Cold Feet, Cold Hands

every once in awhile i get caught in a situation where i dont know what the fuck to do, it usually ends with a funny or awkward response from me. that situation showed its ugly face today. 

i rarely go to starbucks. going to starbucks to "study" is my bullshit excuse to get out of the house and surf the net on free wifi and drink overpriced, diabetes filled coffee. anyway, i go in, get my coffee, and pull out my laptop, all while facing the entrance so i can see everyone that comes in. im paranoid like that. after a few minutes of wandering the internet, someone else comes in. now in my past experiences, whenever i see an attractive girl, i tend to not make eye contact and act like everything is normal; trying to play it cool. the thing is, my play-it-cool face is the same face i make when i dont want anyone to talk to me. i look fucking angry all the time. so i strike out on the im-interested-in-you face.

back to the story. she comes in, orders her coffee. as shes waiting, im trying to be discreet and catch a look at her. just as i look up from my laptop, i see that she looking at me. our eyes meet for a couple seconds and we both look away, a little polite smirk on our faces. the moment you get caught checking someone out. i guess i have a weakness for a pretty face. what caught me off guard was that after she gets her coffee, she proceeds to sit behind me. out of the whole fucking empty starbucks, she decides to sit behind me. if i was gonna talk to her, this was my chance.

as most of you know, im not actually one to start a conversation; to be quiet honest, it made me a little nervous she sat behind me. i felt like she was looking over my shoulder the whole time, not that i was looking at anything i shouldnt have. my brain goes into panic mode. im trying to think of something clever to say, because chicks like guys that say clever shit right? so now im over here with an attractive young lady sitting behind me, waiting for me to say something,  and im just bullshitting in my head what to say. like most opportunities in my life, i did the worst thing possible. nothing. absolutely nothing. closing time came around and she gave me one last chance. she got up with all her things and pretended to throw away some trash. out of the corner of my eye i could see she was looking at me once more. again, we exchanged glances, but i said nothing.she walks out and im just sitting there. well, fuck.

 now that im writing about it and reflecting on what i SHOULD have done, im noticing a pattern in myself. im not afraid of anyone or anything. im not afraid of death. but the ONE thing i am afraid of is failure and/or rejection. all my life ive been blessed with reaching my goals and having success in everything i want to do. the insecurity of knowing that rejection or failure is a possibility bothers me. and i know what most of you are thinking. life is about taking chances, and experiencing failure is part of  life. to you it might be, but when your last 2 relationships end with a broken heart, especially since in my past situations i was so young, you cant help but be insecure about these things. i take relationships extremely serious. you're opening up to someone and letting them inside you, where your most vulnerable. maybe thats why i didnt say anything.

I have trust issues.

        

A Bit Closer To Heaven

it started out like the other dreams. you never remember the beginning, but the middle and end are what matter most anyway. i was in an unnamed city walking alone at night. it was winter time, snow was falling like confetti, the mix of light wind and ice peppered my face. all around, the buildings and skyscrapers intimidated me. i didnt know where i was going, but all i had in the pocket of my jacket was a lighter and a box of smokes. it was perfect smoking weather. i light one and take a long, deep drag. the nicotine hit my system like heroin in a junkie. i exhaled the stress.

the people on the streets paid no attention to me. even at this late hour of the night, the sidewalks were littered with characters. junkies, homeless, drug dealers, tourists, police, and your occasional prostitute. it felt like home. the inner city chaos was probably the reason i was there; i have a habit of observing people interact. i kept walking, leaving behind the crowd and taking a side street into an alley. the sounds of people and police sirens faded away. snow was now falling with higher intensity. by this time i was on my third cigarette, each pull i exhaled felt better than the last, so why stop now?

the alley felt like it went on forever. each step i took forward only made the exit move farther away. before i could notice, the blizzard began. i went into a full sprint towards the end. i still had a smoke in my mouth while i was running, but i noticed that it was completely frozen. i spit it out and keep going, dumpsters and aging walls turning into a blur. my face was going numb, but i could still feel the ice and snow cut my face like daggers. my fingers turned into icicles, my nose was frozen with thick ice, and my legs were getting heavier with every stride. i wanted to keep my pace but i fall. the exit out of the alley was about  ten feet from where i was. crawling towards the end, it was no use. my legs were frozen solid, the ice making its way to my torso. i tried as hard as i could to make it up, but i failed. my lungs were freezing from the inside. my last gasp of air evaporated into nothing. i was within arms length of the exit but i prepared for the inevitable. i layed there like the outline of a murdered body. no pain, no agony. i died.

i dont know what this dream means. ive never had one when it happens in snow. some of the faces i do remember seeing but i dont know their names. the city felt familiar but it could be just my imagination. the dream was more terrifying than i could ever describe, its something that you have to experience. its something you should never experience.


