epico_ladron

So I went to my psychiatrist this monday... the dreaded appointment. All was nice, he was a funky old man with a goatee and a ponytail of white hair... like a remnant of the 60's. Asks me the typical questions but states that we keep it in the present, on what's happening to me now that's making me feel this way. The past will be dealt with later on.

He gives me a prescription: Zoloft and Klonopin, which I had been recently taking as a recreational drug. It seems that my attempts to be 'breaking the law, breaking the law' well not really, just trying to get a relaxing buzz were actually me getting on my future meds, or taking things I apparently needed but didn't know. I don't even want to start with how many times this has happened to me.

So I started with the Zoloft yesterday, and the Klonopin as directed by the doc. According to my friends, Zoloft has given me mood swings... I've been apparently cranky. And while I have noticed that my moods have been changing a lot during the day, the thing that I've noticed since I took it first was my lack of appetite. I didn't want food at all, I mean, I ate, but it wasn't because I was hungry, it was because I knew I needed to eat. I've also noticed that in the beginning I have quite slurred speech, and I stumble a lot, as though I were drunk. Other typical side effects have occurred, but nothing too serious. It doesn't make me sleepy... at least during my classes, the rest of the time I feel like in a buzz, full of strangely happy suicidal thoughts.weeeeirrrd I'll continue to take my meds, perhaps talk to my psychologist next week about these side effects, and if I notice anything weird, I'll contact my doc to check what's going on with my body and the meds.

On a happier note, I got called from Toys 'R' Us yesterday! I have an interview on thursday, which I hope goes well. I like Toys 'R' Us, I liked it when I was a kid and still like it to this day. Mostly, I'll enjoy working with kids. I like kids, they're easy to please, eager to discover new things and not as judgmental as their adult counterparts. So I really, really hope I get the job... it'll be a new experience for me, specially since I've never worked in retail. Oh well, I'm sure I'll learn quickly. :)

I hate changes. There, I said it.

The reason behind this admission? Well... I guess it's one of the reasons I am the way I am. I tend to push things and people away (or at least try to do so) to avoid the pain of the inevitable separation... and the disappointment of believing that things would always stay the same. Or I savour every moment I spend in that place, with that person or thing, to have something to hold on to when they're gone. Pathetic and childish (yes? No? Maybe? Perhaps? whatever...)

It's one of the reasons I got into photography in the first place. I came to have a strange facination with this artifact that could magically (in my childish mind inside my deformed skull) record these moments in time for me to have forever and ever. Screw making art, I need something to cope with.

And soon, a person I didn't have the pleasure of knowing personally is leaving to the other side of the world... and I miss... him? I'll miss his presence in this building I usually dwell in... I'll miss that face, the face that greeted me on the day I decided to go against my family's wishes, and their career paths, and went to take a little art exam in a little university in my little island. I had never really met that person, except in random commercials (que carismatico eras..), but his smile and face seemed familiar... like a long lost relative. He reminded me of my grandfather, a man who seems wise beyond his years, yet has this simplicity about him... like if you asked just right, he'd tell you all the misteries of the world, the meaning of life and the answers to the questions that have always plagued mankind, all of this with a smile on his lips and slowly enough so you would understand it... never judging.

He has this child-like side to him, to which the simplest things seem so new and radiant. I think that side of him makes him even more of a genius, because it allows him to see things in a way other people might not. I wish I could have retained more of that child-like quality from my own youth... I wish more things could capture my attention in an innocent way. I guess I could say I am envious of this man, who is so much vibrant and full of joie de vivre than this old 19-20 year old. I am nearing the beginnings of adulthood, and I am already spent and ready to go to a home.

I wish I could have known him better. Maybe that would give my mind the reason behind my missing him. Instead, I seem like a wretched woman crying for what was never hers to begin with. But I am not a wretched woman in that sense. I will miss him dearly, yes, but because his mere presence in my daily life was a sign of everything being alright. Watching him walk around the building, or in his office whenever I had to do anything in the administrative offices of the Art Department, filled me with a sort of calmness that I could only get from muscle relaxants and the sort. Much more than that, it filled me with a sort of hope that I was going to make it out of here alive. I have put so much meaning into a man that barely knows of my existence, much less remembers my face from the mass of the class and the students he sees on a daily basis. But that's me, making everything meaningful, wanting to preserve everything.

