Musings of a Broken Dreamer.

Random PenSword Fact #3: I’m Venezuelan-American. But I’ve been mistaken for so many different things. I’ve kept a list of it; Mexican, Puerto Rican, Peruvian, Turkish, Arabian, Egyptian, Greek, Italian, Philippine, Korean, Russian. There are some days where I don’t even know what the fuck I am anymore.

It’s game day here in Boone. Um…yay…

I’m not a football guy. If it was a WWE or UFC event that’d be a different story. Any sports that involve the use of a ball I just cannot get behind it. It doesn’t help that in my Venezuelan household there was always some stupid baseball game playing in the background. Baseball is a huge thing with my Dad. Baseball is hands down the most boring sport ever. Every discussion at the dinner table revolved around baseball. Who’s got the best batting average? Who makes the best pitches? What team is going to the World Series? Whose out with a torn ACL?

It took every ounce of willpower I had to not take my dinner fork and use it to stab my eardrums with it. That’s one thing I really don’t miss about living at home. Oh wait there is one thing worse than hearing people get so excited about baseball. Fucking Nascar…

The fact that my Dad loves the whitest sport in the world proves that we’ve been living down south in the Carolinas for far too long. This concludes the mindless ranting portion of the post.

After the last post where I mentioned that old friend I had gotten really emotional. I started remembering all the talks we had, all the laughter, all the dreams we had together. I was remembering all the good things. I had to fight the temptation to connect with him.

As much as I’d love to catch up with him, what would the point be? I’ve already pointed out that it’s just a cycle of reconnecting that leads to a disconnection. I’d just fall back into repeating a bad habit all over again. Something that’s counter-productive to everything I’m doing to keep my current positive momentum building. Besides that, I get back in contact with him and what then? I have nothing newsworthy to share with him.

I’m in a better place mentally, but I’m not in a position to boast about anything. In fact in a lot of ways I’m still that same kid with lofty dreams.

We dreamt of going to Japan together. We dreamt of becoming writers and having our work published. We dreamt about making it big in the world. We called ourselves A&A Inc, to represent our names. We dreamt the most loftiest of lofty dreams.

I used to get the biggest high from those dreams. I remembered feeling that passion, that desire to work toward them. I remember those dreams coming back to me at the age of 23 after I tried killing myself. I remember when those dreams returned they came back with greater intensity as if to prove that I was no longer in that dark place I kept myself in the furthest depths of my ruined mind.

Those dreams meant the world to me. They still do to this day. That’s why I overreacted the way that I did back then when he ran away from home and didn’t say anything to me about what he was going through at the time. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking that he turned his back on the dreams we shared as friends. I felt like he “sold out” and I remember vowing that I wouldn’t give in. No matter how grueling reality would become I wouldn’t give up on anything. I wanted to carry on with those dreams and realize them for myself. Without even thinking about it that mindset is what brought me to this point.

I’m don’t feel any closer to fulfilling those dreams than I was all those years ago with my friend. Now that I think about it I might have tried taking one too many short cuts along the way. Trying to find a suitable someone to replace that friendship that we had, someone who shared the same vision as me, someone who I could happily speak to about the same interests we share. But that went nowhere. And look where I’m at now. Even the friends I did make after the seperation are no longer by my side.

I remember the first signs of changes in me when I walked away the first time. Everything felt so foreign to me in the beginning; I came out officially not long after that, I fell in love with someone for the first time, I was speaking my thoughts without fear, I was more honest with myself, I took more risks. And after my first stint in therapy I felt all that increase by 100 fold. I felt powerful. I felt like I was no longer the child that my friend saw in me.

Now I’m starting to think that last part was all an illusion. I have this moments where I feel like I never changed at all. Like I’m still stuck in the past. I don’t want to be, but now that I think about him it’s all leading back to that moment.

“Until we’ve truly learned our lesson we will be given the same test again and again”. What am I’m supposed to be learning here?

That I’m some immature, selfish little brat that throws tantrums when reality gets in the way of things? That I can’t change reality? That I can’t take on the world? What?! What big lesson is there I’m supposed to be taking from all of this?

