Cannibal Feast

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April 4th

I wake up and I go on writing, most of the posts are almost complete, and yesterday’s emotional and chemical hangovers are gone, even though I know they’ll be back eventually (fucking brain chemistry).

Lautrec’s sweaters and socks are still lying around my dresser’s floor, as my untouched amphetamine jar lies calmly next to my engagement ring at the bottom of my gigantic purse. I told my mother she was dead to me yesterday, when she called (as soon as I hung up with Lautrec). Only to have her call again to threaten me “I’ll throw your ass into prison, Regina. You’ve always underestimated me, but when you least expect it you’ll be in jail or in a psychiatric ward”.

She decided to call immediately after forty minutes of me vomiting neurosis on Lautrec through the phone, mainly because he wouldn’t accept my monetary help in order to leave SM and come to Stepford: “you fucking traitor”, “you coward”, “you idiot”, “are you retarded?” and “you selfish dick” flew around repeatedly as he answered with clichés: “Regina, it’s impossible to talk to you like this”, “you never listen” accompanied by sigh marathons.

But right now I’m so calm I almost forget I’m not sober anymore. Around this time on April 3rd I was trying to stay awake at a politician’s living room, while two lawyers and a girl photographer had the bedroom door locked. 2013 Regina, the one who ran around Wreck City wrecking herself, is back and the Devil seems to be throwing parties for her all around. April third, around five am: as I lied in bed writing He Breaks My Bones and I Laugh, a friend-lawyer called me (the thing with being a 22-year-old college drop out is that all the people your age are already settling down on their real professions) and invited me to go hang out with future big shots of Mexican politics. I had ran out of cigarettes and in this town, stores open until eight am, so it was a no-brainer.

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I went, smoked and drank, as I hoped I wouldn’t get gang-raped. I said I was a lesbian when the five men commented something about my half naked (and nude) pics rolling around the internet. “I don’t care, forget what I said about us being friends, I’m raping you later”, “please don’t” I said laughing, and keeping the joke tone I avoided the topic until another girl joined the group and fucked two of them before noon.

The little coke we shared was gone before ten and it is impossible to get more in this ranch unless you give at least a five hour notice to the dealer, so I was home around four. But before I got home I drunk-texted little mr. Hoth, an eighteen-year-old I had just met, only to feel guilty later. Guilty for worriyng a barely legal kid, guilty for exposing myself to clear danger, and guilty to drag him into my game.

Hoth (11:36 am) Stop calling me kid.

Regina Martínez Faahri Sweetheart, I’m hammered… whatever I say… Don’t take it seriously. Kid’s a pet name, I like you kid.

Hoth you’re hammered? What happened now?

Regina I started around five, there’s nothing cooler than drinking wit dem politicians, yo. But we just ran out of coke so I’m drunker than I like. Sorry bout my spelling, but I can hardly walk. I do my best n’ shiet. They might pay for one of my tattoos and for Lautrec’s ticket. Because I did love him, even though he ate me alive. I’m so gay hahaha. Sorry about autocorrect too… They picked me up and I don’t have any money or my phone with me, I fucking hate Samsungs but it’s the only cellphone around…Benditos futuros senadores ricos y cocainómanos. Bendita anestesia. Y estoy hablando de más, el tequila habla I’I’ll shut up now Stupid auto correct makes me repeat words when i don’t want to, but I’m to drunk to obsess over it.

Regina Feliz jueves kid, get a life, don’don’t be like me… Estúpido autocorrect

Hoth Tll. That’s what I’ll call you,

Regina No se donde están mis cosad… Cosas. Pero todo bien. Tampoco se donde estoy (lack of accents due to intoxication, I apologize, Spanish readers.)  

Hoth Uh oh I’d slap you if I were there.

Regina Pero I’m ok, I haven’t been raped and i don’t think I will. That’s my good day-out calculator

Hoth No, it shouldn’t be tbh

Regina Martínez Faahri Jajajajajaja you can complain about me with Lautrec or with Him  

Hoth what the fuck is going on with your life?

Regina It’s just part of the mess, dude

Hoth No shit

Regina  I’I’m dying, I just stay cheerful in the process

Hoth Damnit, woman, we met days ago

Regina It’It’s never pretty

Hoth And now u dying?

Regina Sorry kid. I’I’ll stop now I’I’ve dying for a while

Hoth You better stop dying. Oh, que la chingada

Regina  No, I’ll stop texting you, dying is inevitable

Hoth don’t die before cooking for us…

Featured imageRegina  No kid, te haré lasagna y pie.

Hoth You’re fucking 22, damnit

Regina  I’I’m fucked up. I wasn’wasn’t joking when I said it

Hoth Don’t die at 22

Regina Martínez Faahri Fuck autocorrect and it’s repetitions jaja

Hoth Why so fucked up

Regina Hasta los 28. Chill. Read the blog or something, no puedo mandar mensajes de voz de aquí, larga historia

Hoth You’re alone in whoknowswhere? How did you end up there? Weren’t you at your grandpa’s house?

Regina Estoy con senadores that’s it. They don’t give a cap about me jaja… Crap* 

Hoth They won’t rape you, kill you or sell you as a slave, will they?

Regina Martínez Faahri No

Hoth But daaaaamn, how did you end up there?