The trick in my situation was that there was no trick, no matter what the movies tell you. No rules, no secret mantra, no road map. It wasn't about how smart or how good you were. It was chaos and luck, and anyone who thought different was a fool. All you could do was to hang on madly, as long and hard as you could.

In My Darkest Hour

my brother recently had his son, about a week ago. nothing could prepare me for that moment when he came in through those gray sterile doors and announce the birth of his son. it was a moment that stays etched in your mind for all eternity. my mom and sister crying in joy, my dad was extremely happy, and my little brothers were congratulating him. everyone was happy, except me. like i said before, affection is something that im not good at showing or receiving. but this was different. this is my brother. my blood. i wanted to feel happy for him but i couldnt. at one point throughout that moment of celebration i was expecting compassion to kick in, but it never did. my emotions stood me up at the worst time.
 my poker face was on the minute i stepped into the hospital. i dont like hospitals. death roamed the halls, giving the chosen few invitations to their final dance. i was sure of it. my lungs felt squeezed and my stomach felt like it was eating itself. its ironic how most people are born in a hospital and most people die in a hospital. my dreams have shown me in a hospital before, and it was never a happy ending.

 am i reading too deep into my own flaws? what am i overlooking? writing about it only gets me so far. i need a 3rd party opinion. my own answers are becoming questions themselves. the simplest thought becomes a giant game of chess in my mind. that day at the hospital, my family saw the part of me that they knew existed but never wanted to witness. they saw past my mask and didnt like what they saw. they saw nothing. nothing but a serious scowl on a day that represents and means so much to them. to me, it was just another day. no joy, no hope, no love. no compassion. im not going to say that i dont care, because maybe i do. the situation doesnt affect me. it makes my life indifferent, even if its a major family event.

i was born with a talent not many people have. my brain is a sponge for knowledge. if i dont understand something, i make it my goal to find out everything i can and make myself an expert on the subject. which is probably why i obsess with everything. my mind is my own enemy. what it doesnt know it wants to learn, and what it learns is never enough. its past midnight at the moment im typing this and i have so many questions to ask. the main questions that's bothered me is the one i get asked frequently: why am i like this? what happened to me in my past that molded me into what people see me as? i dont know. and thats the part i cant figure out. i dont smile, i rarely laugh, and for some reason people tell me i look intimidating to approach. all i can answer with is "thats just who i am". genuine compassion was something i felt i could give out when i was younger. but life has taught me something. a person can only donate so much of themselves to others before they turn into the the person who needs.

More Human Than Human

there are times in my life when i cant handle my own thoughts anymore. the glue that keeps me intact starts to grow weak. my psyche takes a beating to the head with a baseball bat. the insecurities that are drowned out by the poker face i put on for the world are slowly making its way to the surface. im questioning my own decisions and face the never ending drama my mind plays in my subconscious. whats happening to me? in my dreams i even have my own book: THE MAN OF A THOUSAND FACES, written by Me.

the weight of being the pretender is beginning to make me fold. i hear people's (or they tell me) horror stories of overcoming adversity all the time, the struggle they went through to achieve their goal. at the end of their story everyone applauds and hugs begin to be served out like candy, tears wiped from eyes, congratulations being given. as all this happens, im just standing there, trying find a way to sympathize. ive become so consumed by finding out whats morally right or wrong that i prefer not to choose sides. i analyze every situation and try to find the correct approach, but like life, its never easy. i finally came to a conclusion: i dont care. sympathy is a word thats lost its place and meaning in my vocabulary. instead of looking at a possible positive outcome, i immediately pick at the negative. "bad things happen to stupid people, they deserved it, what did they think was going to happen" what does all that say about me and the type of person i am? even THAT'S bothering me. im actually taking into consideration what people think about me. i want to be accepted but at the same time, i dont. i want to fit in, but i cant. the unnecessary drama that comes from friendships or any social contact are part of the reason i cant handle it. i dont have patience for that, nor the tolerance.

