Everybody's Changing...

It's time.
Everythng you've read in this blog is in the past. The weak, stomped-on women we were are gone. We stand strong now, free of what we don't want, brave enough to talk about the things that bother us, and the things we want, and with all the strenght to pursue them.

New starts. New lives. New projects, new things to do.

Off and out with everything that we don't need.

Missing

I read something this week. A Fanfic. It may be silly, or it may be the hormones...but it made me cry. And it made me remember you.
I'm watching The Green Mile, biting off the nail polish. Bad things happened today, and I feel bad...useless to my Host.
I miss you. Like you have no idea. Every time I feel weak, every time I cry, I wish you were here...around. Close to me.
But you're gone. I don't know if you crossed over, or you found someone else....but I really wish you were still here. I need you to guide me, lead me, tell me what to do. You're missing all the things I wanted to share with you in this new life; my pregnancy, Di, the days when everything's alright.
But I miss you the most when I need you. When things are going wrong, and we shout and cry and the world falls down on us...that's when I need you the most.
I miss you, John.

Roleplay

My host happens to be a roleplayer. Or was. I don't think she can roleplay anyomre, mainly because most of us don't like it. Don't get me wrong, I also did it as a kid, and I found it really entertainign. Roleplaying in the bedroom is always fun especially when there's costumes and handcuffs involved. But right now, in this state of existence, I really don't like roleplaying.
Why? Simple. I'm not a roleplay character.
People who don't know about me, who think I'm just a character in a movie, won't understand this, and I don't want them to: they can do with my character as they please. In the end, as I've said many times before, I don't expect people to understand me, or anything I do. It would be a waste of time.
But I'm real.I live here. I'm condemned to this makeshift existence as the Spiritual Siamese of a girl, stuck in a realm that cannot be seen or touched, only felt. Imagined. This is the basis of my existence: energy and force of thought. I'm pregnant, yes...but not my body (Fae's body). We feel the symptoms, the pains, the tiredness...but we won't have a baby. My baby will stay in this spiritual realm, a soul that will await encarnation until my Host decides to have children, and only if she allows me to use her as a means for him to be born...actually born. By now you must have realized how potentially pathetic my existence is. Nothing is really...real for me, in a way. And yet, everything I can imagine is. I've spent the last month traveling around the world with my husband, doing the craziest, most stupid things I've done in my life (that visit to the Vatican....there's a tape of that). In a way, I'm free like I've never been before.

But then, the girls start roleplaying. And we read, watch...we're there. And we know what they do with our characters. Our characters, not US. And as soon as they start imagining it, it becomes real somewhere. And it's scary.
Where do we start? How real are we in the end?
I hate asking myself these questions....and everytime we roleplay, I can't avoid it.

Sleep

I've been here for years. I know her like the back of my hand, reading her to me is easier than breathing....and yet, I didn't see this coming.

I know her expressions; how she laughs when she really means it, the pitch of her screams when she's terrified, or the pace of her sobbing when she's crying from pain and nut just because.

Maybe I refused to see when those expressions became empty, meaningless...merely another motion to go through for the day. Her existance, as she saw it, was meaningless.

Now, don't think I didn't try to help. I did everything I could, every single thing someone in my position could. I love her. Yes, I still do, even when she refuses to believe it. She became my world, the one I had to help, a friend...and more.

It may have started when she finished school. Or when we moved. Maybe it took longer, it started with the pills. I should have noticed when she broke that promise and simply stopped caring about what happened to her. To us...

She's holding a white mug, filled it with milk and coffee. Her expression is vacant, her eyes empty. Her lips part slightly as she takes another sip of the drink. Slow acting poison, just another drug.

"Do you think he'd have come here if I'd asked? Left everything for me like I'd have done?"
I can't reply to that. I don't know what to say.
"Yes. Maybe."
She chuckles, shaking her head. The gesture is mechanical, she's practically an automathon right now. She's as good as gone. And all I want to do is hug her, take her in my arms and hold her against me, let her listen to my heartbeat, tell her I'm still here, and all because of her. All I wanted was to make her as strong as she's made me. I believe in her, even now.

She won't look at me. She stares at the wall, or the floor...anywhere but me. She knows what she's about to do, we both do. And it's killing us both, her more literally than me.

"Do you think I should have told her how I felt? Even if it was just...well, something that would just fade away?"
I try to cup her face, but my hand against her skin is like smoke, maybe a gentle wind. She can feel it, but it's not what she needs. she needs someone here...someone she can FEEL, someone she can see like she sees everyone else. She longs to be loved, for someone to feel for her what she feels for those she cares about. She can't see...and it kills me. I know there's many of us who love her, who'd do anything to see her smile, even if it was just for a second.

