I felt old.

I felt old. I fell a million years old. I saw a spark of youth I have never experienced. A naïve-ness that’s in some way repulsive… I realized… that it’s important how I look in the eyes of the prince. I won’t smoke in front of you.

I realized that I need a life away from him…

 What’s wrong....your blog was so sad???

 And I think you're beautiful

Well, thanks I've been in this mood for a while

I know exactly how you fee. I honestly do...but I think you're beautiful inside and out

It’s not a come on and I'm not into cheap flattery

And yes....I agree with your link between art beauty and sadness

But its sadness that breeds both art and beauty...so without sadness we wouldn't appreciate anything beautiful

And if we didn't experience sadness we couldn't create anything beautiful or artistic

And I think your graphics are beautiful'

Your words are beautiful and poetic

Your sensitivity that makes you so sad is the same sensitivity that lends you the perspective which allows you to write so beautifully

It’s a double edged sword

Your gifts come with a price

Just like every superhero story

This is from one sad sensitive writer to another

Xag: I had never known someone who had actually read what I write there. I don't know what to say ^^. Thanks.

Believe me I understand

The sadness

 The consuming depression

you look everywhere and see injustice, sadness, misery...and it's not fair, and you can't change it...and you think "I can’t continue on like this"...you feel like no one else sees it and you think why go on in this world...where nothing is fair...where beauty is fleeting and nothing matters anyway since it will end one day anyway

 And you think you want to just stop being sad by hurting yourself

But if you do that you'd just be contributing to the sadness and the violence of the world

and you wouldn't be able to create anything beautiful that might one day give solace to another suffering kid....the eighteen year old kid 20 years from now who needs to spend every night on the web just to escape wherever he is

Let me venture some guesses

You think it’s unfair that there are prescribed limitations and expectations based on your gender

You don't understand why you attract any extra attention if you wear a girl's tee...and you don’t understand why some guys wear baggy clothes that hide their bodies when they actually have really good bodies

You think it's unfair that anyone with a sexual fetish or preference other than the usual is looked at any differently or that anyone cares about such things one way or the other

You don't understand why heterosexuals are threatened or nervous around queer people

 You accept diversity and differences in everyone around you and you don't get why everyone else doesn't

How am I doing so far?

You are actually scaring me little bit

 Lol why

It is pretty, pretty accurate

He he...sorry...I kind ranted there for a bit...

I just told you

 I completely understand you

Because I'm EXACTLY the same way

 You’re adorable

I understand you so well...do you feel let down by people a lot cause you feel like you care a lot more about them then they care about you?

Yeah I do feel like that sometimes... but I also feel I'm so selfish for expecting people to care...

Exactly...so you alternate between feeling guilty and feeling let down?

Xag: exactly

Alone now

Ok, I’m alone now, me with me and me……….

……….… I feel if my blog was a real space… it would be like a cathedral a huge empty cathedral with scattered paper on the floor… and now it’s deserted… I feel I could hear my echoes…….

ECHO!!!

………………………… (Echo!!)

……………………………………………….. (Echo!)

………………………………………………………………… (…echo…)

I’ve been bleeding through my nose all afternoon… he asked me what do you need… what can I do?, should I cut myself?, should I get wet?… 

(1 day late)

