Dream of sorts

I said that I would never "seriously" blog - but here I am.  I get it.  Finally.  People have shit to say.  Not a lot of people want to listen.  Thus, we blog.  I usually write long emails to friends, but I think they're getting tired of it.  Hence the blog. 

I don't really know where to begin, but I supposedly, allegedly, I'm living "the dream."  I'm in Mexico.  Living on the beach with a great view, opening a bar in a few weeks, and I'm utterly depressed.  It's only been a month and (almost) a half - but I still have the same phobias creeping into my life.  I don't want to leave my apartment/casa, I'm depressed, I have self-pity and self-loathing issues - so, I mean, really - what the fuck is the point?  I could be doing all of this in Oakland.  Fuck living the dream.  What's left after that?   Scary thought.   

I used to work a corporate job at a startup company.  I loved/hated it - in that order (towards the end more hate than love) and as soon as that structure ended - so did my "happy" self, which wasn't really that happy at all, but at least I wasn't a bitter, old hag like I am now.  I mean, who does this?  Who actually moves to one of the most beautiful places on the planet and becomes more depressed than they were when they were living in the states, working for the man, getting drunk every other night, fighting off hangovers...  You get the picture.  And the guilt.  The guilt is overwhelming.  It's the worst part, because I know that it's not bad - it's not bad at all.  For the record - there is NOTHING bad happening to me right now.  It's just this whole part of me that hates myself and refuses to let myself be happy.  Ever.   

I'm also in a "relationship."  I will save that for a later date.  I can't even bring myself to go there right now.  Not for my sake, but for his.  Or both.

All I really want to know is this: how do I get over my fear of leaving the house?  I do I get over feeling outside of my skin?  Because it's always been here and it's apparently not going anywhere.  Depression, anxiety - I can (sort of ) handle that - but the rest of it is something that I can't get my head around/through/nada. 

I had such a strange dream last night......it doesn't really matter what it was about but it tells me that I have no grasp. on. reality.  I didn't know if my current boyfriend was my real, current boyfriend or my (dead) passed-away boyfriend.  I didn't know where/when/what I was.  It was disturbing.  I don't actually know if I was awake or asleep when I was trying to figure it out.  That is what scares me the most.  I remembered my tattoo and my current boyfriend's last name in the end - which makes no sense.  Nor does any of this really matter.  Why?  Because tomorrow I'll wake up and it will happen all over again.  I'll clean like a maniac in the morning, feel guilty for feeling like shit, and go to my Spanish class (thank god for that - - structure).  So, I bid thee (myself) farewell.  At least the farmacias are good here.  Sedate and recalibrate.  Every day.   

Buenas noches. 

Soul Sucker

I've been called a soul sucker.  Killer of fun.  My response?  Fuck you.  That's my response.  You asked for it.  You want your soul to be sucked.  You crave a killjoy.  Be careful what you wish for, asshole.  You want to make me feel bad for having an opinion?  For calling out the surplus of salami that you have at home when you throw another pack in the cart at the grocery store (no pun intended, seriously - you already had a full pack of salami at home!)?  Double-take my raised eyebrows accompanied by a knowing nod when you grab your bag of work clothes for tomorrow at 10pm the evening before?  I get it.  I fucking get it, asshole.  You're not coming home tonight.  Do you think for a second that I don't enjoy washing down a sleeping pill with a vodka soda and having the bed to myself?  If you wanted it easy, you picked the wrong fucking girl.  I will make you cry.  I will make you miserable.  I will make you earn your keep.  And chances are, you will like it.  If you don't like it, you can move the fuck on.  But you won't.  Because I take care of you.  Just like your mother (according to you.  I'm just. like. her.).  Well, I do love and resent you at the same time, just like you're mother. You've been inside of both of us at one time or another.  And it kills you.  I am a fucking bitch, just like you called it.  That night - sorry, those nights - when I dare questioned you.  I may trust you, but I don't have to fucking like it, asshole.  Play with me?  Are you familiar with the Rolling Stones song?  They didn't know it, but they wrote that song about me.  I am your mother.  I'm your sister.  I'm your ex-girlfriend.  Your ex-wife.  Your ex-soul.  Everything you hate about yourself is embodied in me.  I wave my weaknesses like a flag.  I've earned that flag.  And there's nothing you, or I, can do about it.  It just fucking is.  So fucking deal with it.  Just like I do.  Fucking deal, asshole.  I love you too.   

It's been a long time...

....since I've wanted to throw my phone out the window.  But alas... the time has come.  Of course I won't do it.  At least I still have scruples.

I'm so many things right now.  Angst.  Sad.  Angry.  Emo.  Drunk.  Content.  How does this happen? No one really knows... and if they did, they would soon forget.

My tragedy versus your tragedy - - - who will win?  No one.  We will both lose.  We will both make excuses... "I've been through this, so therefore (and obviously!?) I should be allowed this behavior."

"Um, well, I've been through this, so I get to do this.  Take it or leave it.  This is WHO.  I.  AM."

I was one of those two people, I won't say which one (I was the less douchey sounding one, trust me).  But regardless, they/we both sound CRAZY.

In the end?  So far, no end.  No end in sight.  Phones.  Texting.  Not answering.  Crying.  Feeling free.  Feeling like my emotions are closing in on me.  Suffocating.  Fuck it.