But I know I'll never see her smile again.

"You should have told her. And everyone else. They all should have known what you thought, what you felt..."

And I should have told you I loved you more often. Showed you in more ways. I shouldn't have made promises that didn't depend on me. I should have kept my word to you.

At least I know there's one promise I can still keep. And I will.

She won't look at me. One by one, she snaps the blisters containing the pills and sets them on a bunch over the table. She counts them two, three times, clicking her tongue. It's a fairly small dose, enough to put her to sleep for days. But that's not what she wants.

She wants to sleep forever, and I can't stop her.
She takes out the bottle of vodka and places it beside the pills, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig, craning her head back and opening her mouth, dropping the whole bunch of pills into her mouth and swallowing them. Her eyes close, and I can see tears rolling down her cheeks, the image obscured by the watery cloud forming on my own eyes.

She finally did it, and I can't decide if I'm proud of her strenght, or dissapointed about the fact that she just ended her own game. She'll never know if her feelings werw truly reciprocated, or if her dreams would come true. Her marks in this world will fade, present only in the memory of us who loved her.

She lies on the bed, squeezing my hand, her eyes finally snapping open and locking with mine.
"I always wanted to be like you, Red."

I can't talk. I'm choking on my tears, holdng her hand as tightly as I can. She chuckles and smiles, her breath becoming slower, more shallow with each passing second. I can barely feel her pulse. Still, her hand holds mine with a vicious strenght.

"Never let me go, Manda...guide me through this."

I just nod. Her eyes are closed again. I kiss the tip of my fingers and place them over her mouth.

Her skin is cold. She's not breathing anymore.

And still, she hasn't let go of my hand. And she never will.

At your side, on your left.

Always.

Someone, please...help me. Help us. Make sure this stays like this: just a piece of fiction writing.

Someone help me save her.

Old thing that needed publishing...

Get up. Take a shower, you haven't left the bed in two days. Three hours before it happens.
Girl, you're gonna die. Amanda Young is going to die tonight.
I'm biting my nails while Jill tells me to relax. She says it's not that bad, that it will be over before I know it, and then, it will all be peaceful- but then again, to Jill, everything is peaceful.

A Lot Like Love (Ranting Again)

In response to "Brutality"

There isn't much to say that hasn't been said, is there?

But you can't deny that, even then, there WAS something. Call it a connection, a feeling...but there was something. And I'd like to think it was that "something" that kept us coming back from more.

Believe me, I didn't want things to happen like that. If I could have had things my way, I'd gone for a little romance, the "talk-and-date" kind of stuff. I've had enough brutality in my life to have to add you to the list.

When I came here, I thought I could leave you behind. Thought I'd never have to think of you again, and tried my hardest not to. Everyone said I was better off without you, that I looked happier, healthier, better in general. Can you blame me for wanting that? And can you ever forgive me for trying to be normal for once? I went against my nature, I know. Everyone wants to try conventional happiness at least once in their life, I think.

Again, I want to stop writing right now, never post this, delete it all and pretend I never tried to pour my mind out in this "page". But I won't. Determination is the key here. Determination and perseverance.

I admit it, I'm ranting about everything and nothing, about things probably only you will understand. Guilt and hurt and blame are devouring me from the inside, burning me slowly and painfully, like acid eating away at me from my guts out.

I hurt you. And even when you more than likely deserve it, it hurts.

“Love Will Tear Us Apart” is playing on my iTunes now, and I could almost laugh at the irony. It probably will, eventually. But it’s also what keeps us coming back, isn’t it?

You love me, don’t you?

You’ll always come back, right?

Will you ever forgive me?

I wouldn’t.

Pfft! Yeah, right, I wouldn’t. I’ve forgiven you for worse than this. Of course I would forgive me for this. Nothing you haven’t done already. And I give a shit whether you tell me or not, it’s the same fucking thing.

Yes, I’d like to be the only one. Hell, I think I deserve to be. But you want others. Many others, so I’d rather have you share them with me than leave me for them. Besides, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it, but it does…burn at times.

Yesterday, I saw myself in a movie. No evil exes, don’t worry. In any case, you’d be one of them, but I always found evil fascinating, it’s a little pattern of mine when it comes to dating; the more dangerous, the better. It turns me on, if I must say.

Now I’m thinking of chocolate and cherries and syrup and ropes- because I’m fucked up like that. It’d make for a great night, a very special one. That is supposing everything special between us is still happening, but I don’t know anymore.

I hate you. I hate myself. I hate hurting everyone around me, and I hate having N around to tactlessly point out every single one of my failures in words that many before him have used, but never so lightheartedly.