I'm angry right nowa lot has happened, but the reason I'm angry is because today happened something I knew it was going to happen someday. I crashed. I crashed because the lack of money.Today, they called from college saying that I couldn't get the scholarship I always get for working there, because they wouldn't give any scholarship to any 1st to 10th semester student. Shit! I asked like a thousand times! "Is there any problem with that?", "-no", they said. They even gave me the discount "ticket”, but they had to void it so it cause any problems...fuck!That means that everything I did during this semester was worth nothing. N*O*T*H*I*N*G. I stayed, even when I didn't have to stay, just because I was committed to my work. I got sick by delivering magazines at 8PM, I stayed up until night with the design guys to have the magazine look pretty, and I did what I had to do, do what I wasn't supposed to do. GOD! I'm even editing articles for a damn magazine that's to come in December. That’s SO not...It was worth shit.The worst case scenario would be that they couldn't count that work as an internship...they have AT LEAST to do that...I don't even know what makes me angrier, the fact that I worked my ass off for nothing or the fact that the lack of that scholarship would possibly mean that I won't be able to study next year. I mean, that's my parent's business, they told me not to worry about it but, c'mon! How are you supposed to pay for that??!! I hate being poor...why did my dad had to go bankrupt? why aren't we moved on since then?, why don't my parents ask their families for help. I know people with lots of uncles, cousins and aunts, and it all kind of works, they help each other...But no, we have to be the rebels, we don't need uncles and stuff...well, look mom, that's where your rebellion took you. You keep telling your son you can help him fulfill his dreams when you know you can't by yourself. Damn! I can´t blame you, I love you...but, Shit! It sucks...Is everything falling apart? Yes...it is...will I be in pain for this? Of course, but....I don’t know...something will happen I guess, I’ll figure it out...there's loans and stuff...what a shitty crisis! GOD...For moments I thought. "damn, now I won't be able to study, I'm condemned", " I should join Xag on his suicide"...I feel like I want to die right now...I want to cry...I'm not used to feeling this bad...I wish I don't have to worry about this. Well, actually I don't...I won’t'. I mean, I haven't even told my mom...something will happen...what is it that makes me SO angry? I mean, no. I'll study, there's no way I can't...we'll work something out...I know I'll be studying...Then, is this frustration. Yeah, I'm angry because I worked for nothing!!!...There was such a relieve in my mom's face when I told her I could get the scholarship for the next career...that's what hurts me..."mom, they voided the scholarship"...damn! It’s not fair. I heard her making bills and arrangements...this totally blows everything up. That's what hurts me, because I know she's going to be worried sick when I tell her...It's not me...I'll be fine, I can even get a job if something goes wrong, or ask Rosario (my crazy boss) for help, its others (my mom) that worries me.I'll be fine...I know...this is nothing, I saw this coming, so...ahhh...no big deal...I won't make a movie out of it...I'll keep trying I guess...I'm not that angry anymore...Fuck those messy scholarship mechanisms, it's Rhina's fault...how didn't she verify?! What was she thinking?!!...She should have said: "look, you can't be a monitor this semester because, you won't be getting any scholarship"....Did I have to tell her that? It’s her fucking job!!!...I know what I'm going to do, I'm going to make a complaint...It's nobody’s fault...but it’s time to make a statement. I NEVER, EVER ask for recognition or brag of what I've done. But they're going to know...it's time for they to know that I didn't even have a workplace, that I had to come to my own PC, make my sister and mom wait for their turn because I had to correct articles; that I had to spend my free time delivering magazines and carrying heavy(HEAVY) boxes that I didn't have to carry!!; that I spent hours sitting next to 35 year olds who can't write, telling them how to write a fucking article!!!; that I've burnt my eyes trying the magazine to come up without any mistakes only to find that because she was hurried, my boss turned blind eye on several very bad written articles; that I show up even when I have nothing to do to see if they need any help; that every time I can I make entries for the Webpage even when I think that it shouldn't be my job, because there's 3 other people (monitors as well) that the only thing they do is post weekly entries in the student's blog...the ironic thing is that they're getting a scholarship for doing that and I'm not; they're going to know that I had to take a cab, pay it from my own money, to go to the printer's center to check if the magenta levels were right; that the other day I stayed until 10 p.m. with the designer trying to make him get the damn borders straight!!...GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!...This is not what a monitor should do!!! AT ALL....the other ones just stand in the computers room and say: "you can pass", others just attend calls....A monitor it's not supposed to do what I've done...and I knew it, but I did it because I knew there was a reward...now there's no reward and I feel like the most stupid person in the earth...Does it matter that I did all that? Is my boss coming to comfort me right known? Is that lazy ass Rhina coming out and stay with me as I did when she begged me for help to write her shitty article? NO!, they don’t' care, the don’t' give a damn about me...my time was shit for them...like nothing...Well now FUCK OFF!, you're not going to find another asshole that does what I've done, you used me motherfuckers!!! and everyone's going to know it....just waitSo not fair......I'm kind of cool right now...but god!....I'll take it easy, there's no way this is going to stay this way. I have everyone on my side...someone will fight for me, or I'll fight myself....I'm going to address a polite complaint. That'll make me happy...as for money, that's not my business; as for my mom, she'll figure something out; as for college, they will listen to me; as for me, I'm fine, a little teary eyed and frustrated but fine...I'll sleepI'll be just fine 

