Part 17…….There’s a Reason Vampires Can’t See Their Own Reflection.

“I’m here to remind you, of the mess you made when you went away.  It’s not fair to deny me of the cross I bear that you gave me” – Alanis Morissette

There’s a reason that vampires can’t see their reflection, especially emotional vampires because everyone around them will see them differently if they can see themselves being assholes.  It’s all an act, a cover up, a facade of the body and soul they don’t know how to be genuine and they are usually cowards to boot.  Being arrested was to say the least, was one of “the” most humiliating experiences I’ve ever had to go through.  It wasn’t the only time that I felt betrayed by the man that claimed loved me, there were several but somehow I overlooked them because I was still convinced he loved me and I loved him.  One day he suggested that we take a “day off” and we’d go to Mesilla or Las Cruces New Mexico to spend the day where he assumed people wouldn’t recognize him.  I mean I wasn’t hiding, okay yes I was but it wasn’t me that would run in a blind panic at the sign of someone he thought might recognize him.  One day he asked me to take the day off and I was already on my way to work, dressed up and everything but nonetheless I said yes.  I mean after all getting to spend the day with the man I loved sounded much better than a day at work, right?  Wrong, that day I agreed because I missed spending time with him and he suggested we go take in a movie.  So we drove to the Northeast to the theaters over there because I mean who the fuck did either of us know over on that side of town?  Mind you El Paso isn’t a big city, it seems everyone knows everyone else or is related to a friend of a friend.  We get to the theater and we pick a movie, he gives me the money to buy popcorn and drinks and says he’s going to the men’s room.

On his way back I see him walking towards me as he passes a couple on their way into the theater.  His eyes widen and a look of panic clouds his face, he walks right past me and out the front doors as I’m smiling and handing him his popcorn.  He just kept walking, and I’m standing there with my hand in the air holding his popcorn container, like a fucking idiot.  No wound is ever so deep or as painful as the one inflicted by the person you love “pretending” not to know you or acknowledging your existence in his life.  He proceeds to call me from his cell outside in the parking lot to tell me he just passed his sons little league coach and that we’re going to have to improvise at getting in to watch the movie.  He tells me he’ll meet me inside the theater, and all the while I’m still wondering what the fuck is happening here?  I walk into the theater and wait and wait until he finally shows up.  It was the middle of the fucking day for god sake, who the fuck was going to recognize him?  I mean his son’s little league coach was probably there with his girlfriend too, I doubt it was his wife.  But he decided to panic and make me less of a person in his life than he already had to that point.  I went into the theater and sat in the highest part in the back waiting for him to come in.  The previews had begun and everyone knows this takes up about half an hour of time before the movie starts.

This little incident gave me a smidge of childhood PTSD from when I was in the 3rd grade and I really had a crush on one of the boys in my class, lets Flashback to 1977, San Elizario Elementary.  Granted I was not a pretty girl in school, how do I know this?  Because almost all the boys in my class thought they’d tell me so. In any case I really like this one boy Jen Borrego, I believe his full name was Genaro.  I’m like Genaro what the fuck?  Anyway this boy I liked, everyone called him Jen not fully realizing that is actually short for Jennifer.  One day one of my cousins showed me a huge stainless steel ball baring that my grandfather had pulled out of a piece of machinery he was dismantling in my uncles junk yard.  At the time, marbles were a big thing and even us girls got into playing you know to impress the boys.  The bigger the marble the better the chance one had of winning.  One day I snuck into my grandfather’s house, to find the “giant” marble, because I knew where my cousin kept his “treasure” box.

It was this old cigar box with all of his most treasured possessions, which for a boy of about ten years old consisted of baseball cards, a bunch of quarters, a blue bandana, a pack of Big League Chew bubble gum, a metal ring with a huge plastic green gem on it and his prized playing marbles that he either won or bought with his allowance.  In there was the big stainless steel bearing he had gotten from my grandfather.  I thought to myself surly if I give this to Jen he’ll actually like me.  So I took it that afternoon and the very next morning I was excited as I walked across the street to school.  My parent’s lived right across from the elementary school so it only took me five minutes to get to the playground where everyone would congregate to have a few rounds of marbles before the bell rang calling us into school.