As usual I’m lost. There’s a lot that I do know and all I can do is stick to what I do know. I can’t focus on the things that I cannot do, but always make it about the things that I can do. I can’t let go of those dreams. There’s something in me that just refuses to let go. I can let go of the past and the bitter idea that my old friend and I have grown so far apart. But I can’t give up on Japan, writing, getting published, and wanting better for myself. This much I know is right.

The answers will come to me in one way or another. Right now I don’t want to forget the good times I had with that friend even though it came to an end. I’ve been fighting those memories as if they were my “Nightmares”. It’s like keeping them locked in Pandora’s Box in my mind. Maybe my answers are in those memories. But that doesn’t change the fact that I cannot ever go back to the way things were. That’s a dream I learned to let go.

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My Creative Spark.

Random Pensword Fact #1: Yes I am gay. No, I do not worship Meryl Streep as some primordial Hollywood Goddess. No, I do not own a single Madonna CD or know any of the lyrics to any of her songs. No, I do not have every line of Mean Girls memorized by heart. I might be gay, but there are only so many cliches that I’m willing to embrace.

I’m gonna be starting things off with a Random Fact about myself from now on. Best get used to it.

I had a peaceful Labor Day weekend. I didn’t do anything special. I just had the house to myself most of the time while the roommates were out doing their own thing. That’s if you don’t count having a sickly cat as company. I didn’t do a whole lot. I binged Crunchyroll to get back to my anime-loving roots. I started up my fifth walkthrough with Persona 5, a game that’s basically my heroin. I tried cooking up something nice for myself. Note that I said, “I tried”. That part didn’t go as planned. My sushi rolls turned into a sushi burrito when I ended up overstuffing the rice. But hey, I made sure my ingredients didn’t go to waste. That same day I wanted to make croquettes. Again that didn’t go as planned. I froze them overnight and fried some of them this afternoon. It was horrible. The bread coating was crumbling and the meat was still partially frozen. I was pissed! That’s never happened to me before. I never froze them overnight but I didn’t think it would up in disaster like that. It took me a while to calm down after that.

I had an idea to make a bento lunch. I could’ve gone out and enjoyed myself on campus or on the porch bench while relaxing to one of my new books. I’m juggling Roxane Gay and Haruki Murakami, in case anyone was wondering. But with no sushi rolls or decent croquettes to show for it that didn’t happen. In the end I just stayed planted on the couch and found myself hopelessly addicted to playing more Persona 5 and sitting through the WWE Mae Young Classic, a women’s wrestling tournament. Loved all the female talent that was on display. But I swear to God if Shayna Baszler ends up winning just so WWE can pull some shitty angle with Ronda Rousey’s Horsewomen crew I’m really gonna lose my shit!! Plus I don’t like Shayna Bazsler! I saw her in The Ultimate Fighter season 18. She rubbed me the wrong way back then. She still does. She’s basically Baron Corbin with boobs. And slightly more hair on top. Which begs a question? Why doesn’t that douche heel just shave his head and get it over with? His current hairdo really doesn’t do him much good.

Whoops! That was a rant!

I also tried to write something. Actually I managed to type up 1,146 words earlier tonight. I’m pretty proud of that. I don’t know what I’m writing at the moment. I’m trying to get out of the habit of overthinking things and just fly by the seat of my pants as I write and not worry about anybody else reading it. That’s the best mindset I can go with at this point. As much as I would love to write the next best selling novel or screenplay I don’t see it happening anytime soon.

Not as long as I keep getting ideas for my own Persona, Ghost Busters, Power Rangers, my own wrestling promotion, and my own original EVERYTHING. Seeing as though I find the world to be a toxic place to live, many things are not to my liking, and I have one too many voices living in my head (126,000,000 and still climbing…not that I’m keeping count cause that’d be silly.), and there’s always something that’s fueling my neurosis.

But I have to start somewhere. I’ve had a million ideas for a million different projects that date all the way back to 9th grade and I’ve never truly acted upon them. It doesn’t help that I kept dealing with crushing self-doubt,kept comparing myself to others, and had my “Nightmare Syndrome” to contend with. I never truly acted on my creative side except in small doses. Like tiny blood spurts spitting out of a carotid artery. And even when I do manage to write a piece of fiction for myself (albeit a small piece and by small I’m talking embryo sized) I’ve never found my real voice.

