Ultraviolent Spring

This entry is more of a wrap up/follow up of the last four posts and an index than an entry per se.

Lautrec and I have been packing together and we’ll be moving to SM in about ten days, we’re friends, I no longer despise him and apparently he’s feeling ok about me, so that’s good news, I even played Bosco for him through google-hangouts and apologized for letting him down (relapse-wise) everyone cried and now we’re cool. I found my engagement ring and it’ll stay in a box, I will not cover my R tattoo (his real initial) and we’ll be roommates. This is the most civilized divorced I’ve ever witnessed (in this case I’m experiencing it because I was impulsive and actually married the man, but well, that’s me.) so I’m pretty happy about the way things are evolving in that area.

On the other hand, my mother is still a coldhearted and fucking insane bitch difficult woman. She threatened to throw me in jail or a psychiatric hospital yesterday, and today she called my father and told him she and Lautrec were suing me for defamation (Lautrec was as shocked to hear that as my dad was, my mom likes to talk, Lautrec would never sue me for anything.) Due to what I wrote about them in this post.

Lately I’ve been in an excellent mood, but when she does shit like that I really just feel like I’m walking around with a spear across my chest. As I wrote in the post and as I told her yesterday: now she’s dead to me. I’m not answering her phone calls anymore and as the was threatening with “throwing me in prision” I just quoted closer to say my goodbyes and I told her to stop shouting, (because the dead do not yell.)

…You fucked up slag ❤

So, to avoid any attempt of legal action from anyone against me, a couple of facts: Yes, I relapsed, yes, I do drugs, yes most of those drugs are Illegal; now: I never carry drugs around or travel with them, and I never carry around more drugs than the ones I do myself. I no longer sell, re-sell or deal, and I already served time for the times I did deal, back in 2013. I am in no way involved with any criminal organization, and the last friend I had involved in one was murdered over a year and a half ago, so there are absolutely no links between me and all them bad boys in the news, yo’. I never have with me an amount of substances over the one permitted by the law (Source: Mexican legislation on drug use and narcomenudeo “Decreto por el que se reforman, adicionan y derogan diversas disposiciones de LGS, CPF y CFPP”) for those too lazy to look it up, in México it is illegal to possess narcotics in amounts that are over the following, even if they’re for personal use only (in Spanish):

Opio…………………………………………………………………………2gr.
Diacetilmorfina o Heroina…………………………………………….50mg.
Cannabis Sativa o Marihuana………………………………………5gr.
Cocaina [incluye piedra o crack]…………………………………..500mg.
Lisergida (LSD) [ácidos]……………………………………………….0.015mg. –

MDA, Metilendioxifetamina [cristal o hielo]……………………..40mg. ..unidad con peso no mayor a 200mg.

MDMA, dl-34-metilendioxi-n-dimetilfeniletilamina [éxtasis]..40mg. ..unidad con peso no mayor a 200mg.
Metanfetamina [Anfetas o speed]……………………………………40mg. ..unidad con peso no mayor a 200mg.

And I obviously never get high in public places. Mom, you know me, I’m not fucking retarded. Mis anfetas are prescribed and I don’t fucking get them out of the house either, just in case I run into cops who can’t or won’t read prescriptions.

On the defamation thing: Regina Martínez Faahri is a pseudonym, pen name, you name it. It’s also my Facebook name and the name I give while traveling, or making reservations, but my real second last name is a mystery to most people so: I don’t even use your last name, mother. Faahri is a last name I found in your family tree, but you hadn’t event noticed until I told you, so people will never know of our connection, don’t worry. I never mention your first name and the closest I’ve been to showing your face around is an Instagram picture of half of your gorgeous head over a year ago. And yes, you were like twenty seven in that picture, it’s not like people will recognize you. You blocked me on Facebook and the only picture I have of the two of us together is a montage because you hate my guts and don’t like appearing in pictures with me. Everything written on this blog is obviously just my opinion, and freedom of speech definitely applies more than defamation. So, stalker-mom leave a comment in the post that annoys you the most and I’ll see if I can change whatever it is that you’re hating about it, or ask something on my freaking ask and I’ll act on it. I don’t want to ever talk to you again but I’m still pretty civilized, you can stop being a bitch now, or try to be less of one at least.

