we sure made hell seem happy – in our nicely furnished home, with our name brand clothing and smiles plastered to our faces. Mom gently reminding us “Don’t air your dirty laundry“, because she knew exactly what would happen if people found out what happened behind our closed doors.  We did such a good job hiding it, when we finally came out and proclaimed the truth, no one believed us.

So, no. I am not celebrating father’s day. I understand that some people have nice fathers, however foreign that may seem to me right now. Some people love their dads, they might even have good relationships with them.. But to me, father’s day may as well be what Hanukkah is to an Atheist: absolutely meaningless.

Dirty Dishes and Climaxing

Family, Future, Journal, Love, Memories, no trust, Personal, sex, Sexuality, Uncategorized

To say that I am confused or that I don’t understand the things that have happened to me would be an understatement. I believe that under all the stress and mental illnesses that have crept in and hijacked my mind, I am still happy somewhere in there. To find that happiness again will be a major task, and I’m willing to take it on.

If I could have one wish granted, it would be for clarity and understanding of the problems I have at hand.

I have felt overweight and cumbersome this last week. When I imagine myself walking down the stairs, I feel like an overweight walrus and I can feel the fat on my thighs jiggling. I can’t wear anything but loose clothing because my stomach looks enormous and this all started when my mom mentioned that she saw me binge eating.. I hadn’t done that in a long time, but I did that once and ever since I have felt like my entire body is made out of lard.

My sister stormed out of the house today and drove two hours to stay with her boyfriend, and none of us are sure if she’s moving out or if this is temporary. My mom was in tears all night, she cried on my shoulder… Someone else’s wet tears on my bare skin is an uncomfortable feeling.

I’ve been through so much, what I’ve learned is that I do not like being alone. I cry when I’m alone. I hate myself when I am alone. I get angry about the mistakes I’ve made and scream when I’m alone. I yearn for companionship and to be loved when I am alone. If I had an instruction manual, it would say that I require partnership 24/7 and to be intensely cared for without me realizing it – once I am aware that someone loves me, I stop loving them. I detached myself and become emotionless toward them.

When I love someone and find out they love me too, it’s like maintaining masturbation when people are awake. You know you’ll have a hard time climaxing just because your little sister is screaming and your mom is yelling about how no one does the dishes – and any chance you had of continuing with pleasure goes down the drain because dirty dishes and climaxing are not compatible.

That’s what happens when someone loves me. I can’t maintain my feelings. They go away without any chance of revival, unless scenarios change.