As I walked towards the playground that morning I felt confident, my hand in the pocket of my purple coat, feeling that round, smooth “marble” against my fingers and holding my book case in my other hand.  I clenched it in the cold November morning and watching my breath in the cool twilight of the playground.  I walked towards the crowd gathered by the merry-go-round and there he was, Jen and it was going to be his turn to play.  Right then the bell rang and a loud collective groan came from everyone knowing we had to run back towards the school.  As everyone gathered their stuff from the side of the merry-go-round I approached Jen and said “Hey Jen., I have something for you” and he looked up at me from tying his shoe as I held out the metal sphere in my hand.

His eyes grew big and his jaw dropped and he said “Wow! That’s great!  Where’d you get it?”  And I told him I had found it, when in reality I had stolen it from my cousin.  He took it and held it and said “You’ll beat everyone with this for sure!”  His eyes not once left the metallic orb as he stared in wonder.  As be began to hand it back to me I said “You can have it” and he stared up at me with his green-brown flecked eyes and freckled face.  He said “For reals I can have it?”  And I said “yes you can have it” and he said “Alright! Thanks” and ran off into the distance with his books under one arm and the stainless steel marble in his hand as he yelled at some of the other boys walking ahead of him.  I felt as if I was walking on clouds of cotton candy as I began my trek towards the door to my classroom.

As I walked I thought to myself, wow he’ll like me now for sure especially if he wins during lunch (what did I know I was eight years old).  We all walked into our classroom and situated ourselves at our assigned desks and our teacher was running late and the all the boys had gathered around Jen as he showed off his newly acquired prize.  I began to walk over towards them and I heard another boy ask him where he had gotten it and he quickly turned around and I stood still waiting for him to acknowledge where he had gotten it.  Then he turned towards me and said “Esta pendeja me lo dio” as he pointed at me, which translates to this fucking idiot gave it to me.  And all the boys turned and in unison began to laugh at me as if to say what an idiot you are to give something like this away.  My ears began to get hot and the embarrassment grew as the laughter seemed to get louder.

Then another boy Javier Castaneda said out loud “pendeja!” as if to certify what Jen had just yelled out, you know in case someone from another class had failed to hear it.   That’s when our teacher walked in and we all sat at our desks, I sat in the back staring at the entire classroom listening to the buzz of the new stainless steel marble that Jen had in his possession, it hung above like a cloud of toxic bullying, humiliating gas.  Our teacher gave us our assignment, I took out my notebook and began my assignment. As I began to write, tears fell and hit the blue lined ruled notebook paper.   I felt like such an idiot especially for thinking that this ugly eight year old would actually find some sort of validation from a boy she thought she could buy affection from with a stainless steel marble she had stolen from her cousin.  Perhaps it was karma for stealing the marble, but at that age I knew nothing of karma all I knew is that it didn’t have to be that cruel.

Back in present day as I recalled that moment from my youth I could feel the tears rolling down my face yet again, waiting outside in my car in the theater parking lot waiting for Lestat to make his way out so we could leave.  I had the very same feeling that day as I did when I was eight, and I will never forget the thought running through my head at the time, which was “Am I ever NOT going to be the ugly idiot that has to wait for a man to show her affection?”  That’s when my cell phone rang and it was Lestat asking if I could pick him up behind the theater, and I was like how the fuck did he wind up there?  I drove around the back and there he was standing by a pile of cardboard boxes looking like a damned crack dealer waiting for his next customer.  That’s when I realized that the crackhead was me, as I drove us back to the eastside in silence as he kept apologizing for what had just transpired.  I didn’t say one word and I dropped him off at his office and drove home to my parent’s house.  It was only one-thirty in the afternoon and I rejected his suggestion to go have lunch so we could talk.

I just felt so drained and emotionally beaten down I didn’t want nor need to have him explain to me why it was that he HAD to make me feel like a stranger.  I mean come the fuck on the motherfucker had just made me feel like I was back in the fucking third grade and he wanted to explain why?  I don’t fucking think so.  But that’s what emotional vampires do, they build you up and then they tear you down again only to want to build you up again.  Prince Charming and Carlos didn’t show up that day either, those motherfuckers.  As I took the long way home I listened to the radio and the song by Rascal Flats came on.  I had one arm on the door of my car and the other on the steering wheel, I leaned up against my hand as I drove listening to this song about a woman who is so special that this guy feels the need to sing about her and how she isn’t a day over fast cars and freedom.  How she doesn’t need makeup because she’s beautiful inside and out.  And just like in the third grade my tears began to fall without my actually crying out loud.  I just couldn’t keep them in while listening to this song wondering if I would ever be this important to one man for them to make me feel like a song.  Okay I know that some of you will say that if I’m so strong why would I need a man to make me feel this way?