I want to take his portrait before he leaves. I want to be able to remember how he was when I knew him, even superficially, twenty years from now. It's childish and stupid and unusual, pathetic really. But...it's my truth. COÑO, TE VOY A EXTRAÑAR, GUY PAIZY!

I didn't get chosen for the convocatoria... and I feel destroyed. I mean, I had so many hopes of finally exhibiting my work... but I guess I wasn't good enough for them. I must not be good enough for anyone, perhaps. I don't know... maybe it was because I only showed a photoshop rough. I shouldn't have been so slow... I should have started working on it before.

I will finish it, for myself. Maybe I'll do like the impressionists and hang it somewhere. My little Salon des Refuses... or maybe not. Maybe I'll post it somewhere else, where they can see it and judge for themselves. And frame some other pieces of mine, hang them all over artes plasticas... in inconspicuous places.

It feels worse because I feel like I have nothing to show for the 2 years I've been here. I have no pieces, I've never exhibited. And I fear that I'll never be able to prove people that I can be an artist, that I was right in what I chose to study. But there's so many people who are so much better than me... and there's my self-esteem... in the gutters.

It's like a slap in the face, a kick in the gut. Doesn't anyone want my work? Maybe I need to get out of here, maybe I should. I need to get out of the environment in which I live... away from my parents, away from the ghosts in my past.

I just feel so let down.

Pues, luego de estar una eternidad ( vale, nena que na más fueron tres años <.<) postponiendo mi inminente visita a los servicios de consejeria, orientación y psicología de la uni, decidí de una vez por todas salir de esa e ir a la temida entrevista.

A entrar al mitico edificio que estuve evadiendo por lo que llevo de vida universitaria, me di cuenta de lo mensa que fui... si total, es llenar más papeleo antes de ver a la psicologa, no biggie... right? Lleno el papeleo necesario, lo entrego a la secretaria y me resigno a esperar otra eternidad... de 10 minutos, en lo que la psicologa puede atenderme. Una vez vencido el obstaculo, la miss y yo empezamos a tener esta conversación extendida sobre que era lo que me pasaba y que quería resolver, tocando temas desde 'hace cuando te sientes asi' hasta mi sexualidad.... en fin, conversación amena de los pormenores de mi vida con carcajadas sueltas en intervalos.

Y a mitad de la entrevista me dice: Te voy a referir a un psiquiatra en Auxilio Mutuo, o ¿tienes alguno de tu preferencia? Al yo decir no, empieza a hacer las gestiones necesarias, no sin antes asegurarse de que yo estaba dispuesta a tomar medicamentos si fuese necesario. Y en realidad, le di el visto bueno. Es lo unico que no he utilizado anteriormente, asi que dejame ver como funciona la cosa. Casi media hora despues, tenia un 'appointment' en Auxilio Mutuo, hospital antes reservado simplemente a la visita ocasional a Dunkin Donuts.

Ahora que escribo esto, pase las etapas de denial y anger/ frustration, sadness... w/e... pero me queda la pregunta en la mente: ¿Tan jodia estoy que tienen que llamar al cavalry para lidiar con mis problemas psicoemocionales? Pero... nada.... por lo menos estoy buscando ayuda.

about wanting to be an 'it'? Is it so bad to be gender-queer? And if I am and am not the stereotypical intersexual person (which is my case, I admit it...), what's so bad about it? I just happen to like wearing pretty clothes... it doesn't make me either a woman or a man at all.

In the tradition of giving my prized objects female names, and on giving my cameras names of women important to student revolutionary movements, I named my Canon AE-1 'Mariana', after Mariana Bracetti de Rojas, one of the key figures behind the Grito de Lares. My Canon XSi Digital Rebel was named 'Antonia', after Antonia Martínez Lagares, a UPR student assasinated by the police in the 70's riots between the repressed college students and the police.

