Mighty Morphin’ Puffy Ranger

PuffyRangerSo the last couple of entries have been a total downer. Just when I thought I would finally be able to blog about something that doesn’t revolve around my Nightmare Syndrome, my suicide attempt, every little “Woe is Me” tale, and general disdain for the world I got blindsided by circumstances that threw me off balance completely.

This past summer semester didn’t turn out like I hoped it would. When things kicked off the worse thing I had to worry about was paying my rent and power bill. Then it was a matter of playing the waiting game for my financial aid to kick in while rationing what little funds and food I had. Other than that I had a plan for everything else.

I would stay on my medication, continue my counseling, and show my professors what I’m capable of when I’m depression-free. The Universe had other plans in mind for me. This entire month has been nothing but “Make Me or Break Me”.

After the ordeal with Nasty Nate I felt very broken. Then Stalker Boy showed up and made me flashback to it. I honestly don’t know where I’m progressing with the aftermath of it all. If I didn’t have trust issues before I sure as hell do now. There is still that apprehension that’s present in me. Like what if the next guy that glances in my general direction is another predatory prick? Are my symptoms going to act up every time someone calls me cute? This is me maximizing things. My last counseling session proved this. Remember when I thought I had PTSD? Well, I don’t. So again I maximized things. It’s always been one of my more common cognitive distortions. Mountain, molehill……classic me. Yup!


Finally my financial worries will come to an end. Nothing is processing because all systems are frozen until Monday. So it’s just a matter of braving through this weekend. I’ve already stocked up on food that I can easily ration until then. When that refund kicks in though I am SO treating myself to sushi. Some retail therapy too is also in order.

I am happy to say that despite all that life has thrown my way this semester that I’m still standing. I got a bunch of good news yesterday on my academic situation. The odds are back in my favor now. My inner demons are getting weaker again. I’ve got my situation handled. I know that things will turn out all right in the end. I just need to do my part and give it everything that I got. But first, I need to take the time to recover from everything that’s happened. That’s the goal for this weekend.

I’ve managed to overcome my most recent challenges. But I didn’t do it on my own strength. There’s no way I would’ve been able to handle it on my own if I had kept quiet about everything. Otherwise I’d be repeating the same negative behavior that I’m trying to do away with.

So how has this month “Made Me” and not “Break Me”?

I’ve made a lot of great friends. Talking to them has been good for me. Making them laugh and being able to laugh with them has been healing for me. I haven’t known them for very long but I know that they got my back. They’ve pretty much restored my faith in humanity.

I don’t seem to have anything that’s blocking my creativity anymore. My mind is brimming with all kinds of ideas. I can practically see the words that can paint the imagery. I don’t run and hide from anything like I used to. Even when I’m in my own world and working on my fictional work I have no problems with coming back to reality.

I’ve learned that I am, in fact, funny. I am beautiful. I am strong enough to overcome whatever comes my way. Nothing is impossible for me like I had originally perceived. It’s the most magical feeling ever.  I’m not alone in anything anymore and I know I can place trust in people to help me whenever I need it.

I’m getting back in control of everything. I am regaining my power that I feared losing to my circumstances. Parts of myself that I thought were dead or dying are back in full force.

One of my newest friends goes by the nickname Phoenix and has his own guild that are named after the X-Men. I imagine that they’re a very close group of friends. My friend most definitely lives up to his Phoenix moniker. So I’m kinda following his example.

My whacky writer brain started acting up. I’ve taken the best of my major fandoms and put them together, Power Rangers and Harry Potter. I am a member of House Hufflepuff. Embracing the mindset of the Hufflepuff has been a huge help in my recovery. It’s helped me become more social and positive. It’s rewiring my brain for the better.


Of course there are haters out there. The ones that say that Hufflepuffs are the weak ones, not up to battle like all the other houses, or whatever. Some will even say Hufflepuffs are so derpy compared to their own glorious Hogwarts House.


I know that’s not the case, but I figured by putting the fandoms together in my brain to make a new “persona” (for lack of a better word) that it would give it a bigger edge.

I took a lot of hits this semester, but I also managed to hit back. My Nightmares were coming back to haunt me, but I was able to slay every last one of them. I was able to keep going forward with my recovery and did what needed to be done because like the Power Rangers I never gave up on the fight even when my mind was screaming at me, “They are all against you,” or “This is the end”.  What can I say other than…..I’m Hufflepuff and mighty damn tough!!


Hence the title of this entry. I’m the Hufflepuff Ranger. Puffy for short. With my creativity, my new friends, and all the new tricks I’ve learned I never have to be afraid of any challenges that come at me or any Nightmares trying to end me. Because I will always be ready to fight back and win.

This is PenSwordAM aka The Hufflepuff Ranger signing out.

Have a lovely day everyone.


It’s morphin’ time!!! (I’m gonna need to wear a lot more yellow from now on…..)