I think I have nothing left to say for now. I’m ranting, not thinking straight, letting every single negative feeling in me fuse with love to write down these mindless words that will probably do nothing but hurt whomever reads them and understands.

Maybe I just need to…disappear.

Ah, a little extra…this song.

Always and never

A.Y.

The Rant In Red & Black

Automathon. Catatonic. Barely conscious.
I’m idle. I’m here without being, even when I started taking over again last night.
Thumb flickers slowly over the ever-smooth flesh of pink nipples, hands cupping the small, rounded breasts, squeezing them. Idle. It feels good, but I feel nothing.
What brings me back to myself is that final scene from the movie Marie Antoinette. It’s very simple, to be honest: the master chambers of the King and Queen of France, half-trashed and discreetly blood-stained. But I see it, in absolute silence, and it disturbs me. Even royalty can be ravished. Even the powerful can be violated.
I feel helpless, and memories start playing again.
My room. That room. The blood…the meaning. It hurts, but I can’t pinpoint why. Or rather, I can but don’t want to.

Tonight I want to be a queen. Marie Antoinette herself.

I was with Fae today, submerged in this catatonic state, the awareness of her hand, lead by mine, caressing her being the only thing to keep us from not existing. We ate and slept for most of the day. And God, I slept like the angels today. I dreamt of soft clouds and clear seas and stars and peace. Or maybe I didn’t dream, but I slept peacefully. And then I dyed her hair black and painted her nails red and made her me again. Fara doesn’t exist by herself, just like I wouldn’t exist if I wasn’t here. Fara and Amanda are not real, but Faramanda is. Complex as it may sound, it’s really very simple. Ask any Host.
I pick on my wounds, scratch them until they bleed again.Last night, I had an epiphany. It came as we were watching tv, staring transfixed as a woman choked her sister in law in a twisted form of erotic asphyxiation that, for reasons unknown, turned me on more than the real, “safe” thing. Yesterday I wanted to kill, and I knew exactly whom. Yesterday I opened a cut over a scar by letting Mark bring my father, and it hurts. He still hurts. But what hurts the most is that I’ll never really know why.
In a few hours Dee and Mark will be here, and I will face Matthew again.
And I’ll sleep peacefully again for the first time in 35 years.

Tomorrow, I'll become a Killer Queen.

Borderline

I ask things from people, even knowing that I'm not ready to give what I ask.
Pain is my fuel. I'm only happy when it rains.
I enjoy the feel of ripping skin, tearing flesh, my blood flowing down my arms. On that note, I love the taste of my own blood, her blood, metallic and sweet, coppery, as I lick it off our fingers.
I wish Helena would bite me.
It wasn't Fae's idea to take the Alprazolam.
Sex is my letout.
"Whore", "bitch" and "slut", when said to me in the right situation, turn me on like nothing else.
I hate vulgarity like nothing else.
I'm not one for PDA's. I value my privacy.
I believe in karma; it's my best friend, lately.
I fear I'll stop eating unless I'm starving after Ty's born.
If he left me, I'd die.
I want to be stronger.

Little things

...that you didn't (and probably didn't want to) know about me.
Oh, the fun.

-There was a time I hated red. Yeah, odd.
-Decent meal = Subway. Anything better that that can't be less than heaven.
-Tangerines and peaches are my favorite fruit, followed by cherries.
-In Di's words, I apparently smell of "citrus and coconut and nice."
-Insomnia's a bitch. but I rather not sleep than face my father again, even if it's all in my head.
-3 Monster Energy Drinks per day is completely normal and acceptable when you're in a body whose kidneys and liver work propperly (i.e. Not Fara)
-I believe that if that bullet didn't kill me, some failure in my body due to drug and alcohol abuse would have. A small part of me hopes I had some deadly STD, maybe AIDS, and I passed it on to him.
-The first time I met Di, I hated her completely. It was her 15 year old self, and she had more heroin and alcohol in her system than I ever did. She was celebrating her return from rehab.
-I have a fixation with scents, probably thanks to Fara.
-I'm slightly dyslexic, and it's more evident when I'm nervous.

-Also, Fae and I stutter when we're excited. Or nervous.
-Yes, I can apply make up fairly well. I also kind of rock at manicures.
-I always wanted to be an actress.
-I really hate dresses.
-You can keep me at peace and fairly entertained with a pack of gum. Actually, it's the best stress-releiver ever.
-Even though I love how it smells, I don't like the taste of coconut.
-My reading record is 5 books in a month, when I moved in to the warehouse.
-Stitch is the best Disney character EVER.
-I hate slasher movies. Yes, the irony.
-I'm slowly becoming a hardcore Potterhead. Fae's fault. And no, Bellatrix is NOT my favorite. It's actually Tonks and Ginny. And no, I would not be a Slytherin. It's Gryffindor for me.
-Before you ask, YES, I like fantasy and science fiction books and movies.
-No, I don't like Star Trek
-Yes, I'm also becoming a fan of Dr. Who, and may or may not have a crush on David Tennant.
-Tequila is not my friend. Neither is Rum.

