On the last day of my life as a 16 year old.

"I used to wait for you. Days would go by before I got a text or a hello, but I was so elated to finally hear from you that I ignored all the signs. I forgot that I deserve better. I forgot that I actually need someone who's going to uplift and adore me, worship me, love me completely, just as I loved you. But I'll never get that from you.

I'll never get the sweet note or that hug or the awkward hand holding. I'll never be able to hold you again, to kiss you and run my fingers along your collar bone; you're simply too cruel. I can't deal with the insensitivity and the cutting jokes. I can't deal with the degrading behavior you're so trapped in.

You're sorry? Well that's wonderful, but I don't want apologies. I want a change in behavior, a change in character, and I'm not going to ask that of you because I know you too well. This is who you are, this is how you are, and I'm not supposed to try and change that. I'm accepting you as You, and moving on.

I'm falling out of love."
from Le Love

Maybe I`m too young to keep good love from growing wrong.

She raised her hand to knock on the hard oak door, but hesitated upon hearing the unmistakable melody of piano music. She listened, spellbound, as he wove the notes into a beautiful tapestry of sound. It was the voice of pearls falling into the ocean water, wind caressing the falling maple leaves, flame dancing from the tip of a candlestick, cherry blossoms frolicking around a small child and lovers dancing their inimitable tango, all the the same time. The blending of the notes, a product of his careless genius, resonated within her.

Her hand reached up and rested above her heart, feeling its discordant beating. Everything she ever wanted was inside that room: the boy, the sweet voice, the innate talent and everything else that words could not, would not describe. The small window on the door afforded her an unobstructed view of the magnificent pianist in his element. It was breathtaking.

As the harmony slowly drew to as close, she pulled on the door, hoping to open it soundlessly. The resulting creak made her flinch & he stood up abruptly, the piano bench almost falling and his head whipping around quickly to look for the source of the disturbance.

Slowly, she made her way to his side and reached out. Upon feeling his hands on her shoulders, holding her away at a safe distance, she smiled ruefully.

"It hurts when you push me away, you know."

With a resigned sigh, he sat back down on the chair and she arranged herself carefully on his lap, facing the other way. Her arms encircled his head, playing with his hair. He leaned closer to her, feeling her warmth. It was an idyllic moment, too perfect to last.

Remembering a half-forgotten memory of an illicit tryst, she moved her hands inside his shirt, tracing lazy circles. She was rewarded with a quick laugh and a slight shiver. "So you`re still ticklish there?", she laughed at him. He smirked and she didn`t have to see him to know that he did.

His fingers, which had been tapping out an experimental rhythm on the piano earlier, slowly slid inside her shirt, caressing her back to return the favor. As he languorously played around, seeking, she returned her hands to his hair.

A small cry of disbelief rose from her lips as he hit the exact spot that made her boneless with laughter. Between giggles, she wiggled, trying to get away. He laughed against her shoulder and she could feel the deep vibrations it caused. Then, mercifully, he ceased his minstrations, instead, opting to trace random letters on her skin.

The warmth of her skin seared his fingers.
The cool feeling of his hand on her back made her shiver.

Suddenly, he stopped and pushed her off. With an ungraceful snort, she quickly caught herself before she fell to the ground. She knew exactly why he had pushed her away, despite not wanting to embrace this reason.

With as much dignity as she could muster, she gathered the torn scraps of her pride and stood up. Her eyes looked up at his and flinched away from their indifferent depths. Then, without a word, she swept away, closing the door behind her.

One lone tear threatened to escape but she masterfully blinked it back. She knew right then and there, as she leaned back on the unyielding door, that that one golden afternoon was the last. With a lethargic smile, she stood up straight and cast a last look back inside the now-quiet room. In that fleeting moment, they had captured the calm and beauty of their lost affection ... but it was as it is called.
Lost.

I think I spoke too soon.

Today was supposed to be a good day. It started out the same as every other day - with a small altercation between me and my mom - but that was normal. It became a great day because of my friends & our so-called Songfest practice. I'd might even venture to say that today was the most fun I've had in a while. But then, here were are, back to where we started. Yes, back to the never-ending cycle of crap that seems to be the story of my life.

Family is supposed to be our system of support. The ones that never desert us, even through the toughest challenges in our life. You taught me that family never leaves family & that, when everything else seems dark & uncertain, family is going to be the rock that keeps you stable.

Filthy liar.

Tell me now, why is my family the very reason I feel so utterly wretched right now. If family is the supposed to be my reason for living & my eternal comfort system, why does this very same family makes me want to disown myself. Why does my mom, in particular, seem to get off on getting mad at me? Why do I feel as if I'm not part of this family anymore & they'd be happy, nigh rejoiceful, if I disappeared.

Thank you, my beloved Alvarez family. With relatives like you, who needs enemies?

Isn`t the view so picturesque?

Ask me that question right now & I shall remark on your god-awful insipidity. Of course it is not picturesque. If anything, it is a sight that makes me want to throw up all the food in my stomach. To go to class everyday & see that blatant display is nothing short of tortuous ... & nauseating.

But I'm getting better. This picture, though unwelcome, is a soothing balm on my nerves. It is both distressing & comforting. Like medicine that will initially make you worse before you become so much better, if you will. The expectation of seeing this right in front of my face everyday is enough to make me want to blow off school altogether, but actually attending & seeing it is becoming more bearable each time.

