So then July happened.

Well. Wasn't planning on abandoning my blog for the month of July, but things happened, and I learned that the longer you go without doing something, the easier it is to continue not doing it.

So, let's recap, shall we?

I had a few weeks of seizure hell, but adding yet another medicine seems to be helping. Cross your fingers it stays that way.

I severely sprained my wrist in one of those seizures, which is a large part of the reason why I wasn't blogging, because typing hurts really, really badly and takes a lot of energy.

I'm incredibly behind on my thesis, largely for these two reasons, and it seems like I'm being ghosted by my adviser and department so I can't get an answer on when exactly it's due which is just adding to my stress.

I finally got my surgery set up for August 19th, which is later than the doctor originally told me it was going to happen. I cannot wait for that day to get here because I am miserable from pain.

My depression has been rearing its ugly head for these reasons, but one other one is the biggest reason for it. I'm leaving New York. On August 20th. I don't really have a choice. The financial situation in the family that's been going on for the past year and a half is no longer sustainable, and despite me sending out a crapload of resumes, I didn't get a single callback. So no money. No job. No PhD program acceptance. I have to go back to North Carolina. And I hate it. I HATE IT. I thought when I moved up here, I was finally freeing myself from all of the negativity and drama back there and planned on never going back, and two years later, here I am, headed back to the place I never wanted to live again.

Don't get me wrong. There are things I will be happy about seeing/having/doing regularly again. Like my mom and Blake. And the food. And the beach. And the sports. But the idea of leaving everyone I love here is heartbreaking to me. So I'm really not okay right now. Time is running out quickly in the city I love with people who mean the world to me and it is making me very very sad.

So yeah. That about sums up July. I'll try not to abandon my blog in August.

Wake up, America.

Alton Sterling. Philando Castile.

I won't reiterate the horrific tragedy of what happened to these two men, because it honestly makes me sick just thinking about it and I can't get those videos out of my head.

In no uncertain terms, those men were murdered. And it's heartbreaking. It's disgusting. It's wrong. It's terrifying. It's beyond comprehension.

And it's not going to stop until people wake up to the very real problem of racism that is still rampant in this country. To my friends who are POC, I am so, so sorry. I am sorry for the fear you must feel on a daily basis. I'm sorry for the lack of safety and acceptance you are given just because of the color of your skin. I am sorry for the people who hate you. I am sorry this society is so undeveloped we haven't moved past racism. I am so sorry.

No, I do not hate cops. There are many times in my past that cops have rescued me and loved ones from dangerous and volatile situations. I respect good, hardworking cops for what they do and what they risk. And just like not all men are rapists or misogynists, no, not all cops are bad cops or racists, but you know what? THERE ARE WAY TOO FREAKING MANY THAT ARE. Two innocent black men were gunned down for no reason by white men with badges, men who were supposed to serve and protect them. And cops like this make it really freaking difficult to recognize the cops that aren't like them.

I got backhandedly accused by a woman that I know, whose husband happens to be a cop, of not caring about cop killings because I'm outraged by what these particular cops did. NO NO NO NO NO. Calling cops who execute innocent black people murderers does not mean I endorse the murders of cops. I am just as sad about the snipers who killed cops at a protest in Dallas tonight. Murder is murder. Murdering these cops is just as much murder as what happened to Alton and Philando.

I've managed to lose friends in the past 48 hours because of what I have posted on my Facebook and Twitter over all of this. But you know what? I frankly don't care. I refuse to stay silent when my friend has to explain to her 6 year old adopted from Africa why he'll have to take extra caution not to draw suspicion or negative attention; black children are having their innocence ripped away from them. I refuse to stay silent when I see ignorant comments from police apologists who ignore reality to stay safe in their own bubble where their white privilege is a made up war from progressives and Democrats. I refuse to stay silent when my friends talk about feeling like they need to wear full-body bulletproof suits sos as to not be "shot down like wolves." I refuse to stay silent when I have nightmares about some of my best friends, my brothers, being murdered by cops and wake up realizing that those aren't so farfetched dreams. Silence adds to the problem.