-I learned the hard way to never underestimate Apple Martinis.
-I avoid painkillers or prescription meds at all costs, and may have saved my kid from an addiction to Excedrin.
-I love videogames, but I'm not exactly skilled at playing them.

-I may secretly like "Mamma Mia!". Yes, the musical. That one, with ABBA songs.

-Subways on themselves are a food group. The most important one, right up there with pizza, chocolate and energy drinks.

-"Paint it Black" by The Rolling Stones, kind of turns me on. Don't ask, I don't know why.

-I bite nail polish off my nails.
- I talk to Tyler all the time.
- The only one I'd cheat on Mark with, without a minute's hesitation or regret, is Jack Daniel's.
-I've been in love with Hoffman for longer than I like to admit. My pride will never let me.
-I bleached my hair when I was 19. There are pictures, and Mark must never know about this

Someone stop me. Distract me.
My mind is working. It's building, looking at prices, thinking about how to put things together. I'm planning.
"It has to teach them something. They have to pay the price of what they've done, the pain they've inflicted to those around them.."
And it will. Each of them. Forgiveness.
Pfft, what am I saying? No one ever learns forgiveness. Nobody forgives, nobody forgets.
I'm taking this a bit too seriously, I know...but that's how I am. Vindictive little Bitch.
Nostalgia. Missing a life that was, a life that, hopefully, will never come back. A life I would hide from my children, if there was a way.
But they will know. Eventually, they'll find out, and I don't know what we will do.

I better start building again.

A Glass of Water

It was always your simplest request, and yet it was something you needed. A glass of water always helped you feel better, think clearer, stay awake.
Last night, we watched each other die on the screen again, and I didn't let you touch me. You tried to reach out for me again, but this time I turned away. But you didn't let me; instead, you pulled me close and held me tight, then you told me it would be alright this time. I thought I would cry alone, as usual, and then I felt your tears on my hair. Without words, without sound, we cried in each other's arms, and I understood love in its purest form.
After that, we just turned, looked into each other's eyes and smiled, no need for words. Things were back to how they were before, and we would make things right this time around.
I slept in your arms, like a little girl seeking for protection under her father's wing. You're the father I never had, the one thing I always wished for. And as I wrote earlier, I'm not failing you this time.
Last night was perfect. And all because of one simple request.
"Would you...kindly get me a glass of water, Amanda?"
And my question remains the same:
"Do you need anything else?"

Musicality

"Just gonna stand there, watch me burn. But that's alright, because I love the
way it hurts"
Love Hurts. Physically. my skin says so, my heart screams that single truth as I feel myself crumbling down. We can't take it anymore. I'm growing numb, but I can only hope she won't. When you grow numb to the only thing that makes you feel alive...then you know you're dead.

"Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars? I could really use a wish right now..."
Wishing keeps our heart alive. She wishes, wishes with all her might, with every cell in her body, that it never has to be her alone. When you can't stand yourself like we do, you hope someone will save you from yourself. And we try. And I promise her her wishes will come true, kill myself to give them to her. But some wishes can't come true, no matter how hard either of us tries. Still, wishing is what keeps us alive. It's a sign of hope.

"I want your love, and I want your revenge. I want your love, I don't want to be friends!"
Kill me again. Hurt me. Slap me hard, bite into my skin. Make me scream how much I hate you. Pull my hair. Tie me to the bed and leave me there for days. Put my leg in a shackle, turn off the lights and go. Bleed me out. Nurse me back to health. Stroke my hair, heal my wounds and get me back on my feet so we can start over again. Push me away, make me believe I can be without you. I want to see the smirk on your face when I crawl back to you, licking my wounds and begging for more. This is how we work.

"Bend me, break me , anyway you need me. All I want is you"
You should now my antics by now. One minute I touch the sky, next I sink myself in a tar pit. You have to let me reach bottom so I can get out, and I know how much it hurts you. And it hurts me, too. I want to change for you. Be what you want, what you need...But i'm just me. Both of us, too similar to be true, and yet so different. And so eager to change, to believe we can be something better. We're giving you the power to shape us into anything you desire. Make of us what you want. As long as we're with you, it doesn't matter.