I guess if I must think of them as my children, as my babies, I best give them strong names. Or maybe its the little rioter in me speaking.

And her name shall be Mariana... and she shall have her first stroll around town tomorrow, during the national strike... or whatever it's called is english... el paro nacional. There's been many strikes during my lifetime... but I guess this is the first one that happens when I am conscious of what they mean. And I want to try to record as much as I can, given that I only have one roll of film (because I'm dumb and didn't buy any more. )

What will my Marianita do? Well... it is only limited to rolls of film and batteries... and of course, my father's incessant complaints. If there's one force in this world what restrains me by merely opening his mouth, it's him. I try to explain what I want to do, and he always has an excuse... hell, if it wasn't because I wasn't going to stop bitching at him, he probably wouldn't have driven me to pick Mariana up.

And now he has a fit over what I'm going to do for the Convocatoria. Well, gee, if your dumb ass hadn't thrown away those wooden panels, I wouldn't have had to buy new ones...and you threw away an instalation. Thanks.

My father has no regards over my artwork or my life in general... he thinks I'm wasting my time and not working or getting into a good job. But whenever I try to do something, there's always a reason for me not to do it: 'the cost of materials is too high... how are you going to do this? Get to doing this and that... I only do it for your own good' Damn it, can't you see I'm trying to do the best I can with the obstacles you throw my way?!?

I don't even come back home for him or my siblings, I only do it for ma. She seems to be the only one who cares about me being in this house... and doesn't bitch about my artwork. Hell, she want's to pay summer classes for me to learn 35mm color photography.

I need to leave my house indefinately, because frankly, I can't take my dad anymore. He's too much... and then he complains when I lose my temper and yell.

But now I'm going to relax, breathe, think about what tomorrow will bring me... get my savings to buy my materials and get to work... too bad I have to send Adrianna a photoshop rough of what the final work is going to look like. ):

Here I am, pretending to study for a philosophy test... while posting on livejournal, and searching the web. Being a procrastinator is going to be the end of me. And right now, I don't even know if the professor is going to give the test, because there was a strike on what was supposed to be the last class before the test. Who knows, perhaps the professor might want to cover more material before the test... or maybe not. Maybe he'll say that we had more than enough time to study, specially because of the strike. And that we have even less material to study from, so we shouldn't complain. I think he is more likely to do that than to give us another day for studying.

Why do I procrastinate? Simple, I feel stressed out when I have to study and I get easily distracted... I shouldn't be doing this. I mean, it's not like I haven't studied at all... I have. I've studied the material all weekend long. And more importantly, I've contributed to the class discussions on said material. I know my stuff. I just feel so out of place, so unprepared. But most of it stems from the fact that I am a very nervous person. I am prone to panic attacks and anxiety. It's in my genes.

It's just.... frustrating to sit down and study right now. I've barely slept, I am dirty, and I know that the moment I step out of the shower, I am going to fall on my bed and sleep 'till morning. I need my coffee fix... but I'd rather have it on hand tomorrow morning, when I actually *need* coffee to stay awake during my early morning classes.

There's rumours of a strike tomorrow at college. I don't know whether to believe them or not. I mean, the workers syndicate has already made a strike vote that can be activated at any given moment... given the circumstances, it wouldn't surprise me at all if there was such a strike. But somehow... the fact that I want them to take action conflicts with my own procrastination. Isn't that beautiful?

I fear sounding like a hypocrite, or like an ass, but isn't it really frustrating when you have friends who constantly call you up for advice, and you're not feeling quite well enough to offer it, so you pretend to be caring and helpful so the other person's feelings are not hurt... even though you don't give a crap about what she or he is talking about? It's not that you want to trample on other's sensibilities and want them to just shut up, it's just that you have other things in your mind, you have other problems in your life, you're studying for a test, or just plain want her to stop bugging you, because she's mentioned the subject thousands of times and don't want to hear it all over again, just to offer her the same two bits from last time.

Isn't it irritating?

