Tag Archives: Family

The Vanishing


I haven’t been in the best state of mind.  Lately, I’ve been trying to adopt different approaches such as talking gentler to myself.  My therapist says, “Try coddling yourself as you would do a young child that you actually like.”

I’m up with the moon throughout the month and down in the soil all the other times.  Occasionally, I wake up passive and on other days I wake up aggressive as fuck.  I’ve come to terms with my mood disorder.  It’s behavioral, it’s learned, it runs in the family.  A few years ago, I’ve become aware of many effects and suspected my actions may or may not have been completely me.  Things have gotten to the point where even the most basic functions of existence do not seem basic anymore.

I lost who I was.  I think this is the way it goes, right?  Aging.  I’m not sure who I am anymore, aside from a maturing woman who’s both lovely and extreme.  I must admit loudly how I’ve been working on how to manage my mood swings for years and for a good part of my life, exercise and writing have kept a slight handle on the swings, but every day the things that used to work then haven’t been working now.  I’m puzzled.

So, I’m older and in some ways, I absolutely adore it and in other ways, I don’t think I enjoy it because the short-term memory keeps failing me.  It dissolves.  I think because there’s something in the water, something in the air, you know, there are things in our food we can’t pronounce, and that shit doesn’t allow our minds, bodies or spirit to function at an elevated level.  It’s like people hit a certain age and they flatline.  I feel there’s so much working against me in general, and this goes back to how I’m not in the best state of mind.

Over the years my discipline and motivation have taken a dive, so much so, it frightens me.  There are plenty of details in between, some you guys know and others I won’t bother getting into at this time.  Still, I’ve been trying to find my new normal concerning everyday life.  I’m going back to the basics on everything and am currently on a search to reestablish some things I used to love about myself, that now feels like the vanishing of a short-term memory.

I feel like there’s a sport psychology book calling my name out there somewhere.

-Pennington

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Reminiscing Mother


Me and Mom

1963-2014

My new therapist wants me to open the mystery door about my mother’s death because apparently I’m not depressed enough for her.  Ha!  It’s been a little over a year and a half and I still haven’t come to terms with how I feel about my mother’s death except I’m happy she’s no longer suffering in this cruel world.

Sometimes I go to the river by the busy highway and speak to her directly or through the universe.  I light candles for her in her honor every few months.  My partner and I get her blue flowers also as tribute.  At times, I believe, one reason why I cemented my journey and involvement with ballet-inspired workouts is because I remembered in her childhood she wanted to be a Ballerina, so I honor her by learning and performing ballet.  Last, but not least, I hung her last painting high up on the wall of a bridge over water over a plush purple night that looks a lot like the bridge I eerily live close to nowadays.

And I’m not sure if because death came and went, or because of my denial, but it’s pretty weird how the older I get and the more I stare in the mirror, the more I realize how much I look like my mother’s daughter.  I guess everyone saw it before me.  Maybe I wasn’t looking hard enough before.  Who knows?

The truth is I haven’t been able to sit down and stare longer than five seconds on any of my mother’s photos.  I’ve seen a lot of her different dimensions at different times and the longer I stare at a photo, the more all those dimensions pop out and the more I may have to relive memories that leave me open and scarred.

The longer I stare, the quicker my eyes start to flood and the quicker I start to counter and strain to contain the waterworks.  I’m not a sappy person.  I don’t forget my cruel childhood, but death has a weird way of sitting you down and making you think about your mortality and everybody else’s even if you don’t want to sit down and think about it.  And even though I can be heavily into death itself and metaphysics and pits of darkness, it seems at the age of thirty-four death seems realer than ever.

*

Death has also made me think more about how ending memories are probably the most important ones.  This intrigued me because I’m all about beginnings, so for closing memories to leave a devastating mark haunts me.  What’s worse is I didn’t even get to say goodbye while she was conscious.  By the time I went to travel to the hospital to see her I was in a wheelchair with a very painful throbbing ankle in a heavy cast.  It was hell for my foot to not be elevated, but I believe I was numb inside from my mother’s death.  So much was taken from me in a matter of weeks from mobility and now her.