My Personal Wish List

Despite the latest post where I ranted about a shitty week I had I’m in a good place mentally and emotionally. I’m better than I’ve been in years. Instead of waisting away in what used to be my prison cell at the Cottages of Boone I’m in a place that I’m happy to call a home away from home and I’m enjoying the view of snowfall while listening to Utada Hikaru and filling up blank pages with whatever comes to mind.

I remember a year ago around this time how desperate I was for change, how badly I wanted things to be better than they were. Things are better for the most part, but I want more.

Some of the things I want I probably can’t reach yet until I’ve reached a higher level of self-love. But it’s all something to look forward to. Dreams aren’t as impossible to realize like they were before. The only real difference then and now is that I’m actually taking the steps required to attain those goals instead of waiting for the universe to work its magic into my life and lamenting on how powerless and hopeless I am to do anything.

I like my roommates and I like the friends I’ve managed to make in Boone, but I don’t feel like I can share everything with them. I can’t let them in completely. We see eye to eye on a lot of things, but there’s a lot of stuff I like that they can’t relate to.

I love video games, anime, movies, pro-wrestling, Japanese culture, writing, superhero shows like Garo, Kamen Rider, Ultraman, and Super Sentai.

Meanwhile what’s everyone else into? White hipster shit.

It doesn’t help that I live in a house full of people that are as white as can be. I come from a Venezuelan family so there’s shit I’m used to that I’ve seen all my life that makes everyone else go…


It reminds me of the dumb looks I’d get from people at Walker Hall students. That’s where all the students majoring in communication, journalism, and some number crunching crap all congregate. It doesn’t matter what I’d say. I could be telling them my name, my favorite thing to eat, or what direction the bathroom is at and they look at me like this….


Like some dumbass deer in headlights. I remember wanting to pluck out their eyes and squash them like grapes every time I’d get that look.

I broke my roommates coffee maker the other day. It was made of glass. It was close to where all the washed dishes were collected. I reached to grab something, it tipped over, and shattered in the sink. As soon as I told my roommate the first thing that came out of his mouth was…

“Oh no!! That cost $60!!”

Now it’s my turn to make a face like this…


Because look at this shit!


It’s big, it’s glass, and clearly its fragile as fuck. And he paid $60 for this tacky freak of nature? It looks like it belong in a mad scientist’s evil lair! Unless the coffee that thing makes cures cancer or bestows immortality to whoever drinks it I don’t see why anyone would want to pay good money for this.

Meanwhile I make my coffee with this…


You know how much this thing cost me? It costs $12! No lie! It makes damn good coffee!! And does it look like it breaks easily? This little episode just made me go….

“Pfft!! White people…I swear….”

I put that on my Facebook and my female roommate put up the angry reaction emoji for it. Do I regret it? NOPE.

Getting back on point…here’s my wish list.

1. I want to be more comfortable around people so I can let them in.
2. I want to keep focusing on self-love. I want to get to the point where I can say, “I’d date me.”
3. I want to keep writing and ultimately make a real career out of it.
4. I want to graduate from App State.
5. I want to go back to enjoying cooking.
6. I want to go back to enjoying movies even if I don’t have someone to go to the theater with.
7. I want people that I can talk to about all the nerdy things I like so much.

I’ll work toward these goals just as I have worked with everything else.

Later days.

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 separation 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.


Ramblings of a Pissed Off Writer

Random PenSword Fact #2: I hate words like continuity or any word where the first syllable in it sounds like “cunt”.

There’s something that’s been on my mind lately. Rephrasing, there’s a lot that’s been on my mind these days that revolve around my relationships with people. I’ve felt disconnected from everyone for the longest time now, even with people whom I’ve considered my closest good friends.

It doesn’t help that I’m not in Charlotte where my friends are all gathered in one spot. But there’s also this huge gap between myself and everyone here in Appalachian Sate. People claim to be social butterflies, but thats just bullshit. They’re not trying to connect with others even if they do have similar interests, a great stash of drugs, or a decent sized cock or divine pussy. Whatever passes for a “social connection” quickly disconnects in mere seconds. And then people just put on these appearances, “social masks”.

People sport these masks and instantly master the art of putting on fake smiles and executing fake laughs all while maintaining some fake peace with their fake friendships.

Fake, fake, fake….I hate that shit. It makes me sick to my stomach. I know I have problems with dealing with the reality of what’s going on in my life sometimes, but at least I don’t try to string people along and keep them guessing. I present myself as real as possible, flaws and all. But nope, no one wants to deal with what’s real. They just want to stick to a superficial existence all while spouting some Jack Kerouac “On the Road” type of bullshit about living in the moment and point out everything that I am is wrong.

How I act. How I think. How I speak. How I choose to spend my time. How I choose to be happy.

