There are Angel's in Disguise in Musings

I’m getting so weirded out by this marriage situation. He wants the ceremony to be done by the fall of next year and he’s single handedly doing his own research.
Honestly, I don’t know if I want to be married again… can you imagine?! Me a two time divorcée? And on top of that I kind of need a prenuptial agreement… I love him but if things go awry I don’t want him to gain any of my assets. I worked hard and sucked a lot of dicks to get to where I am today, let the record hold that truth.

I do love him. And he’s been such a good guy and a true confidant, a ride or die—but maybe he’s marrying me because he thinks he can mooch off of me… it’s that asshole little whisper in my ear…

But then I’m confused when he proposed and literally spent his last pennies on a ring that he could barely afford and granted it is nowhere near the value of the ring that Alex gave me, but it’s a ring that he had no business buying.

As per my usual, I had the ring appraised and added to my insurance… when he saw the paper work laying on my desk at our apartment, he literally blew a fuse. “Why the fuck do you need to know how much it was? And behind my back Andy?! You fucking serious!?” He said as he threw the papers on my chest. And I was confused for a while as he reamed me out, and I was able to piece everything together. “Yo tell me now that your bourgeoise fucking little ass is a gold digging piece of shit!” And he started to put on his sneakers and angrily spouting out all of this bullshit that isn’t really true. “Babe… I have all my jewelry appraised—” I said as he interrupted “so you are a fucking gold digging whore?! I don’t have money bro!” And I laughed and wrapped myself around him, hugging him “no you asshole, because it goes in my insurance plan… the one I pay every fucking month! You can see the items in the inventory list in the 5th page!”

I had an entire conversation about my possessions… about how I have them appraised for the market value at the time and the insurance covers them, in case is loss or being stolen.

So that happened.

I’m shopping at bergdorf for cologne and just browsing around for shoes… I just wanted to go out and do things… I run into Alex (my ex-husband) and for some reason, I turn my ring around my hand and he hugs me. His eyes lit up seeing me. Granted he is an abusive, manipulative man who thwarted my growth… but I couldn’t help but feel warm in his embrace.

And he dragged me to help him pick a suit, tell the tailor his exact measurements (it was nothing he was good at, he would just wear a suit right off the rack) and I just felt weird and comfortable. It was familiar. We laughed, he held my hand and he saw the ring and I just felt guilty when he turned it around and asked me “you found someone to treat you good babe?” And it broke my heart into a billion pieces. “Yeah, I guess” I said snatching my hand from his. “You need to keep your paws off of me” I said as I blushed and felt immediate guilt, thinking of all the unanswered texts from Yanni. “I’ll always love you Andy” he said as he grabbed the garment from the hanger. “I know that I fucked up, everyone hates me, but I Just have this weird awful feeling that I know that you and me will be together again” and he held my face in his hand. “But you’re fucking crazy. And you beat me and you hurt me and stifled me! And you shouldn’t be within a thousand feet from me” I said ripping him away from me. “You’re right. But you’re wearing your he necklace I got you for our anniversary, you smell like the parfum we bought in Paris, and not to mention the bracelet that Tante gave you” he said as he smirked. “You’re right. I wasn’t the man for you back then, I was awful and fucking ugly and I treated you like dirt” he said as he walked backwards as I bee-lined to the elevator. “I might have a restraining order and I’m meant to keep a distance, but you keep me close to you and you search for someone like me, just like I search for someone like you and I’m grown now—I’m a man and I’m your man” he said as he stopped and collided into me. He embraced me and for a split second I felt complete… and I felt all the clichés of falling in love for the villain’s sweet words. An angel in disguise… the devil trying to tempt me at Bergdorf and I hear the elevator blip and I pushed him out of my way. “Oh okay” he said as I sped into the elevator. “I have all the time in the world Andy, I love you and I’ve always loved you…I belong with you, I know you” he said as he grabbed my hand and kissed it. “I miss you. I miss your laugh. I miss how independent you are. I don’t want you… I need you, and I deserve to live in this limbo for fucking up, but I will wait for whenever you feel comfortable to come back…” he said as the elevator blipped again and he walked out the door. “Babe, I love you. I hope to see you soon! You owe me our children” He said as his eyes welled up and his cheeks flushed “remember? 1 boy 1 girl who will hate me and love you until they’re teens” his voice cracked
I slowly paced behind him as he rushed out of the store… I see him crawl in his car and wiping his eyes off as he sees me walk out the door and the car takes off.

