| Diary Page 27 |
| Still February 2, 2003 - I called my old friend Carmencita. It has been over a year since we last spoke. I heard that she had attended a few meetings here and there and I wanted to touch base with her. Well sometimes there is just too much water under the bridge. I really love that girl and I always will. She was very special to me. I knew her so well and I know she really cared about me. When we spoke she sounded so weary. Dealing with this system of things without Jehovah's help can leave you feeling very weary and beaten down. She didn't sound like a 20 year old, she sounded like someone who has seen too much. She isn't really Carmencita anymore because "cita" is used to describe a young girl. She's the kind of person who would always want to be a "cita" because she was so young at heart. But now I think she is just Carmen. She has moved around a lot and been through a lot since me. I guess she is a different person now and I probably am too. I know the core of her is still there but I can't reach it now. The sweet, generous, personable Tita that I knew is buried deep underneath a lot of pain. I couldn't get past the shell. She didn't really want to talk to me. I asked if I could see her sometime and she said she'd be too busy. I guess there was nothing to say. I regret everything. I miss everything too. There's a movie where a guy contacts all of his old girlfriends to find out what went wrong. In fact, I think there are several movies about the subject. Well part of me wants to do that with old friends but part of me wants to let sleeping dogs lie. I had to call Tita because I couldn't go on thinking about what might have been. Maybe one day she would have been able to see me and then she would have been a close friend, the close friend I have always wanted. And she is just the kind of person who maybe, just maybe, could have become my best friend. I'm not really sad about this and I don't want to dwell on the past. That's just a chapter in my life that is truly over now. But I will never forget. The only person left to call is Esteban. And of course I know that he does want to speak to me. Every time I feel like calling him I can't find his number. I am notorious for writing numbers on envelopes and receipts. I don't have any kind of phone book or an organizer. He has given me his number and email address so many times. When he does call me I am either too depressed to speak to him or I don't really know what to say. He always has a lot to say and I listen, but I have not yet been able to let him into my "inner gate". So that is the thing I am working on, having enough trust to open up. Or maybe I just need to be able to take a risk. I don't think I'd be hurt, I just don't know what he would do with the information. Well, I guess I am afraid that he won't like me. He has a hard time understanding my mental afflictions although he does want to understand them. He asks me about it all the time because he cares and wants to know, but when I explain it to him I can tell that he doesn't understand and he unconsciously resists it. He is not someone who is all that acquainted with mental illness. In fact, he is afraid of it. He is completely turned off by depression. And it is strange because I know he has been depressed at times but when I told him what I thought he was not really receptive. He listened, but he was not receptive to the notion. I love that boy but this is one of the main reasons I have difficulty opening up to him. And he actually does care about me and he does want to know. Carmencita cared but she never showed me that she wanted to know anything deeply personal about me. Neither did Shemelia. Daniel did want to know but when I let him in he didn't understand me at all. How did I get back on this subject? Sometimes I think about changing my friends page but I don't want to delete anyone. Certainly not Esteban and if the others ever make their way here I want it to stay there as a testament to how I feel about them. Since none of them intentionally hurt me I will always feel the same way about them. I will move on but they will always evoke the same emotions if I think about them. Wait a minute, I am still on this subject. Hmm, my father and mother are two of the most generous people I know. I know without a doubt that I learned my generosity from them. My father would do anything for anyone and as an elder he is always extending himself. If he has it then he will give it. I complain about my mother's spending habits but in reality almost all of the money is spent on other people. She is constantly buying little gifts for everyone. She also buys stuff for the house even if it doesn't really fit the "decor". She constantly wants to make things better. I tell my mother everything although I know she doesn't really remember a lot of it. Funny, I might not tell her so much if I thought she'd remember. That's strange. Anyway, I was thinking about my brother too. He is generous too and it is an interesting dilemma for him. My brother is very concerned about his money because growing up in our household has caused him to be afraid of ending up like our parents. He hates being poor. Actually, we are "lower middle class" because I don't think you can be poor with a Cadillac and a cable modem. Or maybe that is just being irresponsible. Anyway, my brother wants to be stingy with his money but he can't resist helping us when we are in need, or anyone else for that matter. It is how he was raised. My brother is constantly treating his friends to dinners and to the movies and he pays for a lot. He pays the mortgage of the house. My brother would love to move out but just like me he won't until he feels our family is secure. So he is generous too. When we were younger we never had to ask for toys or gifts. They always gave them to us. I will always love them for creating the person that I am. I think I give a bad impression of them in this diary and it upsets me because they are really good, spiritual people. It is just that a lot of the time I am writing when I am most upset or in turmoil, and NOBODY can upset you like family. On a lighter note, sometimes I am just too nice. Our dog has slept in my parents bed or on their floor since we brought him home from the shelter. Sometimes they shut their door before he has a chance to make his way to their room. Late at night he can be found scratching and whining outside their door. Last night I found him in just such a position. My parents have been kicking him out lately because their room has a mouse that we can't find and Nacho barks at it all night. The cat can't go in there either because when she wants to move on she jumps on my father's dresser and knocks things down to get their attention. She's so smart. But last night I felt so sorry for the dog. So I opened my parents' door (I didn't look inside) and I told him to go on in. My father wanted to know what was going on and I said Nacho promised me he wouldn't bark. And he didn't bark. No, instead, not even a minute after I let him in he pooped all over my father's laundry. |