Now that the wrap up is done (my mom is still insane, Lautrec and I are cool, He‘s cool to even if I don’t mention him) we can move to the index part. All of the posts in my blog are either about me, my life, or something I find interesting, even though two people told me reading the last four made them feel like they were watching Breaking Bad’s season 4. Most of my personal posts where written as they came up, but there are two series of related entries: the last four, and four back in January. The first series talks about my very dark junkie days and the time I was locked up (they talk about that very superficially, the book does exploit that period of my life) and the last four posts talk mainly about my relapse after 431 days clean and sober, on March 21st. So now I’ll just make an index for those two series and announce the posts that are coming up, because I’m done with uber-personal posts for the rest of April, except for Misery, a post detailing my prisoner days, just so people understand why I can’t joke about it and why Pésaj is such a terrible holiday for me.

On March 21st Ineeded some coke, two beers and two shots of tequila not to fall into a crippling depression, my relapse isn’t justified, but if I hadn’t done it, I’d probably be in a catatonic state of sadness now, the full story with links to the posts, a short intro and some songs I didn’t include when I wrote them, below.

Funny heartbreaks and relapsing, the first of four posts explaining why Spring has been (so far) Ultraviolent. He breaks my bones and I laugh, because Bukowski was oh-so-ambiguous. “Why can’t I keep you safe as my own? One moment I have you the next you’re gone. Rehearsed steps on an empty stage, that boy’s got my heart in a silver cage. Why can’t you want me like the other boys do? They stare at me while I crave you. I walked into the room dripping in gold, dripping in gold. A wave of heads did turn or so I’ve been told, or so I’ve been told, my heart broke when I saw you kept your gaze controlled, and I know you like the song but not the singer, you want the sin with a different sinner, and you’ve got me wrapped around my finger. I will lie for you, beg and steal for you, I will crawl on hands and knees until you see: you’re just like me. Violate all the love that I was missing, throw away all the pain that I’m living, you will eventually believe in me and I can never be ignored. I will wait for you, I’d make room for you, I’d sail ships for you, I’d be close to you, to be a part of you as I believe in you. I believe in you.”

Divorce and heartache, Cuarón style. Can you feel this? It’s my heart, and it is broken. “That night most of my dreams had come true, and like all happy endings it was a tragedy of my own making: for I succeeded. I cut myself loose from mamá, from Lautrec, from the past, from Bat Country, from poverty. I had invented myself. I’d done it cruelly, but I’d done it. I was free.

You don’t have to be embarrassed by me anymore! isn’t that what you wanted? are we happy now? Don’t you understand that everything I did, I did it for you?”

Betrayal has some sweet consequences, here are my thoughts on my nomad-like ways. “Heartbreak opens on to the sunrise, for even breaking is opening, and I’m broken, I’m open. See the love shine in trough my cracks, see the light shine out through me. My spirit takes journey, my spirit takes flight, and I am not running, I am choosing.” (Pariah)

Cannibal Feast or how my ex and my mother kept disemboweling me for an entire week. “My internal monologue is saturated, analog it’s scratched and drifting, I’ve got no idea how I even got here. I’m resentful! I’m having an existential time crisis. What bliss? daylight savings won’t fix this mess. I’m overworked and undersexed, I must express my disinterest; the rats are back inside my head… what would Freud’ve said?

Prelude

My junkie days, the loneliness, and the terrible cocktail that made me lose my mind temporarily.

Limbo

Psychotic break and imprisonment.

Purgatory I

The first prison, where my cellmates were only women, and how I eventually came down from my psychotic break.

Purgatory II

The second prison, idiotic men were in charge, but thanks to that I could leave. I was transferred there on Pésaj last year, oh-so-ironic.

Escape

Like Prison Break but easier: how I escaped, thanks to men being so easy and predictable, only to try to have a normal life again, last September.

And up this week in Burn, Farah, Burn (read the previous with a sitcom narrator tone):

Misery – A raw x-ray on being a prisoner. Yes, believe it or not, I haven’t been raw yet.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Tweets– On social networks and the absurdity of modernity.

Mortal March – A summary of the month I didn’t blog about.

The Lipstick Feminists – On being a Feminist and a Lipstick Bisexual, plus our new vlogging project! ❤

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Quotes and lyrics:

He breaks my bones, and I laugh:

Crave you – Flight Facilities.

I Know – Placebo

Number One Crush (slightly adapted) – Garbage.

Can you feel this? It’s my heart, and it’s broken:

An adapted line from Great Expectations, by Alfonso Cuarón.

Pariah:

A quote from the trailer of the movie Pariah.

Cannibal Feast:

The chopped off, slightly adapted lyrics of Pedestrian at Best – By Courtney Barnett

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