the dreams are getting out of hand. over the last few days ive had terrible nightmares. in the first one, i lose all my teeth and my mouth  becomes grotesquely disfigured. another night, i dreamed i was a police officer in a life or death situation. i lived, but at the expense of someone else. A lot of people say God talks to you in your dreams. if thats true, i would like to ask him why my dreams are becoming progressively violent as the days wear on. what do these dreams mean? what is my subconscious trying to tell me? these dreams arent some mathematical equation i can just try and figure out. im losing more and more sleep because i dont know what i'll be dreaming about that night. im afraid of what i'll see, but i think the dreams are the opinions i have but never speak of. im not sure. maybe i'll visit a psychic and they can tell me something i dont already know.

even the things i thought i had gotten over are rising from the dead. the lack of support from my family in things i do, past friends going down a direct road to failure, and to me the most stupid ( and childish in my opinion) emotion that has haunted me: the lack of affection. the lack of affection is something i thought i could bury behind books, hobbies, exercise, etc. but its the only one constant when you want to understand someone. with affection you need sympathy, with sympathy you have understanding, with understanding you have connection, with connection, well, you feel something i havent privileged much. i have never been an affectionate person and i never did like people showing  me affection. but like any rule, there are exceptions. the times that i let affection happen, they came from people i was comfortable with, from people i care about. they are the ones that see past my mask, the ones who know who i really am and how to get the best out of me. i know that im capable of love, ive felt it before. the unexplainable feeling of euphoria in your stomach knowing when someone tells you it will be alright, and you believe them. its a privilege ive rarely experienced, but the memory of  what it felt like is what makes me appreciate it. the rare times my parents have told me are moments i hang on to, not only because theyre my parents, but because i know its hard for them as well. they always compared me to someone else and never truly believed in my potential, but i see that all they wanted was for me to be someone they could be proud of. " Im proud of you". even to this day, those four elusive words i have yet to hear.

everyone wants to be accepted, im no exception. but i know my maze runs deeper than what it looks. objects in mirror are closer than they appear, and thats how i feel. my problem may not be finding the answer, but the answer itself. 


"There's nothing more frustrating than solving a puzzle, than finding out it still doesn't make sense"

- Dexter    

Honesty

put yourself in a compromising position. if you lie to someone about certain situation to spare their feelings, arent you doing more bad than good? but if you say nothing and they found out you knew, your looked at as a traitor and disloyal. what do you do? what do you do when you see an accident about to happen and you have the power to stop it, but at the expense of someones safety? do you let 1 die to save 3? do you cut off the finger to save the hand?

what most people see as pessimism in me i see as common sense. ive learned how to be a clear thinker, emotions no match for my developed judgement. i didnt get this way overnight though. years of experience and meticulous social research have all brought me to the same conclusion: there are no happy endings in life. the sooner you accept it, the sooner you can embrace the vast amount of knowledge you never knew existed. at a young age, i realized people were too sensitive to have their opinion criticized, no matter who you are in society. everyone fears social acceptance, yet they do whatever they can to be noticed or acknowledged. you see an example of these kind of people everywhere, theyre what we call the "cool" kids. the kids you hear about earning minimum wage for the rest of their lives. i made it a hobbie to put these kids into place. every time they opened their mouth i always followed them up with something sarcastic and insulting, but subtle enough they didnt realize what i said. they never did notice, but everyone else did. thats when it began. my open opinions and the sarcastic answers were all part of role i was playing. i was so good people even gave me a nickname: asshole.

how did i get this way you ask? imagine, living most of your life as a shadow. the random guy at the party who looks lost and out of place. some people i know since 3rd grade dont even know my name, and i went to middle school and high school with them. i at least have the courtesy of knowing their full name and something memorable about them. after moving high schools, this hobbie of mine became a full addiction. by the time it became part of my personality, it had spread through me like cancer. as a kid your taught that if you dont have anything nice to say, dont say anything. i thought the opposite. people need to hear your honest opinion, not only because you want to put them in their place, but because people need a reality check. sometimes you have to destroy someone so bad they reflect on themselves. in the long run, theyll see the hidden message. i learned not to get emotionally attached to anything or anyone, im still afraid of how vulnerable i can still be.   