I’ve only tried to mirror what I thought was the proper way. I’ve only managed to write something and project a pseudo voice for writing college papers and nothing else.

I want to do something about all of that before I go and try to score a Pulitzer or an Oscar for Best Screenplay. I got to wrestle with the reality of my situation and current skill level. And I have to do all that while dealing while indulging in my fantasy world.

I’m psyching myself up in the same way I did when I was trying to score the new house, getting better with my depression, and making my comeback with school. I’ll work my way up to the top, write for myself, improve my skills, and see if it will be the cure-all for my problems. I will not stay at some mediocre level forever. By this time next year I will improve so much that I will be ready to take on the world with my imagination. I’m taking my creative spark and letting it shine.

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Signing off with intents set! Also get used to these fancy words being presented at the end of each post. That’s also going to be a new thing from now on. Peace!

Stronger Intentions

I took a tour of the house that I’m looking to move into. I met one of my potential roommates while I was there. She reminds me a lot of a good friend I have back home. Something about her fashion sense triggered memories of her. The house is still going undergoing renovations, but the manager said that the place will be ready to move into by August. The upstairs bedroom are oddly sized and shaped, but then again the house is from the 1930’s. Whatever room I end up living in I’m definitely gonna have to pack light.

I almost got cold feet before I left to go to the house. I think I was psyching myself out, predicting that something was going to horribly wrong. The only hiccup that happened was getting turned around when having to walk to the house itself. It’s a ten minute walk to the closest bus stop. But that doesn’t bother me. I used to walk around Uptown Charlotte between the Central Campus of CPCC and the closest bus stop from there was right in front of the Mecklenburg County Jail. I made a wrong turn while on foot, but I managed.

The girl was nice enough to give me a ride back to the Cottages. I have a very good feeling about her. I feel so relieved that I went after all. I’m even more relieved that this dreadful semester is over. Things didn’t go as I had planned when things started, but it’s not the end of the world. It sucks that things went down they way they did, but failures don’t have to mean the end of anything. I came back, felt like celebrating, wanted to order pizza. But then found out that there’s an overdraft on my account. So no pizza. Mercifully I have ingredients to work with here.

Normally when under anxiety or depression I would feel like these things would be ominous or the worst things that could possibly happen to me. It’s embarrassing admitting to how easily rattled I can get, but there is little point in holding back the truth. But then again I know I’m not the only one who gets like this.

So the viewing of the house went without a hitch. That’s the good news. But now here comes the hard part. Waiting for this manager to get back to me and choose me to take the house. And man….I can’t express how much I HATE playing the waiting game. Waiting for this semester to end was grueling enough. I haven’t been eating as well like I normally would. I’ve lost weight as a result of stress. I know I have because my cheeks keep tightening up and they feel a lot smaller. Bright side to this I had a serious blowfish face when I first got here. So clearly my diet plan is paying off.

I like to think that I have the advantage here. When I applied and answered questions I threw in some extra comments about how I needed a fresh start, that I cook and clean, that I am not the party animal, drug hopping fiend that the manager is trying to NOT get. I don’t blame the guy for being picky about his tenants. He’s invested like $40,000 to flipping that house. He can’t just give it away to just anybody.

Earlier today I felt odd. Not odd in the bad sense. But odd nonetheless. I felt almost lighter in somehow and it was not simply because of the weight loss. I feel faster. I feel like I’m more awake somehow. Maybe it’s a sign that I’m on my way back to the person that I once was. I’ve also been writing for that special story project that I mentioned. Turns out writing drafts long hand makes all the difference for me. It felt so good to fill out entire pages again. Even if the writing wasn’t very concise. My creativity is coming back to me.

I am coming back from everything that’s ever gone wrong. I am picking myself up from every failure and defeat that I’ve ever endured. I am going to turn things around for the better. I am going to live my life according to my own will. I won’t let myself be controlled by my depression/anxiety any longer. I won’t turn every bad thing into some freakin’ monster to slay or giant mountain to climb, and I will have the happiness that I deserve.