It was awful having the knowledge of how the doctors had to sedate her until she was finally gone because the pain in her intestines would be too much for her to handle.  And that’s what hurts the most.  I think about how hard her life has always been.  I think about all the times I didn’t want to be happy in my own life because I felt guilty because she was always out there suffering with an incurable disease.  My last memory of her alive was observing her writhing in massive pain.  I knew in the way she talked, it was psychologically different from anything I’ve ever heard her say.  In her words, in the way she spoke she was already gone.

It was hard to stomach mentally and it was harder to stomach visually how she could no longer go to the bathroom on her own and how the nurses were the ones bathing her in the room on her bed.  But on the last day I saw her I caressed her hair.  I remembered kissing her on her warm forehead telling her I’ll visit again very soon, but soon after I broke my ankle and I was already far far away from reaching her.

My mother was dying since I was nine years old.  I became desensitized to every near death and actual near death experience she’s ever has, so when this became the day, it was as if life played a hardcore prank on me.  It just seemed like every time she survived another one and another one and another one, but not this time.

Who knew that was going to be the last time I saw her talking or breathing?  Who knew that would’ve been the last kiss I gave her on her warm forehead?  I think some people have fantasies about how they want people to go before they die.  I always thought I’d see her one last time with my brother in the hospital room and we would both take turns saying, “We forgive you for everything.  We know you did the best you could.  We’ll always love you.”

But nothing ever turns out the way you expect in life and that’s just how it is.  So now I think about the other ending memories, the ones way before she went back into the hospital for a gazillion time.  I think about how even though I didn’t have the best relationship with her throughout my life, she did branch into a second mother towards the ending of her life.  She was a newer mother, better mature.  During that process, I believe a big part of her learned to really appreciate me because I was there to the end unlike my brother who stopped showing up to the hospital and didn’t even come to see her at her own funeral.

*

I’m left with the ending memories like how I did visit her more often in the hospice.  How I left the house with $50 bucks one day and took her to a street fair where I bought her food, had her play games until she won a stuffed animal and I went back home with a $1 in my pocket.  At the time, for a moment I was upset, but I quickly thought about how she wasn’t going to be around forever – so this is something I’m supposed to do and it was something that came out of my heart anyway.  Plus I wanted her to have a good time and not worry about death coming closer and closer.

I think about the ending memories and how I would take her out on pass for a few hours to enjoy new foods, to get her soda and cigarettes, to enjoy the sun and we would sit in the park and watch the hot guys play soccer.  I think about how for a very long time before I even thought about taking her out and seeing her often, for a time I stopped seeing her altogether.  I stopped seeing her for so long with the intention to make her suffer like she did me and when I came in the hospice room she hugged me tightly and cried so much.  I was still pretty numb at the time.  I’ve always been.

I never thought she felt like that about me – love.  Or how my friend (who now is my current partner) passed me a cigarette behind her back while we walked to the pizza shop out on pass and she scolded him lovingly, “Are you getting my daughter into smoking now?”  And that was the first time in a long time where I thought, “Hey, she must care about me.”

-Pennington

Refurbish


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My voice is coming back.
I figured, I ironed my hair flat
Get on a straight groove
Create great moves.
Fuck the past!
There’s nothing there,
So, don’t ask.
My brother disappeared
To somewhere in Long Island
On autopilot
With a fat neurotic wife
Who handed my brother to her psychiatrist
Off like a diamond
Of over thirty years to see
Nothing that wasn’t there.
Now, he’s abandoned
The only family affair
He’s ever had in thin air.
People should be placed under suspicion
Because life is stranger than fiction.
My mother died,
A few months ago
And it was an unpleasant surprise.
All the memories
That mattered
Did not
Because subplots rot
And you never thought
The ending was euphoric
Or that the present could be historic
In all the future
Things you will ever do
Or never not put in review.
I’m no longer scared of anything.
I experience all the good and bad
And come out tougher
And freer living on
Life’s golden wings.

-Pennington

Brother’s Absence


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And maybe brother was supposed to be out the picture
So I can obtain closure with mother
Life – the ambiguous fixer
Every time he was around, I wanted to scream
I wanted to live in another family’s dream
From the attention she gave him
Left me unhinged
But these years he saved me by never coming
Around to see her when it was the most important running
There’s a bigger picture up in the sky
And sometimes the inexcusable diguises as a why
And I no longer need to understand the goddamned
Or the motherland of disbands
Or keep hold of poisoned anger
I’ve given up every clamor of an anchor
My heart has opened up with the spacious grace of Athens
I’ve been released by my brother’s absence

-Pennington

P.S.