But those snipers in Dallas who shot 11 cops, killing 4 of them and leaving 3 others in critical condition, they are not the answer. They are also adding to the problem.

Wake up, people. Racism is alive and well. Black people are disproportionately attacked by police. Not all cops are bad. No one, cop or civilian, deserves to be murdered. And it's up to us to stop it. Each and every one of us.

How many more innocent people have to die before we wake up and do something about this? I'm scared to see what it will take.

I can't sleep.

As soon as I think I'm tired enough to actually sleep, I start thinking about Orlando again, and it doesn't stop.

All of these mass shootings make me sick, but for some reason, this one has affected me more than any other. Aside from the few hours that I was watching the Tony Awards, I've felt like I've been swallowing a lump in my throat and fighting back tears every second since I woke up Sunday morning and saw this terrifying news.

I think I was in shock at first, but as I read more details, it began to sink in.

And then the numbers came out. And the names. The names of the forty-nine people taken in this violence came trickling in, and it became very, very, sickeningly real.

It's one thing to know people died. It's another thing to see their faces and learn their names. To stare at their pictures and have it punch you in the face that these really were actual living, breathing human beings with real lives and loves and dreams, not just a story on the news.

I think about the one victim, Eddie Justice, who, while trapped in a bathroom by the gunman, texted his mother begging her for help. One of the last messages he sent her was "I'm gonna die." Can you imagine getting a text like that from your child? In the middle of the night? When you had no idea anything could be going wrong?

I think about the investigators who had to walk through that nightclub. As was told to CNN, they had to walk through scores of dead bodies listening to phones ring as family members and loved ones called desperately trying to check on them. And they couldn't touch the phones to turn them off or answer the calls because it was...well, a crime scene. So they just had to listen to the ringing while staring at utter carnage.

I saw a post online where one of the doctors at the trauma center that was, thankfully, only two blocks from the club, who posted a picture of his blood-soaked tennis shoes and talked about what it was like treating fifty-four injured people and how he's keeping those blood-soaked shoes as a reminder of how he felt that night.

Even just writing this out makes me think I'm going to start sobbing. I don't know the last time writing a blog post about a news story seemed to physically hurt me this much. Maybe it's because I have people whom I love very much who are part of the LGBT+ community or Muslim, and I just imagine one of them being inside that club. I don't know. What I do know is that this hurts.

But the one sense of peace I feel is that in the midst of all of this is that there are still stories of love coming out.

There was a security guard at the club who managed to get 60 or 70 (his estimate) out through a back door as they were all crammed into a back hallway, saving their lives before the shooter found them. And all he could say when the news called him a hero was, "I wish I could've done more. There are a lot of people dead."

There are pictures and videos of hundreds of people lining up outside of blood banks for hours in the Florida heat to donate blood. Veterans showing up to give blood. Muslim men, in the middle of their Ramadan fast and at a time when too many people will blame their religion as a whole, coming out in droves to donate. An Orlando Chick-Fil-A spending Sunday (the day they're supposed to be closed) cooking hundreds of chicken sandwiches and orders of fries to give to people waiting in the heat to donate. Women and children, including Muslim women in their hijabs, going around giving food, water, sunscreen, and other help to the people in the lines.

I could write an entire novel about gun control and how the fact that we had 173 mass shootings in the 164 days of 2016 including Sunday in Orlando scares the hell out of me. But right now, I'm tired, and I'm sad, and I'm scared, and I'm trying desperately to hold onto hope that we'll go back to a world where mass shootings aren't the norm - where first graders can go to school, and African Americans can go to church, and family and friends can go to the movies without being scared of being murdered.

I really wish my brain would turn off so I can sleep, but even in thinking that, I think about all the people down in Florida who probably haven't slept since the shooting and are going to be haunted by this. And it makes all my troubles just seem silly.

Lord, be near. I don't know what else to say but Lord, please come and be with the brokenhearted.