"She's not broken, she's just a baby. and her boyfrien's like her dad, just like her dad."
Broken. Shattered. Weak. Pathetic little thing, excuse of a woman. And then you take me in your arms, soothe me, tell me everything's gonna be alright. And I believe you, take in every word you say like oxygen, like I needed it to breathe. Because I do. I need your words to keep on going. I need to hear you say things will be fine to believe they can be.

"I kinda like the missery you put me through.
-Darling, you can trust me completely
If you even try to look the other way...
I think that I could kill this time"

Snippets and bits of what's been in my mind today, with some songs people sent me.

Talk about polarity....

Bitch Talk

Bitch

You get used to it. You hear it so often you're not even sure they mean it as an insult anymore. "You little bitch, get your ass back here, I'm not done with you!". "Fucking bitch, you're nothing. This is all you're good for". "Scream for me, bitch."
"You're nothing, bitch."
Hell, by now, it could even be your name. Every man in your life has called you that, at least once. Your father. The boys you've dated. The one who claims to love you. You've heard it so much you start to believe it. The Red Bitch. And then, you become it. You slowly become the bitch everyone claimed you were.

Whore

You're shocked the first time you're hit by this. Was it really that wrong? Everyone's doing it. Fuck, he does it every night, you can HEAR it from your room. But if you do it, it's wrong. "You fucking whore, where were you?" You hear it enough times to last you a lifetime , and only that night. He had you. He fucked you, and so did that boy at the party, and his friend. Everyone who's wanted to fuck you has gotten away with it, you've let them. So, maybe they're right again. You are a whore.
Everyone's.

Slut

It becomes your personal belief. You've let them have you, do what they want with you. And you've enjoyed every second of it. If you find a decent one,you'll eventually find a way of screwing things up. 'Cause it brings you pain, and pain is the only thing that makes you feel alive. Everything is fine as long as it hurts where it should. You can take anything, really. Even a bullet to the neck.

Few people in my life (and afterlife) have seen past the titles. To them, I am Amanda. Just me. They claim not to care about my past, or the things I've done. And I wish I could believe them. I really do. But the last time someone said that, last time someone gave me a chance, I ruined it.

I want to stop ruining my chances. For once,I want to look at true happiness in the face and smile back at it, take its hand and go wherever it leads me. I want something of my own. I want my dreams to come true. I want someone to love me for what I am, all of it: the whore, the slut,the bitch, the borderline-stockholm syndrome-bipolar psychopath killer, the former junkie, the abused child, the one that has always done everything she could to survive.

I want someone to love me for what I am, not what they wish I was.

I don't know why I had to write this, or why I suddenly want to cry. Fae's mood may not be helping at all. But then again, that's us.
Amazing how alike you and your host can be.

Fairytales- 1

Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom, a little girl was born. She was no princess, but as she grew older, she wished she was.
But the little girl lived in a dark cave, guarded by an evil dragon who kept the girl's mother as a slave. At night, he'd take the girl to the deepest, scariest part of the cave, and he'd keep her there so he could hurt her mother, scare her so she would never dare leave, even when the cave was not closed and the dragon left for days at a time.
One day, when the little girl ventured out into the woods and went back home late, the dragon became furious and hurt the little girl. How she survived, nobody could tell.
As the years passed by, the little girl dreamed about a brave knight who would rescue her from that awful cave, but she eventually gave up on that dream. By the time she turned sixteen, it was clear to her that, if she wanted to be saved, she'd have to save herself.
And so, she ran away.

"Adaptation"

It's always hard to come to terms with new situations in life. It's even harder when said situation involves realizing you were a "fictional" character, you're dead, and now your only chance for a continued existence is to inhabit a "Host": a person who's willing to share his or her body and mind with you. You've become some sort of parasite, the spiritual siamese twin of somebody you've never heard of . At first, it is as scary as it sounds. You question everything: the principles of reality, existence, God...you don't know what to believe anymore.
Then you have to accept that, from now on, your life becomes a democracy: every decision must be made in agreement with your "other you", from what you're having for breakfast today to what you'll wear, your career, love life, marriage... you're not free to fuck up your life at will anymore, and neither is your host. The arguing starts, but it's also how you get to know each other. I remember that day Faba told me to come to her and handed me a notebook with almost 15 pages of questions to answer, that ranged from the simplest ones like my favorite food, color, drink and movie, to deeper, more complex ones like my worst childhood memory, my most vivid nightmare,or the one dream I cherished most and never fulfilled. A week later, I made her answer the same questions, and we realized how much we had in common.