Why didn’t my brother see our mother once in the past 4 years just one more time before she died roughly 3 days ago?

I Don’t Belong


During my periodic monthly episodes of blood, increased hormones, life force and such taking over, I tend to get a bit gloomy, while becoming overrun by immaturity, not to mention, I write more carelessly than I like to admit throughout this instance.  So, if you’re looking for something thrilling, inspiring, and poetic or whatnot, you’ve come at the wrong time.  There’s no true significance in this entry, except that I’m venting.

Throughout the course of my life, I never thought I belonged anywhere.  There were things I’ve always enjoyed like reading, writing, receiving education, sex and being physically active.  And although I’m aware that one can be content and isolated away from the conventional world, sometimes I can’t help but wonder how would my mind and heart have been shaped like if I did feel I belonged to something?  Would I have felt less alone or more engaged to the world like how dreamers dream profusely of that lotto ticket?

I don’t belong to friends.  I have zero (doesn’t include the fabulous ones I have made online or the two ex-boyfriends in my real life that I consider to be like family).  Growing up, it was hard to blend in and follow the disgusting girls into their femininity and twin-like mirroring behavior.  I took pride in being a tomboy and in being an individual, whereas most appeared to benefit from being a replica of another, so it wasn’t a question why I was constantly the first to be flat-left in the blink of an eye.

I thought things would naturally get better once I got older because of better judgment.  Apparently not!  From the twenties, and into the early thirties (of where I am now), it seems I meet the wrong types of people.  Some of them believe friendship is about sugarcoating, living with illusions, and never involves the truth for personal enlightenment and growth.  So, I don’t belong to friends.

I don’t belong to family.  I only have one favorite aunt, whom I took after, to a small degree.  I’ve been working on my rapport with her for the past year because part of the new me is to be better acquainted with family, although I dislike nearly everyone in it.  It’s ironic; I believe the injustice of life has been slowly taking her away from me.

I digress, however.  Friends are a lot like family.  It involves fitting into a certain mold.  And it’s hard for me to be the type of person who can easily overlook their principles, values, beliefs in such a way where I can willingly blend in with the rest of my hypocritical family.  I haven’t been blessed with any true friend or relative.  I just keep bumping into the wrong people.  And why have the wrong people in my life, when it’s better to be true to myself and live within truth instead of a lie?

I don’t belong to fitness.  I work out faithfully.  I don’t eat clean majority of the time.  I don’t take numerous selfies.  I don’t buy expensive supplements.  I don’t feel the need to show off my body.  I don’t have the desire to inspire or motivate others because they usually fall short of my standards.  I no longer truly look up to the fitness professionals of the sport as role-models.  I don’t even have people in my circle who are diehard fans of training or weightlifting.

In a place of fitness and the gym, it’s my happy place and true religion.  But with the masses making a mockery out of fitness (mostly on the internet), where egos turn fit people into assholes and where asking for well-being guidance is replaced by a hand asking for money; I feel as if I’m further away from this sort of crowd and in my own ways, I feel more alone than ever.

I’m sure it’s all about the attitude and perception of mine and how I live in a matter-of-fact system.  Nevertheless, it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.  But please, don’t get me wrong, I love myself and I am who I am today because I never thought the grass was greener on the copycat’s side.  I never thought to fit readily into the methods of the conformist world which occupied family, friends or gyms I belonged to.

I just wonder..

-Pennington

The Months accumulating in Effect 2


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The blood results came back and I became crippled with the news, “You’re pregnant.”  My suspicions were true along with that Tiger dream, the one who magically fixed a uterus back together.  I hung up the phone and backtracked.  Everything made sense:  Breasts filled with voluminous rage, cravings I kept in denial like a drug addict and my stomach rising like yeast.  The sinking feeling of depression, the steady exhaustion, hyper sexual appetite and forgetting about the gym was soon to be up for debate or a choice to make, one that follows instant termination.

Which came first:  The slip of a faulty IUD I’ve had on for years or the pregnancy?  I’m uncertain and so is everyone else.  And if 9 weeks and 2 days weren’t enough time on my plate and in my belly I had to head into the emergency room to figure out if the pregnancy was in fact in my uterus or if it was going to be considered a very dangerous:  Ectopic pregnancy.  I spent the entire day looking at people with different diseases in the hospital and was sure to contact a disease from the man who was vomiting next to me.