These are the brothers and sisters we lost:

Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34
Stanley Almodovar III, 23
Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20
Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22
Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36
Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22
Luis S. Vielma, 22
Kimberly Morris, 37
Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30
Darryl Roman Burt II, 29, of Jacksonville
Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32
Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21
Anthony Luis Laureanodisla, 25
Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35
Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50
Amanda Alvear, 25
Martin Benitez Torres, 33
Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37
Mercedez Marisol Flores, 26
Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35
Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25
Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31
Oscar A Aracena-Montero, 26
Enrique L. Rios Jr., 25
Miguel Angel Honorato, 30
Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40
Luis Daniel Conde, 39
Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33
Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25
Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32
Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19
Cory James Connell, 21
Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37
Jerald Arthur Wright, 31
Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25
Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25
Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega, 24
Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, 27
Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33
Brenda Lee Marquez McColl, 49
Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, 24
Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32
Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28
Frank Hernandez, 27
Paul Terrell Henry, 41
Antonio Davon Brown, 29
Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz, 24
Akyra Monet Murray, 18
[one currently unnamed]

When Prayer Feels Inadequate

I'm guessing I don't need to tell you what has happened in Virginia.

My heart is broken for Alison Ward and Adam Parker's family, friends, boyfriend and fiancée, colleagues, and all the people in the Roanoke, VA, area who grew used to watching them on TV.

I remember how my community reacted when a popular weatherman died. There was great mourning for everyone, and that wasn't from murder. I can't even imagine what that community of people is feeling, not only to have this happen, but to have it happen live on air. So many people say that reporters become like part of the family because they're in your home every single day, and I finally kind of get that now. Alison was actually a reporter for one of my hometown's local news stations before she moved to Virginia, so the connection hits closer to home than I thought it would.

There have been a lot of questions in my head today.
Why is it always "disgruntled former employees" who do this?
Why are they so often such cowards that they'll kill themselves before they have to face what they've done?
How sick do you have to be to not just record yourself committing murder, but to do it live on-air to terrify who knows how many people?
Have we really entered a stage of social media where people can and will actually post murders on the internet and have others re-upload it and post it everywhere like it's some sick kind of entertainment?
Did anyone have a clue this guy was the kind of person who would boast of admiration for the VA Tech killer (because he got nearly twice the "body count" of the Columbine shooters)?
How did this guy go unnoticed when he called himself "a human powder keg waiting to go boom"?
How many times does this have to happen (there have already been more than 850 mass shootings since Sandy Hook in December 2012) before we wise up and get better gun laws?

Those are just some of them...but with a whole lot of expletives added in.

I'm angry and hurt and sad and in shock, and I don't even know anyone involved.

I know this is the time when I need to be in serious prayer. For Alison's boyfriend, Adam's fiancée (who also watched it happen live, because she is a producer at the station and was in the control room), their families, friends, everyone at their station, the community who watched it and knew them. And I know I need to pray for the shooter's family and friends, as they try to wrap their minds around what he's done, because chances are they're just as in shock as everyone else.

I know that prayer is the only thing I can give right now, and that it's the best thing I can give, but right now, it just feels so...inadequate.

It feels like I should be doing more, even though I know that's impossible. Even though I know that God is near to the brokenhearted. Even though I know that their loved ones have a community around them to support them, and I didn't even know them, sitting here, I feel so helpless knowing that something like this has happened and there's nothing that can be done to change it or make it better. I wish I could actively be doing something, anything, to help those thrown into the depths of grief. We can probably chalk this up to my innate need to "fix" things.

But I can't fix this and I can't make it better. I know that prayer is all I have to give, but that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. So I'll send it up to God, knowing that God has been with those grieving long before the murders even happened, and that they won't be alone as they walk this aftermath.

Attention!

I DO NOT THINK I'M PERFECT!

I thought I'd make that crystal clear for all of you because, despite the fact that I've never once said anything of the such, that's what my mother accused me of today.