Hoth (1:17 pm) Sigues viva, tll? Cuz it’d be a shame if you weren’t, me empezabais a caer bien

Regina Sigo viva. He sobrevivido lo suficiente, this is child’s play

Hoth Con todo lo que me has contado, no lo dudo.

Regina (4:00 pm) jajaja I’m home, hello kid, provecho

Hoth what happened since i went to sleep?

Regina Martínez Faahri nada grave, me empecé a sentir mal, le marqué a mi ex porque le quería pagar el boleto para no sentir como que abandonaba a alguien, se puso todo orgulloso de que no, le menté la madre olímpicamente, colgamos, y ya no sé que hacer jaja. 

Hoth If you ask me, you owe him nothing, I mean… he’s the one who should ask for help if he needs it.

Regina  yeah, I just wanted to keep a clear conscience. I’ve swinging between suicidal and  “fuck this shit, I’ll go on living” 

Hoth Fuck a clean conscience, if you try to help someone and they tell you to go fuck yourself, it’s their problem, isn’t it? let’s see how he handles things by himself.

Regina pues sí  

Hoth Lo que no entiendo es como llegaste a ‘políticos cocainómanos’ Tell me, tell me, sate my curiosity.

Regina  I’m pretty outgoing, I’ve got random friends everywhere and politicians tend to be coke-heads.

Hoth Vaya, esa fue una respuesta explicita, gracias.

Regina  jajajaja sarcasm? I met them years ago, before I got clean.

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My mother kept calling, spreading poison around like some evil bee, so I had to disconnect the home phone and turn off my cellphone.

Lautrec spread some shit about me too, making me look like a cold-hearted-thief and a plain bitch with all of our friends, including the ones who were only my friends before I introduce him. But Lautrec will be around later today to sort out which things are his, which things are mine and what we’ll sell in order to leave Stepford. After a calm conversation with him, in which I showed him Bosco, by placebo and we both ended up crying with excruciating “I love you” and “I miss you” I guess we can continue walking down the friend-zone path calmly.

Now that the emotional and chemical hangovers have faded, my emotional pendulum has stayed on the positive “I’m-free-I-can-do-whatever-I-want-now” that makes me want to make plans again, start working my ass off again, go back to collage and choose life. But lately the pendulum has been swinging dangerously between that feeling and just plain suicidal.

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As I hung up with my mother yesterday and skyped with Gaby I told her what I felt on the opposite side of the pendulum: “What the fuck am I doing with my life? Can I really control my drug-use/drinking for a while or will this go south before the summer? Why the fuck do I write? Why do I want to be a writer? What’s the point of it all?”. And as she nodded and told me she understood, the feeling pointlessness started to wash away. I am relatively fine now, I won’t drink in at least two weeks for my kidney’s sake, and I’ll stay away from coke until I’m out of my father’s house. But as my sponsor said when I told her I had relapsed, I’ll be writing, writing until my fingertips are sore, writing about everything and anything and

“Analyze how things go south, because you know they will, write for yourself and be very aware. I’ll be here when you decide to return to meetings, and I really hope you make it back in one piece” My sponsor.

So do I, but the problem here isn’t that I can’t stop using. I just don’t want to.

So as I appreciate the irony of this violent turn my life just took (I used to share a King Size bed with Lautrec, and now I lie in it alone, writing, procrastinating and playfully hitting on some barely-legal kid, allowing a hippie king to be oh-so-sexually-straight-forward to me, and pursuing a girl I’ve had a crush on since I met her, with no one to be upset about my behavior), and the Irony of relapsing right before passover, I think back on what I told Him the last time he suggested I should sober up.

Him: Did you drink today?

Me: No, but I won’t stop drinking. The thing is, darling. You haven’t been disemboweled enough, once people leave you for dead in the desert, you crawl your way through the dunes and realize you need to be anesthetized in order to go on living. I’ don’t want this for you,  but sobriety is just not an option.

Him: I’d stop drinking if I were you.

Me: yeah, you’re a kid rat, we’ll talk in a couple of years, when you’ve been eaten up by the people you love enough. If you are, because you always manage to stay emotionally distant. I just offer myself as feast por idiota.

Him: If I am what?

Me: hurt enough, if you’re hurt enough

Him: Well, I’ve lost almost everything… I get an idea

Me: no, that’s life, you need betrayal to get an idea. Enough amounts of betrayal to want to die, and that’s when you’ll say “I’ll just evade this, because I don’t really want to die” ahí hablaremos.

And this will never end because I want more.

Is there something or someone you should’ve renounced to but haven’t been able to? Or just don’t want to?


4 thoughts on “Cannibal Feast

  1. I loved.

    “(I used to share a King Size bed with Lautrec, and now I lie in it alone, writing, procrastinating and playfully hitting on some barely-legal kid, allowing a hippie king to be oh-so-sexually-straight-forward to me, and pursuing a girl I’ve had a crush on since I met her, with no one to be upset about my behavior)”

    This was the paragraph that compiled everything. Genius.

    This is you:
    BurnFarahBurn! no matter what.

    P.S. Betrayal. I want to read more about this word directly from your brains.

    Alex Mange.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hahaha I guess it does, and yes. Misery will have some of that, it will be explicit and raw, but I don’t like writing things that dense (I’m too dense already…) As usual, thanks for commenting 😀

      Liked by 1 person

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