Well because we’re all human and we feel the need to connect to one human being in a way that makes us feel loved and special in their eyes.  We all want to be that special song, it doesn’t matter whether you’re a man or a woman we all want to be reminded or remind those in our lives that we’re special that we are a song in their minds.  Every time they hear it, it will remind them of us, all the time.  But this can also work the other way around, when you hate someone so viciously like Alanis Morrissett did when she wrote “You Outta Know.”  That is a brilliant song and she must have loved that dude that dumped her in a deep (and maybe obsessive way) to write something so painful and full of vengeful suggestions.  Much respect to Alanis, she’s mah bitch, I swear if I didn’t know she was Canadian I could have sworn she was Hispanic.

The emotional vampire said to me once that all the songs from the Eagles reminded him of me, and I didn’t quite know how to take that.  I mean yes I wanted to be a song to someone and he definitely was a song to me.  Pretty much the entire soundtrack to the Urban Cowboy movie, don’t ask me why he just was.  There is a difference between being reminded of someone and someone “being” that song.  While we’re on the subject, did I mention that Lestat claimed to not like mushy or lovey-dovey feelings?  Yes, he would tell me that I had flair for writing and expressing myself verbally (we’re not talking about cursing eloquently) and that it was harder for him to express how he felt.  Which in my mind was total bullshit, and why do I say this?  Because he sure as fuck could express himself when we were having sex, and I do mean he could elaborate on how he wanted it, what he fantasied about and what he wanted me to do for him.

So the entire of “I’m not as good as you are expressing my feelings” was total bullshit!  He only did it when he wanted to, and that was during sex.  He also wasn’t very romantic in general, I thought he was with the whole fishing cilantro out of my soup thing.  But that was just being nice I suppose.  Because being affectionate he was good at, but being romantic he lacked a lot of eloquence.  For the first fifteen years of our relationship I’d get flowers for Valentine’s Day, I’d get a dozen roses.  As well for my birthday, but then it stopped, probably because his sister’s flower shop went under and he didn’t have access to flowers anymore.  But I’m not the only one that got flowers, his idiot wife did too.  He justified that he sent her roses for Valentine’s Day because of his kids, some more bullshit to process.

He had a unique place in my life and heart that I had a hard time getting rid of.  Like a fucking splinter stuck there in the palm of your hand or finger.  You know it’s there and you can feel it but you can’t find it to yank it the fuck out so it doesn’t cause you anymore pain, and if you don’t it lingers there just beneath the surface causing all kinds of discomfort.   But apparently I wasn’t considered this way in his mind, I mean let’s talk about how unoriginal this motherfucking emotional vampire really was shall we?  Stay tuned for part 18…..

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41 thoughts on “Part 17…….There’s a Reason Vampires Can’t See Their Own Reflection.

  1. Thus why I like to make playlists, or serenade, or dedicate songs (or characters or poems or art… any fucking thing) to people. That’s my homage, my dedication. (embarrassed) Er… yeah. So… instead of feeling awkward, let’s kick some effing butt. LOL! I’ve got my heroes BIRD OF PREY (black canary, batgirl, huntress) and my villains SIRENS (catwoman, poison ivy, Harley quinn). But really it’s just a matter of motivation and intention. *shrugs* We can be whomever we choose to be. And since I know I have you an Ursula cheering me on, when I use those particular tropes? I guess… Surprise! Welcome to my tripartite! I never threw us a “welcome, party” party. Sowweee….

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      1. I’ll make sure to remember to host one. At the moment, I’m all “Marvel girl” trying to start my own xman liminal academy… site constructing, content creating, head hunting, vision planning, fence defending… and also try try try to not fuck my kids up because “mama is always busy” all the damn time. Heal the past to fix the future, all from the present. No magical hallucinations this side of k-town. But fucking aye, existence would be much simpler if I my minds eye wasn’t blind. Lol

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  2. Such a sadness rushed over me as I read about the 3rd grade you, being made to feel so awful. Anger rushed over regarding the ex. What a jerk! I have always hoped to be as important to someone, be that one song to someone. Never gonna happen. Thanks for sharing. Oh, and I have family in El Paso. Never been there myself but if everyone knows everyone then perhaps (uh oh) you’ve met some of my peeps. Lol.

