It’s March 24th and I just finished tossing the rest of my sister’s clothes and leftover garbage into the trash bins outside. This isn’t the same sister I wrote about recently, the one who checked herself into the hospital. This time I am speaking about the youngest sister that I grew up with, the youngest on my mom’s side. I have four brothers and four sisters, so yes it will be difficult to keep track of who I’m talking about from time to time.

This situation is proof that time travel is impossible, because surely I would’ve traveled back to summer of last year and slapped the shit out of myself for inviting my sister to come live with me in the first place. My sister is 20 years old now and has spent the last six years of her live slowly flushing her future down the drain. It was sickening to see the person my sweet, innocent baby sister had become. She tried to keep family off of her Facebook, but sometimes I would see things. Pictures of her smoking. Pictures of guns. Live videos with lewd comments from hundreds of guys too old to even be communicating with her. Her posts exposed her to the world, stating that she was horny, wanted new chat buddies, wanted to get pregnant, etc. It scared the shit out of me.

I invited her to come live with me and get her GED so that we could do our best to get her into the military and she accepted. It wasn’t an easy transition. I flew her out to Hawaii and bought her everything she needed (and a lot of things that she didn’t). I was struggling to find a good balance and keep her interested in her goals by guiding her like a mother figure yet giving her freedom like an understanding sister. I wanted to show her that it was possible to put the work in and take care of the things she needed while having everything she wanted as well. She got a job and eventually agreed to pay rent in order to help with the mortgage and bills. She enrolled in a GED program two miles away from the house. She continued to lie and sneak around, but overall I felt as if the change in lifestyle was positive. Deep down I knew that it wasn’t going to last, but I kept my pessimism to myself and gave her the chance to prove me wrong.

A couple of things happened in a short amount of time: she crashed my car while driving it without permission while I was off island, she stopped paying her portion of the rent and phone bill, she quit her GED program, and she got suspended from work. Due to her suspension, I gave her a break on the rent. I told her to work on studying for the ASVAB at home since new military regulations did not require a GED if the applicant’s test scores were high enough. It sucked that things were falling through, but I was determined to get her onto the right track.

She told me she was going to take a week off of work and fly to Texas to visit some guy. She promised that she would give me some of the rent money she owed from the month prior, as well as her cellphone bill, and also start paying off the insurance deductible to repair the damages to my car. Long story short, she didn’t come back. There were two things that bothered me: 1) She took everything that I bought her (and a couple of things that didn’t belong to her) but declined my invitation to take her to the airport knowing that she wasn’t coming back. She didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye. And 2) She left owing me money with no intention on ever giving me a single dollar that she owed. I’d sacrificed so much for her, and it really hurts that she would decided to leave with no consideration as to how I would recover. If I hadn’t had the money to pay my mortgage, I’d be out on the street right now.

I cleaned out her room so that I can advertise for a new roommate. Let’s just say that I had to wear gloves before touching anything. emo9_by_aleayo-d81lgte

This really sucks.

I just wanted to update you guys. My sister is alive and well. emo5_by_aleayo-d81lgdw

I actually spoke to her at the beginning of last Tuesday after 5-6 days of unanswered phone calls. She explained to me that she had been under an insurmountable amount of stress, and was in fear of doing something to harm herself. Thinking quickly and rationally, she took it upon herself to ask her baby father’s mother to watch her baby. Then she immediately went and checked herself into a hospital. They ended up keeping her for a week and she wasn’t allowed to use her phone.

I am proud of her.


This post is dedicated to my 27+ years of sobriety. emo5_by_aleayo-d81lgdw

My abstinence from alcohol never fails to shock people, and nine times out of ten I receive this follow-up question: “But why not?” They almost always assume that I have some grand religious commitment, or that perhaps I’ve been traumatized by an alcohol-related event so severe that I dare not partake in the devil’s nectar. I’m not going to lie. Those are some pretty noble reasons, but they don’t really apply to me.

I will say, there are two significant alcoholics in my life. The first is my former stepfather, who sexually abused me when I was around 7 years old, and the second is my actual father, whom I haven’t had a positive relationship with until very recently. Now while these two examples of what alcohol can do to fuel or handicap the human mind are very convincing arguments for teetotalism, what really turns my stomach is the smell.