Holy fuck what am I doing?! Does Yanni love me? Why are we getting married? Does he know me? Can Yanni provide me with the things I want? Do I love him? Do I love him the way that I love that asshole Alex? Have Yanni and I have had memorable experiences that I look back on when I’m laying in bed? No…
Is alex a better person or is he manipulating my feelings? Is he manipulating me the way he would before and then splatter my feelings against a glass wall where there is no escape?

I love Yanni… I don’t think I’m inlove with him because I never really truly got over Alex. I know I’m a very smart boy, I’m successful and college educated and whatever I have I’ve earned through the salty sweat and tears off my face and the blood of my abuse—there’s a creepy tingle in my soul that I’ve stifled…when Alex and I had a French fry fight at a McDonalds parking lot… when I met him at the altar and vowed to be loyal to him. He stood by me through drug addiction, I stood by him through his psychosis. All those fucking late nights he would stand me up and I’d look like a cheap Puerto Rican whore… if you never loved someone, you can never hate them; love isn’t the opposite of hate—indifference is the opposite of love.
And to be honest with myself—I’m indifferent to the love I feel with Yanni; so I admit that I’m an awful person.
When Yanni fucks me I lay there and close my eyes and imagine Alex. For the longest time I’ve realized that I’ve been projecting this and this is why Yanni gets me a ring he can’t afford, because he’s competing with someone who he can never, ever compare to.
I’m a complicated person and I thrive in uncertainty…this is me. I am certain all the time that Yanni will be there, Yanni will move mountains and gather strength from my emotional instability and become a chameleon to satiate my needs… but that’s how Yanni is… he lived a rough fucking life and he wants to fit in—he wants to be a part of my life for his own selfish reasons and to avoid facing himself.
But I am me… I’m inlove with the bastard I divorced, I raped his bank account and he said nothing about it—he didn’t contest my alimony, he didn’t even care that I didn’t sign a prenuptial… he loved my chaos, like I loved his and we bleed to the death and rip each other apart, but that to me is a better life than living complacently side by side trying to be something that the other lacks.
The devil works at the most prestigious banking agency, he’s a trust fund baby, he’s French,he wears Tom Ford suits and I’m a fallen angel, equally as evil and destructive putting up a front as if I have no commonality with the Devil—I own one of the most sinful, successful companies. I sell vanity and whisper into the ear of my victims that she can achieve beauty for a price… and I feast on their insecurity like a scavenger dressed in everything she wants to obtain… and I know she will never obtain what I’m selling her, but I honestly don’t give a fuck, because she comes to me to be willingly exploited and raped of her assets every six to eight weeks falling inlove with a promise that she will never obtain.

Alex and I are two peas in a pod…
Yanni only dances with the devil… and he blindly is obsessed with me… a scavenger, a bully, an enigma of travesty. He’s not my fiancé… he’s not really bothered to see the real me… he sees what I’ve let him see…

And judge me all you want… I slipped a roofie in his drink… and when he passed out, I packed all of my shit and at 4AM as I carried my last belongings down to the car waiting to drive me to my moms house… I left a jewelry box with the ring he gave me, a tennis bracelet I bought myself and a limited edition crocodile accent, patch work Birkin bag that he can resell, the lease to the apartment that has been paid until December 2018 if he’s smart enough he’ll realize I left him with more than 160k worth of shit—I hope that he can forget me, because I’m not like him. I hope he can forgive me, he dodged a bullet by me not choosing to be with him. Friederich Nietzche said “whatever is done for love exist between good and evil”. It’s not that I don’t feel worthy of his love… it’s that my love exists beyond binaries and I’m tired of choosing to exist within a scale that has never applied to me. I’m tired of living for everyone else and letting my truth linger.
I’m not good for him and he’s not good for me. Clearly!!! If I roofied my fiancé to leave! I’m a fucking coward—I fucking know… but I also want to live my own truth… call me a bitch. Call me an animal. Make me seem like I’m a fucking witch… I’d rather burn at the stake and die with no regrets because I lived my truth than merely exist for doing things that are just, living to live some sort of bullshit paradigm that would never encapsulate my identity.