Or, having to give up what you want to do, because this or that person drags you into doing what they want, without considering that what you had in mind to do was, say... worth a grade? But no, you just go right along with it, because you've been taught to put other's needs before your own. But what happens when that other is yourself? Why doesn't anyone else have that special consideration with you? Does that mean that you're less of a person than anyone else, that you have no value as a human being? What's with that double standard?

Is that really logical?

Of course, when you take into consideration your own needs for once, they call you out, saying you're selfish and cold hearted. Well, excuse me bitch, if I don't take care of myself, noone will. I have to look out for my own, because if I just give give and give, I'll have nothing left to offer... nothing left to give. Who's going to take care of me? No one, because everyone's just too busy with their own buisness. Of course, to them the only buisness that matters is their own... your problems are your problems, not theirs. Not even if you've helped them countless of times with theirs. And I don't say this expecting people to help me because I've helped them before... but keep in mind who's there backing you up when the shit hits the fan.

I'm not saying this to sound mean... but I'm just sick of pretending that I care.

I returned from a 'band practice' (because there's simply no other way of putting it) a few hours ago... and I find myself reminiscing about the past. How psyched up we were... how much we practiced... how many times we were kicked out of our practice spaces because of the neighbors complaining because of the noise. I remember how my mum would let us practice in our garage, and how she would make food for all of us after practice was over. She saw the band as a way to keep us out of trouble... many kids our age were out partying all weekend long, or getting into drugs and stuff, and here we were, making music in a garage. We had to sign a contract, promising to keep a certain grade point average in order to stay in the band (most of us were about to go to college, after all).

I remember all the times we had fights, like me throwing a cellphone into the guitarist's face in a fit. But most of all, I remember all the effort we put into it, selling chocolates to buy equipment, putting hours of practice, writing songs... we gave it our all. And it made sense for us, this was out baby, our labor of love. We desperately needed to write out these songs, these feelings. We needed to be heard, even if it was by complaining neighbors and moms. Even if we never made it out of the garage, it was everything to us, we felt like rockstars.

Now, we've come back after 3 years apart, driven by Claudia's wish to have the songs recorded for once, a wish so infectious that it became *our* wish. We've grown up, we have other interests and other ideas... and some, mainly me, have forgotten the songs. But, just like riding a bike, they'll come back. Just like we have for this brief moment. And who knows, maybe these old dogs still have what it takes to write a decent song.

PARADOX LIVES!

Here I am, just chilling at Resi Campus, the incampus residence at UPRRP... and I am pondering about the things that have happened this week. Reciently, I've been dealing with a bout of depression and anxiety. This isn't the first time it has happened, since I've been dealing with this on and off during my childhood and most of my adolescence. But it's never been as bad as it has been lately.

I've been dealing with wanting to run away from everybody...from my friends, from my boyfriend, from my family... even from myself. I just want to be alone... but I don't know what to do. Because at the same time, I just don't want to be alone, because I'm afraid of what I might do to myself... I've had my fair share of mistakes in life... I don't want to repeat them. I don't understand what's happening to me right now... and it's scaring me.

I want help... but I don't know how to get it.

My favorite teen flick has to be Pretty in Pink... to this day, I still cry when I see it and I just love Molly Ringwald. I also like The Breakfast Club.

I woke up today, in a great room at a fancy villa. I went to the bathroom to put on my bathing suit so I could enjoy the pool and the beach, and I took a look in the mirror, one lookover, like I always do. And like always, I looked the same old same old, the same thought in my head saying, this is the best you're ever going to look. And I just wanted to cry my little eyes out. Because I am sick of my deceptive perception of my own body... I am sick of the desire to be stick thin to ruin my day.