I am SO TIRED of this crap.  The woman is perfectly okay with pointing out every single flaw she can find in me or Chelsea or anyone else, yet she goes absolutely ballistic if I dare to point out one of hers.  And trust me, I can't talk to her about this calmly because she refuses to believe that she ever does anything wrong or anything to contribute to the problems in this house.

At this rate, I'm doubting I'll come home for Labor Day weekend, because I really just can't deal with this anymore. 

Oh, and my grandma's procedure was fine.  They got the stones out of her bile duct, but we don't know when her surgery will be yet.  Thus, I don't know when I'm leaving.

I think I'm just going to curl up in bed with my iPod and block out the rest of the world for the night.

I am DONE.

Apparently, I'm the only sane one left in this family.

Chelsea's engaged.

To a guy she met on the internet.

THREE WEEKS AGO.

And everyone else? Just seems to accept it.

I'm the only one willing to voice my opinion about how absurd, desperate, and pathetic this whole charade is.

But no, I get told to shut up.  No one bothers to tell the selfish, lazy, incompetent 22-year-old with Borderline Personality that she is NOT in love and should NOT be getting married.

But no, I'm the bad guy because I'm "so mean to Chelsea." Yeah, poor pitiful Chelsea.  The one who's threatened to kill me since I was 8.  The one who just today threatened to hit me because I told her to take Blake out of my arms.  The one who's been the main source of the hell this family has lived in for the past twelve years. 

One thing is for sure - I AM NOT COMING BACK HERE NEXT SUMMER.  I don't care if I don't get the DC internship and I have to do summer school all summer. I AM DONE.  I am done feeling like crap about myself.  I am done being treated like crap by Chelsea.  I am done being blamed for stuff that isn't my fault.  I am done having people mad at me when I've done NOTHING wrong and they should really be mad at Chelsea. 

DONE.

The hard parts of life.

It really sucks when the people you love most hurt you.
I don't even really know how to describe what I feel right now, so I'll just leave it at that to avoid saying something I'll regret later.
I will say this, however: Today was not a good day. Two months and eleven days left of summer.

The Details

Remember the mystery event where I was freaked out to the point that I couldn't even tell you guys the details about what was happening?

Well here goes.

Remember Landon, Holly's ex? And how we talked through Facebook messages despite my mom being furious about it? And how I finally added him as my friend on Facebook because I just didn't care anymore?

Well, two days before I posted that mystery post, everything changed. Saturday night, March 26th, we were up late talking on Facebook. The conversation lasted a good two and a half hours. It was a very deep conversation sometimes and a very goofy, light-hearted conversation at other times. He was drunk, so I knew not to take anything he said, even some of the really deep stuff, too seriously. About two hours into the conversation, so about 1:15 am on the 27th, he asked me, "If I tell you something, would it offend you?" And I said no. He said, "Something sexual?" And by that I was obviously intrigued, so I said no again. He said, "I used to fantasize about you." I kinda laughed it off because I knew he was drunk, but then he kept going on about it, like how this one time years ago I answered the door in a towel. He said something like he hoped I wasn't offended, and I told him I wasn't. And here is where I screwed up: I should've stopped the conversation at the very first comment, but I didn't.

In fact, I may have kind of egged it on. Because I was enjoying hearing something like that for the first time.

After 25 or 30 minutes, though, I truly was getting uncomfortable, and I was tired, so I got off the computer and went to bed laughing. By the time I woke up, I had become way more rational and knew I needed to talk to him to clarify some things, like the fact that he and I know that things could probably never work out between us because of Holly. I spent all of that Sunday trying to text him, and got no response. So by that night, I went to find him on Facebook. He wasn't on my friends list, so I thought he deleted me. I went to people's pages whom I know he was friends with, and didn't find his profile on their lists, either. So for some bizarre, unexplainable reason, my immediate thought was that he deleted his profile. It wasn't till the next night that my friend Hannah (who has actually met him before) told me she found his profile, so he just blocked me.

He blocked me. With no explanation and no real reason. I felt blindsided. And absolutely heartbroken, which surprised me. And here's the thing.