And do I say anything about their own poor life choices or ways to self-medicate and ultimately self-destruct? No, I let that stuff play itself out. Watch karma build up over their heads like storm clouds. Then bide my sweet time and wait for everything to come back to bite them in the ass. Do I get off on their pain and misery and point and laugh? Yes. Yes, I do. No sense in denying it.

But what’s even worse in my eyes….is when I make an attempt to look past differences between myself and another person, I try to be their friend, I actually do become friends with them. I allow them into my world. I let myself trust them. I share things with these people. But does the friendship endure? No. Either that person does the old “fade away” routine or I “delete” that person from my life entirely. I quite literally delete from my life if the only relationship only goes as far as social media.

A lot of people have “faded away” in my life. They’ve become ghosts in my memory. When people choose to “fade away” they’re always leaving me to my own thoughts. Inevitably I get lost in these thoughts and keep torturing myself while wondering, “What did I do wrong?” “Did I say something to upset him/her?” “Why is it I never seem to be good enough for anyone?” It’s the same thing whenever I try to start up a conversation with someone on social media and people don’t respond back to anything I say. At first I thought it was just irritating. But now it seems to be fueling that negative way of thinking that I’m not enough. When I think that I’m not enough then eventually I go back to that old way of thinking that I don’t deserve to be happy, loved, trusted, or even have a little bit of peace in my life.

I used to be a lot more social. I didn’t always expect the worse in people. I didn’t always see the bad in everything. I used to tell a lot of jokes or say the first thing that’s on my mind without a second thought. But then I became this jaded, cynical person whose twisted on the insides because of deep seated malice and all sorts of neuroses. And of course there’s the bane of my existence, my “Nightmare Syndrome” that’s just the cherry on top of everything.

At first I thought that this whole change in my perception of people was because of how my Dad lied to my Mom and had his affair. Then the move to Boone when my best friend suddenly thought he couldn’t be bothered to be associated with someone like me. But no, I think it goes back even further than all of that.

A long time ago I made friends with this other writer on-line. We kept in contact with instant messenger. We bonded over anime, video games, Japanese culture, and the like. All through high school I felt like he was my one and only true friend. He was the first person that I ever came out to. He was gay too. We had all sorts of ideas for stories and would constantly brainstorm together and work together. Rather, he’d do all the writing for this projects and I would help him brainstorm for it while struggling with my own stuff even with his help.

There was a point where that friend was going through something. He had been struggling with depression and finding his own place in the world. I picked up on his mood and noticed something wasn’t right. But he wouldn’t tell me anything. Weeks passed, maybe more than a month when we didn’t speak to each other anymore. When we did finally catch up with another I found out that he had ran away from home and there was all this other stuff that had happened that he wouldn’t tell me about. I remember feeling hurt and betrayed at the time. I thought he didn’t trust me enough to share this stuff with me. I would’ve listened to him. I would’ve put in some effort to try to help him. Then our daily chats became fewer and fewer until it reached a point of nonexistence.

Then I ultimately gave up and “deleted” him from my life. I figured that it was time to stop relying on him, start becoming my own person, deal with flesh-and-blood human beings for a change. Did that work? Sometimes it did…

Over the years after that we did get back in touch again. I remember there was this one time where I said something to hurt him and I passed it off as a joke. But in reality, I said it because I wanted to hurt him. We were cut off from each other for another number of years and then eventually found each other again. Every time we’d reconnect, we’d up disconnecting again. I’d say something and he would leave me hanging. This became a regular thing between us and I was done with it. It just became this cycle that’d kept repeating on a loop.

Connect, disconnect, reconnect, disconnect. Lather, rinse, repeat…

I had gotten sick of it. So I thought it’d be best to sever our ties with one another completely.

This friend of mine is from Orlando. When news about the shooting at the Pulse Club broke out he immediately came to mind. Suddenly I needed to know if he was one of the victims or not. I found him through Facebook, confirmed to be alive and well. I read through his timeline and found out that he left Orlando a month before the shooting took place.

I could’ve friended him and chatted him up right then and there. But I chose not to. I was relieved to know that he was okay and then I chose to move on.

I haven’t thought about him in the longest time. But tying in with everything that I’ve brought up earlier I think this was the relationship that started up everything for me.

I walked away the first time because in my stupid, younger mindset that I had back then it seemed justified. I felt hurt, betrayed, and in no way whatsoever did I believe that I was overreacting or overanalyzing anything. That was 12 years ago. After that I struggled on my own with school, finding my own place in the world, figuring out who I really am, my own crippling depression, and wanting to kill myself.

There isn’t a doubt in my mind. This is what started everything with me. All the “fade aways”, the need to “delete” people from my life, all because of some stupid petty bullshit from when I was young. Like some little seed planted inside of me. But I’m the one that made that seed grow with my own thoughts and feelings. My old friend didn’t do that to me. This entire time it’s all been on me.

I knew I overreacted back then. I knew it was childish of me to hold anything against him. And there isn’t anything I can do to change that.

I’m getting really emotional right now. I need to just stop here.