And no matter where I went I had to deal with every single nurse and doctor and even my own bizarre GYN stating how I can have this baby if I want to regardless of the small facts like the percentages of miscarriages that derive from the IUD and the first 20 weeks of pregnancy and regardless if the IUD somehow could penetrate the baby itself at some point or another.  It seemed like everyone assumed I’m going to have this baby knowing that the reason why I opted for an IUD in the first place is because it has a 99% effective rate without hormones.  But somehow I managed to be that 0.01% to become pregnant.  Is it safe to say the downside to being healthy is being fertile?  (And I know there are women out there who can’t have kids or are trying to, so it seems with that last statement I’m ungrateful.  I assure you I’m not ungrateful.)

Last night in my honesty I told my aunt about the pregnancy to which she was ecstatic and made me call my mother who cried out of joy for something she could look forward to instead of dying in her nursing home bed who told me to call my brother to let him know he’s going to be an uncle.  They were all just making plans and seeing a future I didn’t.  I never mentioned to them that I have an appointment for termination.  This would break their hearts. Now I’m to lie to them for the next few weeks until I feel they can bear it.  The only person who made a mention of why I’m leaning towards not having the baby was the Indian lady who was probing my vagina with the sonogram dildo.  But I presume she was just a nosy woman or just needed not to feel as awkward as me having that camera dildo in my twat so she became nothing less than a chatty Kathy.

It’s absolutely crazy how people don’t live your life or care to see things from your perspective yet they want to tell you that college isn’t important that having a baby is because you’re not getting any younger and there’s a time limit.  A time limit for whom since I’m of no concern to them?  It’s insulting and it’s basically telling me, “Your life doesn’t matter.  Just have this baby so we the family can live for hope in the name of the future.”

Is anyone truly prepared to have a kid whether financially, emotionally or mentally?

I’ve never really gave it much thought until last week.  I also never gave it much thought to have a child because I’m not at a place where I’m pleased to be.  How would I look like having a child while still living with my roommate?  How would I handle being burdened in my own life and than to bring that forth to my child even if it wouldn’t remember in the early part of their years?  I don’t have family or friends who would be able to babysit for me.  I still want an educational degree that I’ve earned.  I want and need more money.  Surely, all these things can be excuses because there are plenty of people who can do it all or do their best. But it’s not for me.  Not now.  But I realize that no one can be prepared for having a child. It changes the complete fuck out of you. I couldn’t imagine having it at this time.

I was struggling with the thought of being a bad person (something I believe I’m truly not) because not allowing this baby to live will somehow make me a bad person.  Still I did my best to not have a repeat of a second abortion that took place 9 years ago when I was put to sleep.  I was young, scared, full of tears and very emotional even after I dealt with it.  Still 99% is only 99%.  Maybe when I go in this week to take care of the final duties my punishment is being awake while they perform this 3-5 minute procedure.

And in some weird way I feel like I probably deserve it even with the precautions I took.

-Pennington

Family, Exposure & Monogamy


Somewhere between the age of twenty-nine and thirty I’ve learned to stop being super strong mentally and to stop being selfish when it comes to people who may not love me in the way common people hold on to their ideal definition of what it’s like to be family.  But things are what they are.  Many times it’s better if one understood sooner than later:  It’s okay to cutoff the systematic approach of over-complicating your life just because you FEEL it’s important or at the very least are filled with bottomless need of something (anything) to continually complain about because it consists of your selfishness and attachment to life.

The thing that bugs me out is how I had the type of childhood where I couldn’t wait to grow the fuck up.  So by the time I made it out my teenage years I ran away from my family as far as I fucking could hoping to deny who, what and where I came from.  (But never to the extent of my pathological liar brother who’s so shameful he tells everyone he’s from Greece.)  At first it was spectacular and I forgot somebody’s sperm and somebody’s egg created me.  In the middle of my twenties I had the hardest time forgiving my family when it was me I needed to forgive.  FUCK THEM!

Than some time last year until the present I realized just how much I’ve missed out on everybody else’s life like my one cousin who was shot 7 times by another man’s envy yet survived somehow.  Or how my other cousin has now been diagnosed with being bipolar and schizophrenic ever since he spaced the fuck out and shat in the living room of his house and started to finger-paint.  Then came my grandfather’s multiple heart attacks and aunt’s breast cancer.