I didn't realize how much I cared about him until he was gone.

Anyway, fast forward to this past Monday, and I was looking on Chelsea's FB at her friends, and I realized I could see his profile. So that was how I knew he unblocked me. So I sent him a message that basically said I want to know what the heck happened, and to please give me that much. I got back this:

"I got drunk, crossed the line, and promptly regained awareness of that line all in the same night." So basically he freaked the hell out.

I get that. I do. But that doesn't make how he responded okay.

So yesterday I responded with "So? I wasn't offended. I knew you were drunk. It really hurt me to wake up the next day to find you had blocked me and cut off all contact. Can we please have a real, adult conversation? No bullcrap, no barriers. I'm not a little girl anymore. I don't need to be protected or sheltered. Whatever you're hiding, I want to hear it. Because maybe I'm hiding some things, too."

I've yet to hear anything back. And if I don't by the morning, I already have written out what I'm going to send him. It basically spells out every detail of how I feel. It's bold, it's risky, but I feel like at this point I don't have any other choice. If he's not going to voluntarily give me closure, I'm going to have to take it myself.

Part of me is absolutely infuriated that he's lied to me, and part of me just feels really bad for him. He's obviously terrified of something. And I know I can't let myself get strung along forever, which is why if he isn't man enough to do it first, I'll say what I've got to say. Because I care about him that much, that deeply.

Oh, yes, you guessed it. I pretty much fell for my sister's ex-boyfriend.

Please don't judge. I know it's bad. And he and I both know what a disaster this is, and that we could probably never work out. But somehow, through all our conversations, I got feelings for him, feelings way stronger than I used to have. And you know what? I think he has feelings for me, too.

To be continued...

I thought I was okay with this.

And I'm not.

I thought I could take my mom wanting to protect Chelsea all the time, but I can't.

She's back, and I just can't take my feelings not mattering anymore.

She thinks she's the least cared about in the family or whatever, but in reality my mom will do anything to help her no matter how badly it hurts me.

I'm angry, and I'm hurt, and I'm literally sitting here sobbing right now.

This isn't fair. My feelings DO MATTER. And just because I'm not her crazy child doesn't mean I don't still need protecting.

I feel like throwing up right now. And I don't know how to have the strength to get over this. I'm tired of feeling so unimportant. But then I feel bad because I know this isn't easy for my mom.

God, please help me. I need You.

-----

UPDATE 6:45 pm

Okay, so I think I just used up my one allotted big emotional breakdown. ;-)

My mom's friend was who brought Chelsea home, and she stayed for a long time talking to all of us. Wow.

I'm not too excited right now, but Chelsea has made some improvements today, and I really want to believe that things will be different. I'm really, really trying to believe that we can make it these next 19 days.

Thanks to all. Now focus on praying for Stellan.

Oh, and stay tuned. Mandy at Blogs by Mandy is giving me a blog makeover. Finally, my blog is going to be like all the other real ones and look pretty! Visit her personal blog while you're at it. :)

Resentment

I have kind of a different subject on my mind and heart today. I tried writing it last night, but my fingers just would not move, and I was far too tired to try and force it out like I am known to do sometimes. Forgive me if this is a bit jumbled; sometimes my thoughts pour out randomly, and it is my habit to just write them down as they come....

To understand the subject of this post, I need to give you a little background info. I've already talked about my father passing away almost ten years ago. After he died, the relationship that I had with pretty much everyone on his side of the family except for his mom changed. And I mean really changed. My grandfather became absolutely vicious towards my mother. My uncles and cousins spent absolutely no time speaking to us. In fact, the only person who still treated us like family was my grandmother, but even she keeps pressing us to try and talk to and have a relatioship with him, which makes things a little awkward between my family and her at times.

My dad wrote both of my sisters and me a personal letter before he died. My grandfather thought he had some claim to them, so he sent us xerox copies. He sent us the actual letters five years later, and he couldn't figure out why we were just falling at his feet in gratitude. Also, my dad worked at UPS, and after his death, his coworkers raised about $1500 for our family. My grandfather got it and promised them that he would deliver it to us. He never did. In fact, we didn't even know the money existed for a few years.

