Posts tagged: amado
It was so amazing to see you again last night when you stopped by. Hearing your laugh again..no words can describe how that felt.
waking up was not easy. but even in my dream I remember thinking “See, I can talk to you whenever I want to. You’re not that far away.”
It doesn’t feel as early as 7:30. I had a dream I was going to hang myself on my driveway before my mom got home, which doesn’t make sense because there’s no ceiling outside, how far would the rope go? I was all prepared to do it though, but then I thought about how my mom would have to come home and see me there. For some reason I imagined she’d see me as a limp rag doll body on the ground, even though I’d surely be hanging. I don’t know, dreams don’t make sense. I was sad in this dream because a lot of my friends were dying. One friend from school died and I felt sorry for his girlfriend because I was so sure they were going to marry each other. Last night before I fell asleep I was thinking about how one day Amado would have gotten married, and I would have been so close to his wife, and they would have had little Wado babies and it would have been perfect. He probably would have grown a beard like Dad, and he would have had his life together; in fact, he would have talked about all the mistakes he made when he was young and how he was stronger because of them, and his wife would have held his hand tightly and loved him and their children with her whole heart. So much more love could have occurred if he were still here. So I don’t want anyone to worry about me wanting to kill myself or anything, because I think love conquers all, I really do. I’d rather live and love to the fullest than die and miss out on the opportunity to do that. Sure, I will feel a lot of pain in this whole process, but it’s worth it, I think. I have to tell myself it’s worth it, otherwise I won’t believe it.
I had a nightmare I guess. I mean it was partially good because Amado was in it, his hair was short, he was living with us again. We were watching the news at two in the morning and so many people were being killed up north by terrorists. It was all on live television, and I helplessly cried and shrieked for all the lives that were brutally lost. When it was done and everyone decided there was no reason to be sad, I thought they were all crazy, because there were so many reasons to be sad and afraid. I went up to my mom and asked, “Since Amado’s back, don’t you think we should let him know what happened to him? What he did to us?” because I guess he had no idea that he died before, that he brought us so much pain. She wasn’t sure, but I insisted we tell him. “If we don’t tell him he’ll just do it all over again. And I can’t handle losing him again!!”
And that’s about it. I was hysterical throughout the entire dream and now I’m awake and hungry and it’s my mom’s birthday so I’m not going to vocalize any of this. It’s probably not worth it.
Shit. Insomnia has struck on the night before my 8:30 am philosophy exam. The thoughts I can suppress fairly well during the day bitterly resurface at two in the morning. How lovely. It’d be nice to have something to just knock me out. Then it can be tomorrow. Then I can sleep again and it’ll be the next day, and the next day, and the next day. Each day is one day closer to the final goal, you know? Who knows how many days that is, but it’s held there in the future.
But then I hate thinking about the future, even the immediate future. Summer? Shit, who’s to say the summer will make me feel like I’m okay? I think about it, and I think about the things that will upset me, even then (which is most things, even the good things). What will I do for my birthday? I don’t want to have to worry about something that’s supposed to be fun like my birthday, but I know it’ll be one of the worst birthdays. Don’t ask me why I say that, this has been made apparent by previous holidays that have recently passed. It’ll be like this for a while. What will we do for my brother’s birthday? What will we do in December? I just don’t know. I don’t look forward to these things because I already know how I’ll end up feeling, or rather, how I always feel (especially at two in the morning). I can distract myself, and I do, but I always come back here. Here I am again.
Brother - Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
Away, under the moon
Brother, brother
Away, gone so soon
He’s singing his tune
Still singing his tune
I’ve been dreaming about you every night lately, just staring into your face and trying to remember every part. It looks like you still, but I don’t know for how long. Your hair keeps changing, but your face stays the same.
I had very vivid dreams last night. Some good, some terrible. I guess I’ll start with terrible. I was in the passenger seat of a car on a bad side of town, stopped at a toll booth, and to my right gang members were shooting at each other. A row of five people died and I watched them get shot. My mom was in the car and I heard her shrieks of terror mixed with my own. The eyes were popping out of people’s heads, that was the most gruesome part.
Another dream, a better dream. I finally dreamt of Amado again. And again, I asked him if I could stroke his hair. I don’t entirely understand why I have the desire to do this in dreams. If I were to really see him, I would react much differently. He told me it was weird that I asked him that, just like in the other dream, but he said I could for just a few seconds. His hair was cut short and it was strange, nothing like his hair when he was alive, but it still felt like his hair, and it still looked like him.
I also dreamt that somebody loved me. Like The Smiths song.
I remember Amado having “Fuck” and “War” etched on the sides of his head when he had a mohawk. Everyone thought it was something else, but both Amado and I insist upon this, I suppose.
A conversation I found on facebook:
Amado: i really miss having “FUCK” and “WAR” etched in my head… now i gotta hold down a job n shit.. lame.
Dustin: it said AMADO and WAR…duh
Amado: why would i etch my own name in my head? that is the stupidest thing ive ever heard… if what Dustin says is true, then im blaming it on the drugs… we were obviously high. obviously
Dustin: well- for 1.we were; 2. it was ME who etched your scalp young boy, not you. 3. your mother would have slapped your mohawk into a fauhawk if it had said FUCK on the side of your head…….dumbass. 4. bring it back
Amado: i got a jobn shit now :( i want it tho
And that’s it. I guess it doesn’t really matter. Whatever.
More than anything, I wish it had been me instead.