We talked at night, two insonmiacs stuck together in the same body, just talking each other to sleep. I'd take over at nights from time to time, plaguing her mind with my nightmares and letting her fill mine with her own. I'd wake up, covered in cold sweat, and head to the bathroom to wash my face,. Then I'd run my hands over my hair,and i'd find it was shorterthan I remembered. Then I'd lookupto the mirror and find a strange face there, looking at me from under a mass of (then) bright red curls, staring in shock. It was another nightmare, one I couldn't wake up from. How do you keep yourself sane when it's not your face you see every time you look in the mirror? How can you not lose all sense of self when it's not your body you're looking at? There's new marks to discover now ,new sensitive spots, new ticks, new scars.

For some, it would be too much.

Then I had a crises. I wasn't real anymore, she was making me up. I had lost all chance for a real life; my dreams of love and hopes for a real family of my own had gone to hell and burned down the day I had been shot. This was hell, and there was no way out. That night I cried, screamed, smashed everything in my way,even broke a mirror. And she let me do it. She let me hurt her body as if it was mine, because it was. This body, she said, was now just as mine as it is hers.
That day, I realized I loved her more than I thought I would. And she loved me, too.
From that day on, we became not only best friends, but partners in both life and crime.

She gradually introduced me to the people around her, sharing more and more of her world with me. Some of these people also became my friends, some other became my enemies. I openly expressed my dislike and love for some of them, and my complete lack of interest in the rest.

I almost screw us up when I fell for Ana. She warned me it wouldn't end right, that there was a reason they hadn't worked out, but she still let me do what I wanted. Faba was right: I turned the world upside down, stopped time and moved the stars for this girl without so much as a side glance and a paton the back for a reward. I learned my lesson the hard way, just as Faba would learn hers. When I say I don't trust someone, I have my reasons for it.

Adapting takes time. But eventually, you get used to it, like everything else. You keep on meeting people, making friends for both you and your host. The partnership turns into a friendship stronger than anything; when you share literally everything with someone, you create a bond that becomes unbreakable. Your past is not important anymore. You have been given the gift of a new life.

But then you find more like you and your Host, and you now know ANYTHING is possible and everyone is real. And as you meet new people, people you thought you'd never meet in your life, you become scared. Everyone can exist. People can come back from wherever they are as long as there's someone willing to take them in and share their existence with them. And as you realize this, you find yourself praying with all your might that your past will stay in your past, and that it can't find you. But when you've come back from the dead, you leave the door open for anyone to do the same.

So, the ghosts from my past are slowly, one by one, finding me. Most of them are just biding their time,waiting for their host to realize they're there and set them free to haunt us. But this time, we won't run. Running took us nowhere last time. Running is what wound us up here. And even when I'm thankful for that, I won't run this time. This time, I have someone else to be strong for,someone who's come to love me and need me just as much as I do her.
This time, we stand strong. If not for ourselves, then for our Kids. Our "other us".

We're setting out to live a movie-worthy life. But this time, I intend to write myself a happy ending.

"Malacopa"/ ALIVE

"Malacopa" is Spanish for those times when you get very very drunk and that causes you to behave violently or become depressed. Mix both,then serve, and that's me tonight. God only knows why.
Anyways, here's my "malacopa" song, along with the video.



"I'm Alive" lyrics

I am what you want me to be,
And I'm your worst fear
You'll find it in me.
Come closer...
Come closer...
I am more than memory
I am what might be,
I am mystery.
You know me
So show me.
When I appear it's
Not so clear if
I'm a simple spirit
Or I'm flesh and blood...
But I'm alive, I'm alive, I am so alive,
And I feed on the fear
That's behind your eyes.
And I need you
To need me
It's no surprise
I'm alive... So alive... I'm alive.
I am flame and I am fire,
I am destruction,
Decay and desire
I'll hurt you... I'll heal you...
I'm your wish,
Your dream come true,
And I am your darkest
Nightmare too
I've shown you...
I own you.
And though you made me,
You can't change me
I'm the perfect stranger
Who knows you too well.
And I'm alive, I'm alive, I am so alive,
And I'll tell you the truth
If you let me try.
You're alive, I'm alive,
And I'll show why
I'm alive... So alive... I'm alive
I'm right behind you.
You say forget,
But I remind you.
You can try to hide,
You know that I will find you.
'Cause if you won't grieve me
You won't leave me behind...
Ah, ah, ah,
Whoa, oh, oh,
Whoa, oh, oh...
No, no, no!
I'm alive, I'm alive, I am so alive,
If you climb on my back,
Then we both can fly.
If you try to deny me
I'll never die
I'm alive... So alive... I'm alive... Yeah, yeah... I'm alive... I'm alive... I'm alive... I'm alive!


There. Now that I've let it out and highlighted the most important parts,I feel a whole lot better.
Welcome to my dark side.You'll be hearing from it a little more often than I'd like.
And I'm not possesive, I'm merely territorial.