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      1. Deb, here in Elp you can’t throw a rock ten feet in any direction and NOT hit a Ramirez, but a Davenport, now those are rare. I know many Ramirez’s or Ramirezi (plural? Lol).

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  3. Oh girl we could trade school bullying horror stories. A splinter is a great description for that asshole. I’ve had some splinters myself, tearing away at my own flesh to rid myself of the invader, been there.

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    1. I’m sure we could, and somehow around sixth grade I began to fight back both verbally and physically. It got me into a whole mess of trouble but my grandfather told me after one particular fight with a fat girl named Kimberly that I was a fighter, that it was in my blood. Little did I know it was going to be for the rest of my adult life, lol. We should exchange stories, I’m sure we could write an entire article about our childhood experiences.

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  4. Elementary school was filled with cruelty. I expressed my hurt feelings by getting angry – not much has changed with age! It’s weird how we flash back to other negative experiences in our lives when going through a new one – almost always because we felt similarly in both situations. I guess it’s our mind trying to prepare us for a similar outcome. History repeats itself and all that jazz…

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    1. I think your right, why else would we keep thinking about how the negative experiences affect us instead of the good ones? I think as adults we focus on things like this because we might want to avoid episodes like this from happening, but as you said history repeating itself happens, I just wish I knew why.

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    2. I was just thinking the other day about how I felt like I was in 2nd grade again, with the popular girl proclaiming every other day that she was or wasn’t my friend… I keep female friends a safe distance even now (I’m 45), but in the last couple years, let a few into my bubble, only to be thrown back to the 2nd grade hurt. I’m a grown-ass woman, happily married and live a good life – I don’t need petty, jealous bitches bringing me down. Kids are cruel, but grownups are more cruel. 😩 Thank you for letting us into your world – you are not alone!

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      1. I’m the same way, I’ve now narrowed my circle of friends to two, and that’s pretty much all I need. Your right adults are very cruel and I will not go back to that type of petty, jealousy or envy. Because now as an adult Hispanic woman (with a big mouth according to my mom) I will let anyone know exactly where they stand with me. Thank you for reading! 😁

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  5. What a jerk. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. That’s just the worst feeling in the world.

    I had The Narcissist of My Life (I used to incorrectly refer to him as The Love of My Life), run away and hide in an alleyway because his PARENTS were across the street from us downtown one night. He was 27. I was 30. Hiding from his parents!

    He kept me secret from his parents for over two years because he said they would “never approve” of me since I hadn’t gone to college and was divorced (ooh scandal!).

    It was just one of his many ways of putting me down. When they eventually met me, they absolutely loved me, and even after he dumped me for my best friend ten years later, they still wanted to get together with me alone for dinner!

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    1. Haha! The best revenge for an ex, the fact that their family likes you more! I like that line “Narcissist of My Life” that carries an entire different weight when your talking about a person whom you believed to be “the” one. And turns out to be a fucking nightmare instead.

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      1. I know, believe me I know first hand what an asshole he is, and there are some people who ask me if he really exists. To which I say of course he does, I have the scares to prove it.

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      2. Your preaching to the choir on that question my friend. I have asked myself the very same question, especially about this motherfucker. He still has his businesses, his home, his ugly fat wife and stepford children. Not that I want anything bad to happen to him, okay I lie but I just wanted to see if I could genuinely get away with saying that, lol. I firmly believe in karma, and I think that karma for him is staying in his marriage with a brain dead, mental midget of a wife for the rest of his life. I’m sure he’ll remember me often, and I will try to forget him.

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      3. Haha, you see? Just kidding, I am (or try to be) a good hearted person because if I were a complete and total bitch I would have ruined his life on purpose. Instead love blinded me to who he really is/was and loving unconditionally can make you blind to other peoples faults.

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  6. I’ve read everything so far. Bless you for all that your heart and mind have endured!!! Pumpkin Spice sucks ass (I don’t know if that counts as “eloquent” lol) but I love soapy cilantro. Stay strong, lady… we’re rooting for you! 😊 💪🏻 ❤️

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  7. Wow–kids can be so nasty. Reminds me of the boy in grade 6 that I liked, who came up to me in class one day and asked me to “go with him”. I was shocked but I said yes, and then he turned to his friends and they all started to laugh. What a dick. Can’t wait to find out what happens next!

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