Still what throws me for the biggest loop is catching up with my family brings me back to the thought of “Holy shit!  So I’m REALLY am a part of this dysfunctional family” especially when we started to share sex stories.  My aunt M (scratch that!) everyone in my family talks openly about sex in a way that is just like breathing air along with casual humor.

She starts out by saying how her last relationship was horrible and had to end it because the guy didn’t know how to fuck let alone eat pussy.  Than my mother chimed in with, “Why didn’t you teach him?”  “Aye no!  I don’t like teaching.”  I butted in, patted my mother on the back with a chuckle and said, “Well on my end it must be genetics.”  We all laughed, until my mother killed it by saying “My daughter must be the same good lover as me.”  ><

I can’t deny what lacks or breeds within me.  I’m bound by blood and shit.  Yeah, I know a lot of everything happens to be about exposure, and of course, about the very things we frequently collect such as our moral codes.  And I’m not sure, entirely why, I feel like speaking about this, except for the fact that it’s in the forefront of my mind but:  Monogamy.

Some people believe in it and others don’t.  Either way I believe it stems (typically and/or sometimes) from our introduction at home and no matter how anybody makes it seem Monogamy is a Personal Choice (and unnatural ;)).  Monogamy and I don’t get along simply because I look at this word and the baggage it comes with as a matter of possession, not of love or kindness.  And growing up I didn’t have anyone to help me look at it otherwise (nor do I want to at this point in time :D).

In my family, every single person I’m aware of cheats on their partner, spouse, lover, boyfriend, girlfriend with someone at some point of their lives whether they believed they had a good reason for it or not.  The other day I was telling my nonexclusive partner once again:  How I rather be in an open-relationship than the closed one we used to share for the thousand time.   And I used the story my aunt M told everyone in the kitchen to prove the point of why I feel I am the way that I am:  Her son (who’s her favorite by the way) calls her daily on the phone to speak about how he met someone (WHO IS NOT HIS WIFE) who has the fattest ass.

M never mentioned whether he’s already being unfaithful but goes on to say, “I can’t tell him he shouldn’t cheat or mess around with other girls.  He’s just twenty-three years old and married young with an 8-month year old baby.  He needs to experience and have his adventures.  But I tell him he has to delete all the text messages he sends out and receives quickly because his wife who’s already insecure about herself will leave him and she’ll never let me see my grandson again..especially if she found out I was giving him this kind of advice.”

I always felt that before you get into a “closed” relationship with anyone you should learn as much as possible about where their family comes from and what their core values are and what their culture reflects and yada yada yada.  Example:  I dated a Chinese man years ago and never knew I was dating an entire custom so deep that behind my back his toxic family would set him up on dinner dates with Chinese women for an arrange marriage in the near future.

Another important factor is just how great or poor their parenting skills are in terms of these great examples that are not to be taken likely and based on true stories:  Are they the kind of parents to help their children get away with actual murder, such as allowing their son/daughter to pass HIV to their current partner even though the entire family knows about it?  Or are they the type of parents who want the best for their children and actually guide them slightly into leading a fulfilling life with their girlfriend/boyfriend, but have enough decency to never personally conflict their own lives?

Lastly, no matter how much your husband/boyfriend or wife/girlfriend claims to not get along with their parents (like me!) children (no matter how old we become) tend to shadow their first little-known role-models.  It’s hard to be something we aren’t when we primarily are created in our parents image (or whoever we grew up with).  To avoid a situation like the story above (in a sense) it helps to know where your partner came/comes from because (more than likely – unless they experienced a traumatic experience that takes them completely out from who they were) that’s where they’re heading.  Unless again, you come from my family and it’s unfaithful exposure where it’s AUTOMATICALLY AND LITERALLY ENCOURAGED TO HAVE AN AFFAIR/CHEAT.

I’m not saying I condone awful behavior like cheating on your significant other and hope the secrets you’re busy covering up won’t catch up to you (because they will).  What I am saying is I have an understanding and a knack for why people decide to make the personal choice of being mindfully faithless according to the in’s and out’s of my family.  Key word:  Exposure.

Thoughts are welcome.

-Penn

Even The Best Can Break Down!