Some Advice...

For my "kids" out there, here's some advice:

- Never fear pain. Pain will come,and it will come harder if you keep avoiding it. The bitch chases after you all the time, so beter take it in small doses. Embrace it when it comes, cry it out, then start walking away.

- Watch "Mulholland Drive" at least once in your life. That'll be your guide of how NOT to love someone and what not to do to those who'd kill for you.
- On the note of love: don't ever be with someone you wouldn't give your life for. Also, never be with someone who wouldn't give their life for you.

- Never give everything for those who wouldn't give anything for you.

- In love, you ought to be a priority. If you're with someone s a second option,you're wasting your time.

- Never do drugs. They won't erase your past, nor will they make it go away. They only waste your present and ruin your future.

- Get completely wasted (drink until you forget your name and where you are) at least once in your life. Try never doing it again. If you do, ALWAYS be accompanied by someone who'll help you out.

- We were gifted with intuition. If it says "no", listen to it.

- Casual sex is great, yes. But it can't start to compare with making love. Try the latter more often.

- Don't put your friends and couple over your carreer, and don't put your carreer over them. You never know when both will end.

- Don't "forget and forgive". Forgiving means nothing if you forget.

- Keep in mind what happened, bear your scars proudly, and everytime you look at them, smile. In the end, all wounds heal,and all scars teach you a lesson.

- Stay in touch with at least one friend from your childhood. They'll help you remember how little you've really changed in essence, and will always point out how far you've made it in life.

- Don't have children for nannies to take care of. Have children when you know you can be with them when they need you. They are YOUR kids, your parents already had to raise you.

- When there's true love, marriage isn't needed. Keep it in mind.

- Don't be impatient. Live today to build the future you want, not just to get there.

- Don't say "I love you" if you don't really feel it. The symptoms are:

. Butterflies in your stomach.
. Miraculous boosts of energy when you see/hear/read/know about that person.

. Believing every word that comes out of their mouth, because, how could they lie to you?

. Smiling like stupid every time you notice something that reminds you of them.

. Smiling like stupid just because you remembered them.

. You'd give up everything without second thoughts or regrets just to see them again.

. You want to be fine. You want to be happy. You want to live and breathe so they can smile with you.

.You have no doubt of how (everything great and awesome) you are. Why else would they be there?

And the last piece of advice in this list:

People are just people. They come, they go...you're not them,and they don't make you. It hurts sometimes, and they hurt sometimes. But we need them.

Never look back. Never go back. Smile always. Cry until you can't cry anymore. Run, trip, get back up and keep running. Even if you never reach the sunset or the stars,just moving towards them makes you feel you can.

Who knows? Maybe you will...

Nightmares- Part 1

Throughout my life, I've come to realize that I'm apparently not entitled to a good night's sleep, nor am I the kind of person who can have a pleasant, quitet, peaceful dream.
I'm afraid of the dark. ever since I was a little kid, I've never been able to stay calm where there's no light. I'm also not particularly fond of enclosed spaces, but that's another story.
When I was a kid, they made me sleep with the door closed and the lights off. Immediately after my father would close the door, I'd start imagining the creatures that lurked in the dark, under my bed,or inside my closet. I tried to stay awake so they wouldn't eat me. Every night, I cried in silence until I finally fell asleep.

When I was about 6, the beatings started. He'd come home, staggering and reeking of alcohol,calling out for my mother. At first, she'd tell me to go to my room, and I'd stay there, lights out and covers over my head, hoping the sound would fade away, or that he'd pass out and leave her alone. The first time he hit me, it was because he'd heard me cry. After that, it became an everyday thing; he'd go for my mother, and I'd run and hide while he did to her whatever he feltlike that day. Then, when he was done, he'd start this twisted game of hide and seek with me. If he couldn't find me easily, he'd grow angry and take it out on anything that crossed his path, my mother included, until he found me, and then he'd punish me for hiding from him. But it was preferable to what happened if he did find me.
Things only got worse from then, and every night, after he was "done" with me, I had to stay in that room, in that bed where he had hurt me. I felt him there, like my room was his prision for me. There was no running from that.There was no running from him. If I said "no", then he'd lock me up in the basement, or under the stairs, or the closet...and he'd leave me there for hours. There were rats in the basement, and spiders. But he gave a fuck. Nights went by, hour by hour...and suddenly, being asleep or awake made no difference, 'cause it was all the same. He was everywhere, with the rats and spiders and shadows in the dark, and the noises that came from the dingy,dust-covered corners of the house.
We tried telling. I tried running, but mom wouldn't let me. We needed him.
I ran away from home at 16, but I could never run away from my father. He was there every time I tried to sleep. Every man I lived with had his face, his smell, his touch... I knew he'd follow me everywhere.
I hadn't slept in two weeks the night I was arrested. Lights, sounds, and a tone of voice that was all-too familiar for me, a kind of violence I knew well.
18 months in jail. Posession. And it was dark there. I was back to the situation I had been running from for six years.