And yea… I got to my mom’s house with the help of my best friends… they all think I’m crazy… but they all think that I’m brave and I’m complicated and YES I CALLED ALEX. And yes they all cringed seeing him… but it all makes sense to them… I’m not typical… I’ve never been typical…
I’m a ghetto gay boy from the projects… I never wanted to be too flamboyant, I never wanted to deny my feminine traits. I never wanted to make my mother more upset by being promiscuous, cause gay men are meant to get AIDS, but I’ve circumvented that by being a monogamous slut and a super careful slut…
And Alex carried boxes of my shit into my mom’s apartment… and I slept in my old room… and my mom hates Alex… but at 7AM I woke up next to Alex.
We had too many bottles of wine and he ripped open a box of my jewelery and he found the ring he proposed to me with.... and he drunkenly put it on my finger.
And when I started crying about how I felt so guilty about running out of Yanni… he cradled me and said “you shouldn’t of done that, that’s not the way a man should be treated Andy” he said as he brushed my hair back. “What else was I suppose to do then?! Break his heart?!” I snickered. “Yeah bro! What the fuck?!” He said holding my shoulders “you think he’s not going to try to find you cause you were too coward to tell him that it was over?!” He said as he held my waist “you’re a fucking piece of shit! A tennis bracelet and a limited edition Birkin bag? Like that is the culmination of your relationship?! Fuck outta here Andy!” He said sternly in my face. “Man the fuck up! I hope he finds you! I hope he fucking gets angry at you!” He said as he grabbed my face in his hands “and when he finds you, imma be here—and I know how I felt everytime you just up and left me, I wanted to hit you and hurt you…because you’re a fucking chicken shit, you let shit build up and then you run away because you were never invested to begin with!” He said “but imma be here and he can call you names and scream at you, but I swear if he tries to hurt you I’m going to kill him” and then that’s when I realized that I have been manifesting all of my man problems on myself…
when things get hard I want to escape and I dodge everyone and everything… but doesn’t that frustrate your partner? When I wasn’t happy living in Puerto Rico—I left to NYC and got an apartment and Yanni found out months after and moved here.
When I was frustrated with Alex and I felt I needed a recharge, I left him in NYC and I was in New Orleans, Louisiana.
When Chris broke up with me in Paris—I said goodbye and I left to Barcelona.
When Byron wanted more and I couldn’t add on more to my struggle; meaning I am Puerto Rican and Ecuadorian and my mom is a mulatto… my mom didn’t like him because he was a black Puerto Rican, but my mom is a mulatto—she’s half Spaniard and she’s half African… and when Byron, the Harvard graduate, who was obsessed and inlove with me going to Stanford Law—my mom said “I get you’re a faggot, but I don’t want niggers in my family” and I just ghosted on him.

Alex is right… when things get too close I run away… but this time… I KNOW my worth… I’m just not happy and I’m faking my happiness to appease someone else.

And I do blame Alex for his retaliation to my actions… I didn’t need to be slammed against a wall… I didn’t need to have black eyes, I didn’t have to limp to work. I’m fucking 5‘8 130 pounds soaking wet with bricks in my pockets, I’m skinny as fuck and I’m hella frail and he’s 6‘1 and 220lbs of fucking muscle. According to the BMI calculator he should be overweight, but he was a soccer player and he’s athletic and he is a jarring type of man, he’s 220lbs of fucking muscle, he’s 10% body fat! Beating up a little anorexic twink… he should’ve never laid any hand on me… but at the same time—I’m a cunt… and Alex has psychiatric disorders that he’s being medicated for, but at what point am I right?
I’ve been treated like shit my whole life and I’ve always been a victim my whole life. And let me tell you something…because I’m intelligent and you view me the way you do, I can manipulate what you see…
And maybe I liked to get beat up, because at least I could fucking feel something. Maybe someone, anyone can come to my rescue.
I am the devil in disguise. I’m able to manipulate your thoughts… before my grandmother died she told my mother “Andy is one of the most beautiful grandchildren you’ve given to me, I don’t dislike him because he’s half Puerto Rican—I just know that he’s gonna live a life of a liar, a storyteller and unlike your other kids he’s your biggest hurdle and your biggest gift”
I remember my grandmother combing my hair and telling me I was beautiful… I remember being in that house, in her room and feeling like she was made of magic… she combed my hair and told me “you can’t forget how beautiful and special you are, don’t make your mother suffer! Don’t forget who you are, you are mine, always and forever papi” and she slapped both sides of my face and wind blew into the bedroom (we were on the mountains in a farm house) and I just smirked with the sting of her hands that smelled like cilantro and it was a pact we made.