This is personal.  So skip this if you always expect moi to maintain her strong-ness working at an optimum level of 110%.  

Firstly, I dedicate this Post to @WriteWendy.  Also her Org and Tumblr .  Entirely because she’s honest and raw with her own Life and I’m taking a page out her book and releasing a moment to do the same simply because she greatly inspires me.  Thanks Wendy with all my muscle fibers, heart and soul.

Yesterday I decided to do the impossible and visit my dying mother in the hospital.  Heading over there all I could feel was a bundle of heightened anxiety in the pit of my stomach that felt just like when I threaten juniors to fight in the cafeteria.  I’ve always been about entertainment in one way or another.  But seeing my mother isn’t delighting in the least.  It’s fucking devastating!  So much so that when I look into her face all I want to do is break down and cry.  There are many many reminders.

I haven’t seen her in a year.  It’s partly punishment.  It’s partly about keeping my entire sanity intact.  I heard my mother gasp in surprise as the nurse told her your daughter is here as she was changing in her personal bathroom.  I don’t know why (except that maybe the nurse was taken aback by my mother’s expression), but I felt compelled to tell the nurse I haven’t seen my mother in a long time.  Naturally she asked, “Do you live far?”  No, it’s just we really don’t get along.

For a moment she changed my loathsome perception of nurses with what she had to say:  We only have one mother.  Sometimes when people act harsh and angry, especially when they’re sick.  It’s because they believe nobody loves them.  They want somebody to take care of them and be there for them.  Don’t you notice when you give them love they are much calmer? Whatever she did to you as a kid, leave it there.  Come by and visit often.

When I finally saw my mom, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t recognize her face.  I tried my hardest to cover the grimace but she caught it through my stricken eyes, I know I gained a lot of weight, right?  My reply:  A little.  I analyzed her face and it seems like someone stuffed two vineyard tomatoes under her cheeks how they flourish in furious mush.  I was heartbroken. 😦

Then I roamed my eyes to her hair and many of her strands were gray.  And I’m not sure what it was about youth or age or the past to present or what contradictions within me lied with wanting to run out and buy her a black tint so she can cover them?  I’m not used to seeing my mother succumb to weakness or being anything less than what she is now.  She’s a pretty good trooper with a million disguises putting politicians to shame.  And for her not to hide in plain sight just made me feel awful as I wanted to do it for her.  Jeweled travesties.  Make sense?

Mother and I chatted for what seem like a brief moment where when she decided to lay down on her bed she told me:  I missed you so much.  I haven’t seen you in a long time.  During this little time I had to reflect between what she said and what I felt with her asking me where my brother (her favorite) is and why has she never come out with the courage to tell me just how hard her ill existence is?  She grabbed out for my hand, held it and fell right to sleep.  I stuck around for a little while, wrote a note as to not wake her and thanked the nurse for being so welcoming.

But as soon as I left her room, I managed to get lost in the hospital.  I swear it was a metaphor for how I was feeling at that moment.  Before I stepped foot outside I saw a neon flashing sign: FOOD! I looked over the menu, reaching into my pockets to buy anything to shove my fucked up emotions down.  I didn’t.  I had a semi-long walk to the train station and before I made it.  I walked into 3 different food stores (including a pizza shop) just to browse food while each and everyone of them were offering their services.  Fucking gluttons! 😉

Holding back tears, thinking to myself:  How does all the parties, all the drugs, all the fun my entire family has ever had in life come down to letting go of life and losing absolutely everything in return?  How?  But I know the answers.  I know why I’m cynical.  But in the end it’s not the end.  Yet the somewhat happy ending concluded with sucking up the emotional guts to visit my mother and finally make it home successfully with healthy and whole foods from the market.

*smiles*

-Pennington

I Have A Reason



I’m not phony and I don’t pretend to be.

What you see on the surface of this cheeky apple smile, soulful deep brown eyes and Latin curvaceous body isn’t what you’re most likely to get!  I look soft on the outside, but I’m a raging ball of cynic and hate. I smile to hide all the anger, all the hurt, all the pain that takes a bit of my existence to the dark side.  And, you do know how people get soulful eyes, right? All the hurt, all the anger, all the pain, all the shit in the existence you maintain and keep on the planet called Earth.