I came to that realization early this year...It was my motto. I picked it from an Art history class; my teacher said that it was one of Andy Warhol's catchphrases. To understand Warhol is to understand contemporary culture, consumes, the culture of the image. "He was a very vulnerable person" my teacher said. "That's why he used a hairpiece and speak funny", added. Warhol is the incarnation of "pop"; he made a celebrity out of himself, a lie that everyone was comfortable with. Just like those prefabricated boy bands, contemporary divas, sodas and products.In a moment, I realized I was just like any of those. "The Prince" is the smartest boy in college, he is so noble, so pure, well behaved, gentle, responsible, talented...That's the way most people see me. That's my "alternate" identity.I started questioning myself after a huge creative dry I had at the beginning of the year. I didn't feel smart, talented, responsible...The idea of "The Prince" collapsed...well, at least just for me. But at some point, I stopped caring about it. Do I have to live up to that idea? Why it is wrong that people sees you in a way that you're not? Who’s the real one? I always say: as long as none gets hurt, there's no problem with it.It's not like I act out...or tell lies...When I was at genius school they said that intelligence is an "intended adaptive capacity" and I think I've taken that definition to build my relationships with the world. It works for me...Now that I remember, it was that Warhol period one of the main reasons I ended up in vampire freaks, to create an idea of myself, to make the pictures say something for me that I can't say. I am SO not being fake with Xag, but I'm just not used to open up to other people. I'm just afraid that after discovering me, they have me at their hands...and that way they have a right to reject me. Something like it happened with my female friends at college I told them some of my most important things, I told one of them that I am BL, but at the next day...it was like nothing...they didn't deserve to know, I'm regret. (Bitches)More than anyone on this earth, Xag deserves to know how I am... 

I feel like I’m a stained crystal boy…

I feel like I’m a stained crystal boy…. a relic on someone’s attic, stained by time… I feel you can see right through me and that you can let me fall and break me in such an easy way… I feel like I could be so valuable and then I look at me and see something so cheap… I feel so great because it seems like you see something of value in what used to be junk… like that comic book you talked about last night, yellowed with time, ruined by mice … if anyone is going to reject my hugs I rather have it be you than anyone else…

 Ana and my sanity tell me I shouldn’t ever ask for kiss a hug, a wedgie, a shower or anything ever again… I should never ask you out again… I should play hard to get. 

 I don’t lie anymore… I’m so surprised how brutally honest I come out sometimes, to the prince specially… I don’t know, how can I look at him in the eyes and say the things I say… sometimes I’m even surprised how bad a liar I am now… and I was brilliant at it…

Woe, woe, woe...

 Woe, woe, woe... in a little while we shall all be dead. Therefore let us behave as though we were dead already.

- Raymond Chandler

I’m considering suicide

I’m considering suicide, not as an escape, not as an adventure, not even as a relief, just as an option like going to class tomorrow or choosing to take the bus or a cab. I’m actually surprised at this now I recall it, other times I had seen it as grand finale, this time was just an option it wasn’t dramatic, it was just something I could do.

People are still shocked when they realize how deeply I loathe myself. I guess they don’t understand it... if it’s hard living with someone you hate; it’s even harder to live being someone you hate.

I keep wishing people would someway analyze me and somehow fix me.... but that isn’t going to happen. 

There is a word in Spanish, I have not yet managed to translate to English: "pudor". It refers to a virtue. The virtue of protecting ones intimacy, spiritual, emotional and physical, and sharing it only with those who are close to us... keeping information about ourselves secret, sometimes through shame, but not always because it’s shameful but because its sacred.

Therefore, someone who shares too much, like me here, lacks this virtue, meaning he does not value the person he/she is. Exposing without any restraints who we are to anyone who passes by with no kind of protection or care… is definitely someone who does not treasure anything inside him worth protecting or saving.

It’s been over 5 years and I still can’t re-read whatever I write in this stupid journal. Because I hate every single word of it... I can’t stand any of these thoughts or feelings...  this is why grammar and syntax suck and that’s why typos blossom...

The truth is I know all this, I’ve analyzed myself in and out all my life... sometimes I feel that there’s actually two "versions of me struggling (if not more) and I find myself asking "what are you going to do?", "why do you hate me so much?"

 Sometimes I’m close to believe I can actually slip... and lose my mind... so I don’t allow myself to answer any of those questions... nor think of who is it that’s really asking them.