When my grandmother passed away, a year later… I came back to that farm house on the mountains and I stayed in the room her and my grandfather lived in… my grandfather went crazy, because I believe that although my grandfather was a fucking bastard womanizer, grandma was his soulmate… I slept in there room but now as an adult and from what I hear from my aunts and uncles at the wake of my grandmother—I never slept… for the 3 weeks I was there… I never slept…my aunts, cousins, uncles and even my siblings were afraid of me because day and night I didn’t sleep… and the scary thing about it all is that my grandmother did have a deep fondness for me, and I did meet her and she was so enchanted by me for being Puerto Rican but looking like a little Asian boy, but she never combed my hair… she told everyone that I was special, but I was never in her room, getting my hair combed by her… and she haunted me and I visualized her in ways that a 5 year old child should never have known her. She haunted me so much that my grandfather only knew me because “Carmen is with you…Andy” and he was so progressed in Alzheimer’s. And when I came back to New York she haunted me… I remember seeing her in the coffin and everyone praying for her and playing in the farm with the chickens and her livestock and saying to my uncles and aunts “oh abuela told me that this chickens name is Perla and the cow is Marta!” And they were aghast because there was no way that I could ever know details like that when I first met her…because grandma had 23 live births…and when I tried to meet her I was one of 60+ grandchildren.
As a writer… I believe in magical realism… when my grandmother died… my mom woke up out of her sleep and was stoic and inconsolable… no one told my mom that her mom had died… my mom was haunted by my grandmother… and I remember the ambulance being there and my sister called Puerto Rico—and they confirmed that my grandmother had died…so whatever my mom felt, it wasn’t a schizophrenic attack…it was the fucking truth.
I became a writer because I love memories… I want to preserve them, I want to write them, I want to capture memories in words—I also know that I am a part of history and it is a part of me. There’s an intrinsic moment within bloodlines that is beyond our comprehension. Grandma was dead… and my mom knew it… there’s nothing in the DSMIV that can explain that, Mami knew that the head matriarch of our family was gone.
For some reason meeting my grandmother, or not meeting her—I was a special kid. My aunts and uncles were always flabbergasted by the fact that I did meet my grandfather, he had Alzheimer’s and he would take me with him everywhere…because “what’s your name? Oh, Carmen says it’s Andrés, come with me! Carmen likes you! She says you’re my grandbaby!” And I remember my grandfather, his black ass, would take me all around his farmland… and as an adult now, I just feel that he took me with him because my grandmother hovered over me.
My grandfather once my grandmother died became a shell… she kept him together…and he became close with me because he saw pieces of my grandmother in me…
my grandmother haunted me… I knew things about her that I should’ve never known, because I didn’t really interact with her much. I remember telling my mom intimate stories about my grandmother that I shouldn’t have ever known.
My Mami tells me this story that raises goosebumps… that I was 8 or 9 and I stood straight up out of bed…grabbed her and said “Mami don’t you see her?” And I pointed to the bed frame of mirrors “Mami! Please see her!” And my mom started crying, she smashed the mirrors and took me to another bedroom and laid with me… I remember the night, I remember telling her something but the words are jumbled, I blacked out. My grandmother has always haunted me, she’s always present and I know her spirit is trapped.
My mom has always thought that because I’m such a small, uncertain spirit that I’m a conduit for malicious intentions… but I may be small, but I’m not weak. I have my ancestors… I’m not a conduit for malicious intentions…I’m a vessel of atonement…a vessel for my family’s spirit to achieve forgiveness…and because I am a vessel, I am prone to absorb negativity…
No shade… I’m not scared of spirits. I’m not scared of ghosts or hauntings… all of those energies…they are existing in limbo. You might’ve been an evil person in life, but now in death you’re karma is due. “History is a part of you and you are a part of it” you have a choice, you accept your past or you live in an eternity of misfortune and destitution—make your choice…flourish or exist in the inbetween… where you’re not happy or sad, you don’t forgive, you love and you hate believing both of those feelings are opposites.
I promise you… if Abuela exists in that in between… I will rescue her… because I know my mother will not exist in that in between… I know her soul will float—even if I have to sacrifice my own soul… my mother will float… I forgive myself and I hope that she can accept my apology and forgive herself… but if she doesn’t.... I know that when I get there—I will give her my ticket to the gates if heaven, she doesn’t deserve to have her soul in what if…I’m a strong motherfucker and limbo to me is just existing in the real world, so bring it on motherfuckers! Limbo is what it is…I’ve existed in Limbo when I was a person—I will never go to hell, because I’m a good person, regardless of what anyone says of me. And actually as a Catholic ex-Altar boy—I know if I go to Hell and my soul will be eternally damned, I know I did everything right… I don’t fucking care and I am ready to burn in eternal damnation, as long as my mother’s soul floats to heaven. In corporeal life and spiritual life, I’d rather suffer for eternity than allow anyone else suffer.

And that’s the honest to God truth. No regrets. I’ve forgiven myself, I’ve forgiven everyone I’ve had to, so if I go to Hell for taking anyone’s sins—that’s what I want…I’m sure that burning for eternity isn’t any less hurtful than suffering in this body.
I’m a fucking fallen angel in disguise in this world. I’m not sorry, I know my faults.