The mere fact that I don't end up incessantly spouting cuss words is a marked improvement indeed.

A couple more sessions of this little torture scene & I shall, hopefully, be cured. I wait for that day with bated breath for it means that I am finally out of the shadow of the huge mistake that has painted most of my recent months in abysmally sad colours. Now, I finally see the wiseness of the advice I did not want to take 'til it was too late. Facing my demons, she said, would make me invulnerable to them. Apparently, this is true & for that, I am most thankful.

Letting out my emotions is an exercise in futility.

I`m ashamed to say this, but for the first time in ages, a cutter came near my skin again. That`s pretty much a euphemism for "I slashed one long line down my wrist" but I`ll tell you anyway. It`s alright, no one really reads this. Well, the metal was cold, but I forgot how painful it really was. After the slash was made, it did not hurt much, but now it`s throbbing. Even so, I don`t regret cutting. It distracts me from what really hurts.

Now, I reminded myself all over again. Shit. Okay, so maybe I lied. Maybe I never really forgot. Maybe the emotional pain right now is suffocating me, driving me to the now-unfamiliar throes of crying-induced asthma that I haven`t felt since I was 7. Maybe cutting hasn`t really distracted me anymore than writing this has. Maybe I never really forgot the emotional pain...and, oh, fuck, I am so angry. This feeling`s strange...like I`m a taut violin string and the lightest pressure will make me snap.

I have no gift for words & this is probably the crudest thing I have ever written, but the feelings running amok in me are primal and crude too. Raw. Animalistic. Like I just want to go inside my tormentor`s room and rip her eyeballs out with my long, light blue fingernails. Fist her hair and smash her head against the headboard of that too-big bed. It`s sick that I get so much pleasure from daydreaming about this right now & if I wasn`t in such a horrendous mood, I would probably be disgusted...but not now. Now, I just want her to be tortured, maybe like the poor Japanese girl who underwent 44 days of torture. That would be hell on earth, but that still would not be enough.

My eyes are itchy now that I`ve cried my tear ducts dry. I can`t even breathe through my nose because it`s clogged. My lips are dry. It even hurts when I lick them. Ohmygod, the table where my computer sits has so many memories from before this pain. Why can`t I imagine a time when everything was better? All I can see right now is this red-hot poker stirring my insides.

Beside my left hand is the list of things we ordered from Yellowcab a mere 3 hours ago. Hard to believe that 3 hours ago, I was laughing. How did this all happen so fast? Beside the mouse is the glass of water I remember filling at the dinner table downstairs. Oh yes, we were all cracking jokes then. Amazing how our family dynamic could change in so little time.

What scares me most is I don`t know how this happened. It wasn`t supposed to be like this...& now that I think about it, I am the person I hate most right now. I hate myself more than my torturer, because, in the end, this is all my doing. Yes, that`s probably why I cut myself. Damn it, I wish that when I climbed over that silly gate, I fell on the ground, broke my spine & died. Would that be a bad thing to wish? Maybe then, I wouldn`t be feeling so dead inside.

Wow, this is long. I just read everything I wrote & it all just comes of as the whiny rant of a suicidal bitch. Yup, no talent for writing here. Just letting it all out.

Remember New Moon? The book by Stephenie Meyer where Bella spends most of her time crying about some painful hole in her chest? I used to laugh at that book, think about how silly & exaggerated it was...but not anymore. In a way, that is exactly how I feel right now. Broken in so many pieces that I have to hug myself in order to make sure I`m in one piece. Am I? I don`t know...

I used to relate this kind of physical pain to boys. Yes, it`s a dull ache in my chest, the feeling I always associate to the word "heartbreaking". I thought this kind of pain was for relationships...like, when someone cheats on you or the boy you loved most gives up on you. But no, I was wrong. My heart is breaking because of my mistakes right now & the consequences I have to face. It`s probably not all my fault & my torturers are overreacting, in my point of view...but, whatever happens, I`m going to carry the total weight of this on my shoulders. This is no laughing matter; the consequences are dire. I may have single-handedly ruined what was left of my pitiful relationship with my mom. My parents` trust is now irrevocably lost, not that it was ever with me in the first place.

What will I do now? How will I move from here? It`s 12.24 AM, but I`m selfishly wishing that someone can drive all the way here, wipe my tears away and hug me tight. Not letting go as I sob the whole damn story on his or her shoulder. And I would give the world for that person to be my mother, so that I can tell her how much I love her & how sorry I am for being the black sheep of the family. But that will never happen because our huge pride is a family trait. If only she can read this, but, as computer-illiterate as she is, that is impossible.

Oh, God...I am so scared. I just want to die. You probably did not understand the whole idea of this blog entry, but it`s okay. My advice to you is to just forget all about what you read & smile, because your life is so much better than the pitiful remnants of mine.

This has been too long, I feel like I should stop. Hundreds of words, ranting on & on, have been written. This was an exercise to make me feel better...but do I? Even marginally? I don`t know. I can`t think straight. Maybe I will do better tomorrow, when everything is a bit clearer. Or maybe I`ll do better after a bottle of wine & a pack of Reds, when everything is blurrier. I suppose I shall try both tomorrow. For now, I better find some Band-Aids to cover the gash on my inner arm. I may be falling apart, but that`s not reason enough to make anyone else worry.

Well, goodnight. I hope you had a better day than mine...though I don`t see how anyone could have it worse. Sleep well.