Which brings me to the subject of my blog: resentment. I have so much anger and frustration built up inside me from over the years from the torture that man has thrust upon my family. Listening to my mother, who has done everything humanly possible to give my sisters and I the best life we could get, get screamed at that she was a horrible person who didn't deserve to be a parent broke my heart. He kept the money, expecting us to come crawling to him begging for it when it came time to deal with college. Now, maybe it's just a great deal of pride, but we all swore to ourselves that we'd be living in a cardboard box before we went to him begging for anything. It just hurts me, though, because I don't want to have so much hatred for him. He's my grandfather; I'm supposed to love and adore him, and he me. But how could he be so heartless to his own grandchildren? Half the time he doesn't even remember our birthdays. It used to upset us, and now we just don't even expect to get a simple card from him. But it's just like....I don't want to be so angry. I want to be able to forgive him for everything he's done, but I just don't feel like I have that power. There's just too much hurt there. I can't be friendly with someone who would hurt my mom the way he has. And the heartless things his wife (his fourth wife, I might add) did even before my dad died are just kind of like icing on the anger cake. Like smoking in the car with the windows rolled up when we told her repeatedly that I have horrible asthma. What an angel, huh?

Since 2000, I've seen him three times. And when I have, it's like there's no love there. There's no compassion in his eyes when he forces himself to hug me. A small part of me misses him, but there's that overpowering voice in my head that screams that I just can't forgive him for all the pain he's caused. Not yet, anyway.

He's not even the only one who causes this feeling in me. There's someone much closer to me who's actually caused more problems and pain than he has. My sister, Chelsea. Since I don't really remember anything from before my dad died, all the memories I have involving my sister are of her being violent, self-centered, and cruel, but my mom has said many times that when my dad was alive, she was a sweet, funny, loving angel. But anyway....

Chelsea has diagnosed mental issues, so I know that she can't necessarily help the damage she's caused. But that doesn't change the anger and resentment I feel towards her over the emotional and physical damage she's brought. She's slammed my head into a tile counter, she's thrown glasses at my mom, she's beaten in doors and punched holes in walls. She's threatened to kill my mother and me, she's told us dozens of times that she wishes we were dead. When my mom kicked her out because we just couldn't take it anymore, my grandmother ended up renting her a trailer. She got evicted from it. She's been evicted from a homeless shelter. A homeless shelter. How do you get evicted from a place for people who don't have a home? And worst of all, when my mom and I were in South Carolina in September 2007 so I could have my spine surgery, she invited some of her "friends" over, and they stole $11,000+ in jewelry, including my great-grandmother's diamond engagement/wedding ring set and the gold necklaces that were the last Christmas gifts my sisters and I received from my dad. And in my heart, I just keep thinking, how can I forgive that? I don't want to hate her. She's my sister. I want to have that close relationship with her that everyone expects to have with their siblings. (And, granted, my relationship with Holly isn't that great at the moment, but in the end, I know she'd be there for me. I know what I have with Holly is ten times better than what Chelsea and I have.) It's just like...how can I want to be there for someone who has repeatedly told my mom and me that she wants to disown us as family? As soon as I think I'm finally beginning to let go of the anger that I've built up towards her, she does some other horrible thing, and it's like I'm back to square one. The worst part of it all is that there have been times in the past year or so where I've actually questioned how much I really love her. And that scares the hell out of me. I want to love my sister like I love the rest of my family, more than anything in the world. But right now...I just don't.

I guess my biggest problem in all of this is begging God to take away my pain. Part of me has lost hope that these relationships are ever going to change. But maybe they will. And if they do, I will welcome them with open arms. My impatience is kicking in, making it hard to wait for things to turn around. I just hope and pray that one day God will take away my anger, my hurt, my frustration, my resentment, so I can love them again.