no one has ever cared about what i had to say. not at home, school, work , but i learned to live with it and accept it. as a teen i didnt know how to approach anyone i knew and talk about what i wanted to say. for me its hard enough to make friends, let alone being comfortable telling someone not well known to me. i felt like i could manage on my own, because c'mon, what kind guy talks about his feelings right? i became desensitized to what was vulgar and offensive. my answers always had a sarcastic, matter of fact kind of tone. i evolved into a know it all. the ultimate front for the insecure, or in my case, the sadist. the main reason i am the way i am is simple. i like seeing people suffer emotionally from my answers and forcing people to open their minds. the people that look for my honest opinions will tell you that i dont hold back. common sense is what i live by, not what the heart wants.    

Put A Ring On It

back again.

i couldnt stay away for too long. the sudden urges to write, reading 3 books at once, words and letters swirling around in my head like alphabet soup. i was bound to relapse. writing has been and always will be my drug of choice.

10:37pm. my laptop, a cup of coffee, and a playlist of music that most would consider murderous jargon. i think of it as relaxing meditation for the morbid curiosity. cant say ive always been this way. im not going to waste time trying to find someone, something, or a life event to blame my social detachment to what most consider "normal". this is my therapy session and my sanctuary. years of being an outsider have prepared me to face the challenges of keeping up this front that i have. no, i dont have anything to hide. the front is for your own protection. youre not gonna like what you see on the other side.

horror movies and books on the path through hell and finding eternal salvation are my new interest. i  do believe in god, but not religion. the bible? its nothing more than a book of bedtime stories. how is it you can believe that a man walked on water, fed thousands with only a piece of bread, and cured the sick? But you cant believe in any of the greek, roman, or asian mythology stories that their respected societies beliefs come from? the bible is just a metaphor for human beings teaching what is and isnt socially acceptable. nothing more. studies show that the smarter you are the less likely you believe in a supreme being. since the beginning of time, anything that a human did not understand, they saw as a miracle, until science and math proved it. in sir isaac newtons time, it was understood as fact that the earth was flat, the heavens were in the clouds, and that the earth was the at the center of the universe. sir isaac proved all of them wrong. he proved through algebra and astronomy that what they thought to be fact was indeed false. believers didnt want to accept it, so they viewed science and astronomy as threats to their faith. this still goes on today.

the dreams are on their way back. one of them started today. dreams have a interesting way of starting out, you never remember the beginning. in this dream though, im laying on the cold, damp floor in a dimly lit room. i couldnt see the walls around me, but i could see the outline of a metal prison door. i think i was in solitary confinement. the odd part was that i was wearing civilian clothes, not a prison jumpsuit.i try to lift myself up with my hands, but an unbearable pain shot through me. still laying down, i looked at my right hand. my ring finger had been cut clean off. i wasnt bleeding, but the searing pain was almost unbearble. my finger was laying next to me. to my amazement, it had a ring on it. i use my left hand to take off the ring, and thats when i woke up. at the exact moment i woke up, i had an...undescribable feeling on the finger that had been amputated, almost pain like. what could it mean? is it a sign of things to come? im not married and i have no interest in getting married. but why the ring and the mutilation? who was i married to? with  every answer i find, 2 more questions arise. 

i havent rambled like that in so long. the self gratification that comes from writing is intoxicating to me. knowing that i write and people read is an accomplishment in itself. the ultimate for of self expression. every key stroke, every pause in between sentences, every sip of coffee that i take brings back a feeling of nostalgia that only a few things do to me. everything has its consequences though. i can already feel the insomnia seeping in through the keyboard, into my fingers, and making its final stop in my brain. i hope i can regain some of the writing talent that i thought i once had. this isnt my personal diary/journal. this a window. a door into my soul. a place where every answer yields more questions.        

Quisiera Ser

i havent written anything in so long. alot of my plans have changed  already and we're barely in february still. current mood. content with what i have, and grateful for my future.