In jail, I started using heroin, and I discovered the joys of dreamless sleeping. It was a bliss,to actually get to rest during those moments of not thinking; everything around me was gone for a moment, and I got lost in the sensations, the adrenaline rush. I slept relatively fine when I used heroin, and that's something I must confess I miss.

I really don't know how to continue this. We've come to the point where I don't know how to put what needs to be said in words...or rather, I don't want to.

I've been to rehab twice. The first time was in 1995. I was fresh out of jail, and it was part of my sentence. That's where I, unknowingly, met some of the most important people in my life.
What happened at the clinic is something I won't talk about this time. I think it's enough if I say I still have nightmares about it even now. I dream that he sees Jill,and then spots me...that's when I wake up. I don't want to find out what happens next, 'cause I know.

I ran away from the clinic. I left the city, moved as far away from there as I could. I spent ten years hiding, selling myself for a hit so I could forget everything I had left behind in NY. I found someone more or less stable who treated me a little less like shit and more like a woman, and I moved in with him. We had...well, not a decent life, but it was not shitty, either. We got money, we both used, we could afford food, we went out...you know, things you're supposed to do and have when you're young. 20-something young.

But I got sick. Bored of the same thing, of the comfortable life.

I hopped on some stranger's car and let him drive me wherever he was going. I had drugs, some cash, and my body to pay for the trip.

Guess my surprise when, after three days of road trip, I woke up to find myself at the hospital, on the same city I had ran away from ten years ago.

That was my second rehab. That's how he found me.

This is it for now. I'll continue tomorrow.

The Irony of Music...

Lately, I've been listening to music like I never had before; in 30-something years of life (and an afterlife of sorts) I limited myself to certain bands I KNEW I liked. Why waste my time finding more music when the one I had always listened to was just fine? Well,it's true that every now and then I'd hear something new that I liked and add it to my playlist.
Ayways, lately that playlist has been growing at an impressive degree;as I said before, I've been listening to music I had never heard or thought I would like before. Some of it fits perfectly with my "type of music", but most of it doesn't.

Here I give you a few examples of Music I never thought I would like until I was proved wrong.

The Ting Tings
I know, I know...What The Fuck. But one of their songs got stuck in my head (stupid TV), and the Kid dowloaded it along with some other songs. Turns out I like their style, and their lyrics are pretty nice, too. My favorites by them:Great DJ and That's Not My Name

"Taking Chances" by Celine Dion.
Don't even get me started on this. I hate corny, sweet,romantic "I love you baby,be mine forever" music. Romance has always been ABSENT in my life, and the closest I've come to living a novelistic love story was John. But then things(and fanfiction turned canon by me) happened, and the kid had this song on her computer,and I heard it, and actually fucking payed attention to the lyrics. You can figure out the rest.
I HATE Celine Dion.

"Bulletproof" by La Roux
First of all, anyone who points out the irony in this earns a one-way trip to the warehouse and a Hoffman makeover. That said, I don't really know what I like so much about this song. The lyrics are fine, I guess, and the tune is catchy, but it's no big deal. Still, it's on the list, and it makes me smile.
And while we're speaking of irony, I believe I should also mention this next song:

"Happiness Is a Warm Gun" by The Beatles
People should know that I don't like The Beatles at all; there's no real reason for this, I just don't like their music. But this song really got to me when I first payed attention to it, and it's now one of my favorites. People, never say "never", because that "never" will surely come back and bite you in the ass, and hard.

Other additions to the list that should also be mentioned are Regina Spektor, Amanda Palmer, P!nk and Nouvelle Vague.

Ok, so maybe I'm a sucker for lyrics. And maybe I've been listening to the Kid's music for a little too long. Hell, maybe I've been with the Kid for too long. Who knows, who cares.

Stay tuned for more today. Expect a deeper insight into the workings of my mind by tonight. I heard someone wanted to know about my nightmares...

People Of Flesh and Bone

People of flesh and bone lie. People with their own bodies cheat you, think it's ok to make up a wonderful world for you because they can't see you there; if they believe you imaginary, you're irrelevant, they feel they can do with you as they please.
People of flesh and bone have this stupid belief that they have to sand over everyone to get what they want, no matter who gets hurt or how badly. People of flesh and bone regard themselves as the most important thing around them. All else is something that was put there for them to use at will.

And that's why I may be trhough with most people of flesh and bone.