I’m not one of those people who stands by feeling bad for your glorious self-pity moments. I’m not the person who consoles you knowing damn well YOU were the one who caused all of the problems in your Life.  I’m not the one who’s going to side with you when things get tough for YOU because I know you sit down at night, lay in your bed with dreams and fantasies that will calm your soul and allow you to sleep. I’m not fake. I won’t play a sitcom character in your life.  But I can tell by your words and the straight eye that you are FAKE. Especially when I brighten up your eyes with the god damn TRUTH!

I do not pretend to dislike my family. I do not pretend to act like I secretly love them. I have a reason to not give a fuck in this world about anyone or anything..only if I choose! I have a reason to say, “HEY I never liked my fucking family and I’m fucking proud of it!” How many people you know can say that? Those be the same people to front and go kiss ass with their family later at the family gatherings and stupid fucking holidays. Well, no, my hate’s never changed for them. I’ve practically disowned them. I never had what some would call the Good Life. I never had that GOOD family. This is my fate, these were the cards that were given to me. But you act like you have problems, when they’re all social or all made up in your fucking head. Puh-lease!

Here’s the difference between me and you:  I like generalizing, I enjoy being a cynic, not because it keeps me on guard from the rest of the world. But because when you look all around you, what do you see in the world? Selfish motherfuckin assholes and bitches! How many people look out for themselves first or their families first, their money first, their orgasm first? So, who’s lying to themselves? Me or you?

The other difference between me and you is I don’t want anyone to pity me. See, if I give a shit if you side with me once I tell you the details in my teacup. Why I lift the way I do? Why Training is the only therapy besides writing for me? Yes, I know life has been shitty to me. And it took me a while to comprehend that “yes I can fucking CHANGE it!” I can be happy. I can accept me.  But don’t go thinking I’m something similar to you because chances are I’ am fuckin not!

Once again, the demons crawl at me and try to guilt me into seeing my mother in the hospital. So she’s been repeatedly dying since I was 9 of age. Back then, I used to believe in those television shows and how they portray that YES YOU CAN have the ultimate family life. No, no, no. More fake stuff. TV! I never got along with my mother because she never got along with me. So I can’t forgive and I try to forget. But I’m good at holding grudges just like I’m good at pissing  people off. Now she’s not responding in the hospital. I haven’t seen her in roughly a year. And I rather see her when she’s dead. Maybe, then I’ll go see her and head to her funeral.

And you think, you know me?

Pennington

 

Principles




Always interesting how when someone has a principle they live by.  There’s seem to be the only one that matters.

What makes my acquaintance believe his principle is better than mine?

Simple!

He would simply justify himself into believing that he is and his family are better than mine.  The reasons are many as follows the great luxuries of life like:  Money, Land, Travel, Support, Encouragement, Structure, Goals, A Childhood (to some degree) & An Eye For An Eye approach.  Since his Asian culture calls forth the magical land of perfected obligation to his parents from birth and being the Chinese Eldest is both detrimental and vital to his Asian existence and being his family have provided him thus far he feels he has something to justify himself to.

And this isn’t true in my book.  Especially when he claims to live by a  principle of “family comes first no matter” how deep the sacrifice goes down the rabbit hole.  No matter how you bleed your own self-worth out your fragile flesh system.

If family comes first – this is the principle – then it doesn’t matter how little they’ve given me since I was born.  It doesn’t matter how I raised myself all alone with the cynical wolves of the world.  I chose first and foremost, the length of time to give a fuck about those I grew up with, despite the deception and trickery of my own blood, as do many others around the globe.

But because my family has taken advantage of me endlessly and have chosen not  to give me anything in return, it’s in his right to get mad at them for me?  No.  No.  No.  I’m a grown woman.  I take care of myself.  I know my boundaries.  I’ve chosen to give up my family and let them slip away like the life of a close pet being fed the Death Serum through a syringe, slowly fading to white, gray, black.  Just so I can find some peacefulness.  And this is the decision I’ve made.

However, for anyone to shine upon feelings I do not wish to own at any given moment is an insult, a form of disrespect to the ancient dignity to my face and behind my stony back.   This is negativity to the fullest amendment and I’m not happy about this.  When it’s time for me to make a choice for my family (in this case) my brother, to make MY life easier for me and not as difficult as Clashing with the Titans of the past, well then,  I will do what’s right.

Whatever works to allow me to sleep at night.

Pennington