I used to lurk in the proanorexia boards in the past, just looking for that tip, that hint that would allow me to lose all those pounds... I used to purge, to eat as little as I could, to relish the fact I was sick every time I had a stomach flu. And the mere glance at a mirror was enough to make me cry, and to ruin my good mood. I would push everyone away, because even though they said I was pretty, I couldn't see it myself, so it couldn't be true. It came to the point where I was so tired of doing all this that I took every diet tip, every piece of self discipline, and every link to proana sites and I threw them away. And my weight ballooned, yes, but I was happy, I threw away all the full body mirrors in my mind, all the anger I had for my body. I decided to let myself go, to enjoy all the things all my friends did, see how it was like. I weighted 120 pounds when I came back to my house in the summer, and I was the happiest I've ever been. Now, for a girl who measures a mere 4 feet 11 inches, 120 pounds can be a lot. And the pressure is still there, there are days where I can't stand my body, where I just feel so huge and ugly. Those days are the worst, because not only do they hurt me, they hurt those who love me. I decided to lose the weight for health reasons, in a healthy way this time, the right way. I am trying to eat healthier than ever, without sacrificing the things I love. I do exercise. I walk, sometimes with my dogs. I am trying my hardest not to let it get to me. And I've lost 20 pounds by now... something I never thought I'd be able to do.

I went to the proana boards I used to go, and I saw that one of them changed. It changed to a support community to fight this disease. And I've never felt so happy... so I decided to join. Hopefully, this will help me in my recuperation. I am willing to fight. And I will defeat this.

So, I'm here, at Palmas del Mar resort in a rented villa, for the long weekend. We'll be staying here until monday, the day of my first appointment with the surgeon. I came here with hopes of relaxation in the weekend... hopes that have been seemingly dashed last night, with my brother's crap. He just had to turn the TV on in the middle of the night, to watch a damn soccer game. And no matter how many times I told him to turn it off, he just had to be an ass and he just had to have his way. I slept on a makeshift mattress on the floor, made with sofa cushions.

Sometimes I think that it's nice to dream, and I dream, I dream that tonight I'll be able to sleep comfortably. I feel happy for other reasons, I mean, I got my Moleskine weekly journal, I got my notebook, the one I had been looking for all week. It seems that I have most of my school supplies, something to tag off my to do list. And a worry off my mind. But I see that I need more things before I can say that I am ready for the weeks to come. I need to clean my room before the surgery, I need to get clothes for college, plus a bag and a few things, like makeup. I'll need it to hide the bags under my eyes, because I'll be looking horrible when college starts. But for now, I will relax. Relax, relax, relax.

So, I got the ok to go on with my surgery... a lot of preasure has been taken off my back. And I am here, watching Hamlet 2. So far it's ok, I am just waiting for the "Rock Me Sexy Jesus" scene. I can't get that song out of my head... it is just hillarious.

Just let me be truthful and say that I am just here, writing this because I want to hear the click clack of my computer keys. It's a wonderful sound, truly beautiful... I love it, it's the reason I want to get a typewriter. If only this sound would get me out of my writer's block... or artist block. I feel the creative juices getting stale, it's like I have so many ideas but none of them seem to come out.

My head swims with ideas, all drowning so that others can rise from the masses. But which one will be able to get out of my skull? Which one will be able to flourish?

Mes choses favoris sont la langue française, c'est trés romantique, trés belle.... Les crêpes sucres, avec de la nutella et des fraises a la chantilly.... Serge Gainsbourg. Pardone mon grammaire catastrophique!

I'm here, at my couch, watching "The Diving Bell and The Butterfly", the true story of Jean Dominique Bauby, a paralized man who, using the only muscle he is capable of moving, his left eyelid, he manages to write his memoirs. It's beautifully heart-wrenching, capable on making even the most hardened spectators cry. I mean, it's not hard to believe, since in the beginning of the movie, you watch through Jean-Do's eyes

I tend to enjoy foreign movies more than I do Hollywood flicks. French movies tend to be more enjoyable than the popular american dramas, that end up being too bubbly, too fake. French flicks are like a glass of good wine... they go down slow and deliciously bittersweet, till the last drop. Like a beautifully orchestrated ballet of color and emotion... it's just what I needed to unwind from a long and tiring week.