(11 days late)

 They do not inspire me with disgust, but with an immense pity. Among all the mysteries of human life there is one which I have penetrated; our great torment in this existence comes from the fact that we are eternally alone -- all our efforts and all our actions are directed toward escaping this solitude.

On January 2, 1892, de Maupassant attempted suicide by cutting his throat.  He was committed to the celebrated private asylum of Dr. Esprit Blanche at Passy, in Paris, where he died on July 6, 1893, at the age of 43.

To a friend

To a friend

I will come one evening, rounding the bend that takes me;

I will come to find you alone with your old dream.

Dusk will drag its light clouds heavily

Passing by your lonely window

You will welcome me in your silent room and there will be

books all around, abandoned in deep silence.

We will sit next to each other. We will talk about the things that go away

of those who have died before we lose them,

from the bitterness of meaningless life, of boredom,

of not expecting anything to be done,

of disappearing ... And little by little in the dark stillness,

our words and our last thoughts will also be quenched.

But the night will come and stop at the window sill;

will mix breezes and aromas with starlight,

with the great call that Nature exhales,

and with your chest which silence will not protect.

April 30, 1930

Maria Polydouri, quit life with a lethal injection of morphine. 

Smoke Cathedral

The tragedy is not that life has no meaning but that there is no meaning that is worth a life. 

-  La catedral de humo. 

Liar

Liar

You are a liar, a fake phony false human being... if you can call yourself human. Deception disappointment, in everything you do and say, nothing is real, nothing is true, nothing is authentic.

Liar. Masks all over yourself, makeup... actor, pretender, wannabe...

The truth is I can’t do it, the truth is, and I’m incapable. The truth is I sabotage myself constantly, which part of me is real?

(14 days late)

May my death be fruitful. And force the meditation. So that those who can, learn the lesson.

From the suicide letter of Miguel Ángel Quevedo. Cuban Editor, Shot himself while living in exile  in Venezuela. 

We were all guilty. Everyone. By action or omission. Old and young. Rich and poor. Black and white. Honored and thieves. Virtuous and sinners. Of course, we still had to learn the incredible and bitter lesson: that the most "virtuous" and the most "honored" were the poor.

I die disgusted. Alone. Outlaw. Exiled. And betrayed and abandoned by friends to whom I generously gave my moral and financial support in very difficult days. [...] All dehumanized and cold abandoned me in "the fall".

May my death be fruitful. And force the meditation. So that those who can, learn the lesson. [...]And for the people to reconsider and repudiate those spokesmen of hatred, whose fruits we have seen could not be more bitter.

We were a people blinded by hate. And we were all victims of that blindness. Our sins weighed more than our virtues. We forgot Nuñez de Arce when he said:

"When people forget their virtues, it's a tyrant in its own vices."

Bang bang!

 "depressed . . . without phone . . . money for rent . . . money for child support . . . money for debts . . . money!!! . . . I am haunted by the vivid memories of killings & corpses & anger & pain . . . of starving or wounded children, of trigger-happy madmen, often police, of killer executioners . . ."  - Kevin Carter 

The authentic details of the extraordinary suicide of Miss Moyes

The authentic details of the extraordinary suicide of Miss Moyes

The Times, for example, fully described the gory details of the appearance of the body but used Latinate terms like "cranium" and "integument" to sound clinical rather than sensational:

Upon examination of the body, it was found that the spine was fractured as also the back of the cranium, but the features are in no way disfigured, save by the appearance of coagulated blood forced from the nostrils, eyes, and mouth by the sudden concussion; the left arm is severed just above the elbow, and is only retained in its place by the integuments and the sleeve of the dress. (LT, 12 Sep. 1839, p. 435, col. 4)

The Observer, though an upper-middle to upper-class paper, offered its Sunday readers something far more dramatic than such dissecting-room language: [39/40]

Her left arm, near the shoulder, came in contact with the bar, and was so violently severed that the part cut off flew over the iron railings several yards into the square. After striking the bar, the body fell an a tub containing a lilac plant, which it broke in pieces, as well as several flower pots, placed on the right side of the door. Not a sign of life, except some contortions of the muscles of the legs and arms, was discernible on the body when it was picked up. (Observer, 15 Sep. 1839, p.1 col. 6)

http://www.victorianweb.org/books/suicide/03.html

Hardlife

 "LIFE

The only thing more inevitable than death is life, says a popular saying; nothing is more inevitable than life; it is impossible not to live; It is the only thing that exists. It is so impossible to stop living, that it overwhelms, there is no respite or pause. Life continually tells you; I am everything there is, everything that exists, there is nothing outside of me, everything exists for me, if I don't exist nothing exists. "