I hate the way alcohol smells. I can’t explain it in a way that really makes sense to anyone else, but I’ll tell you the thoughts that ran through my head as a child. I remember sniffing an empty shot glass that my ex-stepfather had placed on the ledge of our mobile home’s fireplace (and before you say anything, YES our mobile home had a fireplace bitch, and it was totally the envy of all the other impoverished residents in our trailer park community).

Right before I inhaled the fumes of the empty glass, I was certain that this magical elixir, which my stepfather seemed to covet more than life itself, would have to smell and taste absolutely amazing. I mean that shit had to taste like liquid candy or something the way it hypnotized him. So with barely a second’s hesitation, I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. The stench was horrendous. I remember jerking my head back then slapping the glass back down on the ledge, perplexed. It smelt like dead flies. Of course, I’ve never smelled a dead fly, but that was the only description that ran through my head. Even today, when I smell the sharp and distinct scent of alcohol, that’s what passes through my mind. I don’t know of any other smell to compare it to. I just know that it makes me nauseous.

It has been suggested that my child-brain subconsciously linked the smell of alcohol to my stepfather and the pain that he caused. Because he drank constantly, my revulsion of the smell of alcohol grew alongside the revulsion of my stepfather himself, even if I am unable to see it for myself. It has also been implied that I think of alcohol as smelling of “dead flies” because as a kid I didn’t have another smell to compare it to, but was scared of the idea of death and also hated flies (that isn’t an exaggeration in the slightest, I really did/do hate flies).

While these observations all sound perfectly reasonable, I personally haven’t been able to connect those dots. As for staying alcohol-free for 27 years, it’s not a feat that I care too much to brag about. It’s easy for me to say no because I’ve always said no. I think it’s more admirable for a former enjoyer of alcoholic beverages to practice abstinence- that’s where the real willpower is.

At this time, I don’t know if there is an occasion that would cause me to drink alcohol. I didn’t drink at my wedding, and as happy as I was, I didn’t drink when my divorce was finalized either. I’ve flirted with the idea of drinking for the first time when my future kid(s) decide to try it, providing they have chosen to share this experience with me. The thought of having a “first” experience at the same time as my kid(s) sounds pretty cool to me. I just hope they’re not assholes and are worthy of witnessing the glory that is me accidentally getting shitfaced and becoming completely incapable of providing them any comfort or insight. emob06_by_aleayo-d83wmg9

Well, it made me laugh.

But before you drink to that, let me tell you about the week I’ve had.  emo6_by_aleayo-d81lghh

On Monday morning (or was it Tuesday?) I woke up around 6 AM and made the grave mistake of skimming over my Facebook timeline, knowing that once I open my eyes or make any sudden movements, I’ll be incapable of going back to sleep. I saw that my sister had updated her status within the last couple of hours, raging that she was “f****** done being stressed out” and wanted to kill herself.


My sister has been going through cycles like these for such a long time. Even though I feel more and more exhausted each time, I know that I can’t ignore her. My sister has been struggling with mental health issues for as long as even I can remember: I knew that something was off before she was officially diagnosed, and wayyy before she was institutionalized. After all of this time, it literally feels like she’s been standing on the ledge of a skyscraper window for more than 20 years, threatening to jump, and that I’m one of the few people still standing hundreds of feet below trying to reason with her.

And I’m fucking tired. I love her so much, but I am fucking tired.
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Man oh man! This blog is way overdue but you know how the saying goes, “Better late than never!”


Well anyway, I NEEDED to start this blog. I was tired of thinking of all the reasons on why I shouldn’t bother with it, or why it would fail, or this and that, but fuck it: HERE I AM, WORLD. I’m ready to post about my life and (hopefully) connect with people around the world.

At the very least, I expect this to become a GREAT place to vent. I’m tired of bottling up my emotions. I’m tired of trying to suppress the things that happened in my childhood. I’ve learned to laugh about a LOT of shitty things that have happened to me and, regardless of how other people may see my sense of humor, it’s been therapeutic for me.

So without further ado… LET’S ROLL.