This summer has been so tiring and busy, even though I've hardly left home... I haven't had time to blog, much less have some 'me time'. I guess I should use the few weeks that I have left before college starts on august 10th. Oh how much I want that day to come, yet wish this summer would prolong a little bit. I need to go back to my daily routines, to my friends, my hangouts, even the lonely dinner at the nearby café seems like a vital necessity at this very moment. I need 20 cc's of starbucks coffee, stat. I need my frappuccino, I need my alfredo pasta, I need my Stella Artois... my swiss grilled cheese, my chocolate crêpe... the daily musings of the culdesac... the way the busboy calls me Pringuette...Pringuette Le Coq. I need the ambience, the busy hurried routines... I need my ballet. The ballet of the daily lives of the people I encounter in Rio Piedras... who knows, I might turn this blog into an anthropologist's log book... but with creative writing.... I cannot be boring or I die. Oh well, sweet dreams and go to sleep. I wish.

I am losing hope in my project to finish my moleskine notebook this summer... I think I've hit a roadblock. I have absolutely no idea what to draw right now... I mean... I've been drawing my cupcakes lately... but then I go and explore anatomical drawing and facial anatomy... it seems kinda childish to go back to drawing cupcakes after I draw things like an anatomically correct face. I'm not saying that I dislike my cupcakes... I think that I can put those cupcakes in a variety of media, I can transpose those babies!

I guess this dump I'm in stems from the fact that I feel like I've done nothing all summer... I haven't taken photos, because I don't have a camera... and I've been artistically inactive, apart from the 'skine. I just want to do something, I want to explore more and take photos and draw, paint, write... And I am just here, sitting in my sofa, watching the Daily Show. Never mind my latest health problems, never mind my up and coming surgery. I feel so stupid, because I have friends who are in Japan in exchange programs, I have friends who are exhibiting their work... What am I going to do?

So here I am, sitting on my living room floor, watching E! True Hollywood Story top 10... Angelina Jolie's story is on. The woman is gorgeous, and has the looks I wish I had... now, Chris Farley's is on.. greatness and tragedy go so well hand in hand one after the other. I feel like hell... I've been sick with a virus all weekend... ever since saturday night, when my boyfriend left after driving for almost 2 hours to visit me. He drove back home, and I drove my sorry sick ass to the porcelain gods. I'm lucky I haven't dehydrated, even though I've been unable to move myself farther than the bathroom next to my room. My stomach still feels all bloated and upset, moving too much gives me nausea because all the gas in my belly. I did a few crunches, I mean, I lost some weight due to this virus... might as well use it as a jumpstart to lose wight and lose the flab.
My boyfriend constantly says that he doesn't mind my belly, he loves my belly. I know he finds me pretty, he tells me all the time, but unfortunately, I just can't see myself that way. Apparently, I lost some weight around my waist, in the sides, or so he said. I felt it as well around my waist when I put on shirts. So let me do some more exercise and battle the bulge. Now let's see if I can hold food down in this upset belly! God willing, it will be my first solid meal in days!

I'm scared... quite frankly, I am very very scared. I have an upcoming rhinoplasty and it's the only thing on my mind. I've been trying to calm down and not pay attention to it, but I can't. It's going to be my second operation, first operation on large scale (compared to the first one, which was to remove my wisdom teeth), and all I see is the IV and the needles everywhere. I am a needle phobe, I can't stand the sight of them. I freeze up and start having panic attacks when I'm near them. It's just the pain and the anxiety and it's all taking control of me. Quite simply, I don't think I'll be able to withstand the stress.
We found out that our medical plan won't cover the operation. They say it's because it's a 'cosmetic procedure', but we all know that it's simple bureaucratic bs. As soon as they have to spend money on a client's care, they start protecting the interests of the large corporative machine. They don't care about the pacient, they just look for a loophole so they don't spend a cent. I mean, I understand that part of my operation is cosmetic (even though it is necessary for the functional part of the procedure) but we're not asking them to cover the expenses of that part of the operation, we're merely asking them to cover the functional part of the procedure! The part that is proven to be medically necessary!
We are now on the process of appealing the medical plan's decision, and we have managed to scrape up the money to pay it ourselves, in case the process of appeal takes more time than we have for the operation. Sincerely, this summer is just not the way I expected it to be. ):