Don Duravida 

Grated Carrot

 Grated Carrot

The first suicide is unique.
They always ask you if it was an accident
or a sincere proposition of death.
They shove a tube up your nose,
hard,
it hurts,
and you learn to not disturb the neighbors.
When you begin to explain that
death-actually-seemed-like-the-only-way-out
or that you did it
to-fuck-up-your-husband-and-your-family
they have all turned their backs
and are watching the transparent tube,
retrieving the parade of your last supper.
Betting on whether its noodles or fried rice.
The doctor on duty coldly tells them:
it’s grated carrot.
“Disgusting,“ says the nurse with big lips.
They disposed of me furiously
because no one won the bet.
The saline dispersed quickly
and ten minutes later,
I was back at my house.
No space to mourn
nor time to feel cold and tremble.
People are unconcerned with death that comes from loving too much.
Child’s play
they say
as if children killed themselves every day.
I looked in Hammett for this exact page:
never tell a word about your life
in any book,
if you can help it.

Miyo Vestrini, died by suicide on November 29, 1991, at 53. Cut her veins. 

Ixtab - Goddess of Suicide

Divinity of Yucatan, today my consolation; Ixtab alleviates my sorrows and encourages me to die without fear. I have naturally embraced the end and have the courage to subdue my fears. How will you feel when you question your life? He will suffer sleepless nights, reluctant to string together his answers ...

"Cortés y Moctezuma" by Hugo Santander

Loneliness

I was 16 months in my first school, 72 months in my second school, another 10 months in my third school and another 60 in my last school... plus the 4 months I’ve been in collage

All these are a bunch of 162 months or about 4860 days of sharing with people about 8 hours a day, every week day for more than 10 years. Want to know how many friends I’ve made?

None.

(38 days late)

What is sweet? What is light? What is love? What is happiness?

What is sweet? What is light? What is love? What is happiness?

Sometimes I close my eyes, and can get a glimpse that I can be filled with these things. With…Light… 

I’m obsessed with light, I’ve been crawling in the shadows too long, so long I’m not even sure the delicate ray of light I’m following is real.

A witch-doctor came to the house the other day, I could in his look that he noticed something in one of my sisters… he didn’t look at me. Maybe he knew I was a bit skeptic.

(10 days late)

I feel sick.

I feel sick, im sad, im terribly depressed. and im sure that not something new. what the hell am i doing? where am i headed? ive been skipping school, and getting terrible grades. Im in my senior year, and im suposed to head to collage next year. I dont have what it takes to be in a good university, so im just headed to the neaest one.  

People I know are shutting me out again. I don’t know how to react this time. I guess I’ll just get lost like I did last time. I’m a freak, I know that, I don’t speak or talk easily. Which kind of bores people round me and I’m neither fun nor funny in any way, and it’s more pathetic when I try to be. I shouldn’t be allowed to tell jokes and I stink at playing anything. That’s why people hate me; I’m just too uncomfortable to be with.

I’m just some miscellaneous compound of things I like but that completely repel each other. I’m neurotically organized so I’m not happy or comfortable anywhere that is not my room, and everything it’s in its exact and perfect place. I feel every single thing I do it’s incomplete and has something wrong, that leads for me to start doing things and never be happy about them. Then I love the mess the mud, the wedgie, the bullying, the running the chaos.

I give no good first impression and when you are around me you can only get tired, because I’m tired, I’ve always been. I’m working on a book you know, and I hate it when I think about it, and I feel it’s just lame and stupid. But when I read I love it and I don’t find a way to change it. I’m stuck in the second chapter! I don’t know who to continue with it. I try to write other parts of the story but words don’t come out. I hate it! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!

I’m so lost, I’m screwing my future every second that passes and I’m not enjoying the present, and I hate my past. Where should I go, what should I do?

I’m lost, and I know I’m not alone in this. But what does it help with when actually no one knows the way. I want to believe in something, but I don’t know what.

I need to have faith.

I only have faith.

Faith in that there is something more in me and the world that I have not yet discovered. Just something, anything.

(7 days late)