Fear of Bliss

Not a new thought... to be terrified of being happy, to be loved... to be cherished...to be me.

Fear of colors. It’s safe to be gray.

How to overcome this fear?

How to embrace bliss...

How to not push away love...

All I can’t think... Is to press the re-start button.

Like in a video game... just push restart and do it all over. Everything. Just do it all over. Be wise, be happy, be content, accept, explore... enjoy.

I can’t press the reset button.

I just have to make a phone call. 

(16 days late)

Get wet out in the rain . . . bad idea

So I take one Last chance and get him to get wet out in the rain . . . bad idea. 

I’m tired of pushing so I'm seeing my boyfriend, once a week, tops. So what do I do? Convince myself. When he is not around, that we just aren't meant to be together.

I'm even avoiding him. Didn’t let him join me for TV class, or see him on Saturday when he is sick.

He seems Un-aware of this.

We haven't discussed batman or the music I Shared with him. Or Peter Pan. Or my script for my new video, or wedgies or slime, or mud. Or him coming out to his Sister. Or my childhood traumas or his comics.

(27 days late)

Lock up

I feel, this pressure on the chest, like, of such fear that he is not around... and that I actually don’t know where he is... I don’t think function properly with the prince... his confidence; his detachment... maybe true love is like that. Not this constant yearning, heart wrecking, constant feeling...

I am not that much of an Emo... I do not cry in public... I cry a lot, but I do not cry in public... my prince... you are the only who has seen my cry. Of all my traumas... if you look closely... I cry alone...

I need to feel less... how do I feel less? I was watching this documentary on emotions... people who act on their emotions are even more addicted to the... People, who express their rage openly, are more addicted to it...

I do not express my rage... I bottle it up inside, till I want to die... and then... I cut myself...

I don’t know how to scream... or yell... I have never yelled at anyone...

On this blog... I used to talk about sex... which was virtually inexistent... but... if this is my diary... why am I not writing? About it.

This Journal... must and will have to remain, password protected. So you will have to get to guess the password, from the hint. Or just leave it.

I talked to Emma today... well we just said hi... and he reminded me of something... a year ago... I did not masturbate...

Cumming with only wedgies and water is really hard... like really hard in some cases it can take... hours... I have accomplished it... like... a few pair of times... I doubt there are more than a five (OMG)... It was so rare and so unique I didn’t count them as masturbation till very recently... when I met Daniel... maybe later...

(I need to speak about Daniel. He has acquired such dimensions... I think it was a lie... he has grown into this figure in my life... he doesn’t deserve it)

Then... I met Emma, and I don’t know... why he made masturbation with your hands look so fucking hot... the way he wrote in his journal about it... and once I tried it... and it was awesome... because I could cum... So easily... and now I masturbate till me cum much more easily... and much more quickly... and much more often...

And... Now sex... has come... too late... because I haven’t cummed during sex... I need to cum in front of the prince... I need to make him cum so much. I need him to have an orgasm... I think... that... would be the end of my virginity... getting someone to an orgasm... I need to fucking, fuck him...

I keep thinking, maybe I just need to get drunk off my ass to do it... but god... I have such an alcohol aversion... it’s such a turnoff... its cheating... lying... and I don’t want that... or maybe I do? Maybe only I could get drunk... but he would have to stay sober... one of us has to remember...

Gosh... and when he talks about sex he is so vague... I wish he would just use words to describe me why is it so hot...but I understand... finding words it’s so hard to talk about sex... he keeps promising shoat, but this is the day.. He hasn’t sent me anything... I had this story to share back... it’s like the only story of his type I’ve read... though to be honest I did skip some of the just plain sex parts.. 

He is so selfish... I asked him as politely as I could what happened if he got the chance to travel again for sex... and I so desperately wanted him to tell me, "I’d make you come with me... because I’m sure you have fun"... but no... I don’t think if I’ve told him enough how much I envy his sex, how much I’d like to experience an orgy... even though yeah... its cares me like hell. He just refuses to share... how much I would love to be in his art lessons... but he hasn’t invited me... how much I’d like to be like him... and be better for him... but he just doesn’t invite me to... he has never sent a song... or shared a picture... or like done anything I haven’t asked before... I know that he gives when he is asked. He just doesn’t offer... he just doesn’t push... I shouldn’t have been the one to ask him out on the first date... maybe then I would be sure he wants me around...

I could think one of these things... either he is in love with someone as broken as I am and just doesn’t want me to evolve and come back to life... or... he just doesn’t love me enough... or maybe he just is that selfish everything needs to be asked... though when he does give... he gives generously... I fucking ripped his boxer’s god!!!!

Am I asexual?!!! asexual people do not hit on Emo boys on MySpace.... do not ask girls on msn to have virtual sex... do not bang 17 year olds in collage facilities... maybe I’m not asexual at al... Just some closeted homosexual... who just doesn’t dream of fucking boys... I’m so screwed... I right now, just want to fuck him.  the prince... just let him do whatever he wants to do... he want me to fuck him... fuck him real hard... he wants me to cum inside him... god... he wants that... someone actually wants that from me... I want to do it... but I don’t want to cheat at it... I want it to be ME fucking, I want him to just arghh... ask me this... this way... plead to me for it.... maybe while he is wearing a collar... maybe after I have just ripped his boxers off... then I fuck him, and fuck him really hard... cum with him...

Right now, I’m turned on... by this words...of having him deliciously naked, over me, his skin, against my skin, his cock against my cock. His smell... he has this smell... I haven’t managed to describe it... it has a sweetness... a raw sweetness... nah that’s not the word... it just smells, like I have been touched by a prince... by love... that there’s someone that cares about me.... he smells like I’m not alone anymore... like there’s someone I can put my arms around to... how can something smell like that? But it does... it does to me... it smells like: God I want this!!!

As corny as it sounds... I don’t want to always have sex, or do my things with the prince...

I’m starting to think that I do not love the prince like he loves me. I think he loves me more... and here comes the dilemma... should I tell him... god... prince... I don’t love you the way you love me...

I haven’t told him, how really fucking scared I am to tell my mom about him... and that I do think, that my relationship can be... scarred... that I wish I could hug him in public oh so often I didn’t feel the need bringing him home... that I feel... that I just don’t belong with him ever... if we are alone, it’s the window... or the time, my family will come back...

Love is about honesty... and here I’m honest with him.... either that or an act of self-sabotage... I’m going to lock up this journal... from now till forever… 

(4 days late)

One night at his room

One night at Sag’s room Lights went offIt was all dark, I just saw the contour of his toys, the outline of the furniture, the wooden roof...He pulled the curtains and let a blue light come in...It became creepysuddenly; I didn't recognized where I was...His kryptonite lamp looked like the arm of an evil robot that got stuck in the ceiling when trying to catch usHis action figures became an army of stone faceless guardians from an hostile planet with pink sandThe blue light of his laptop became an eerie distress call from a troubled boy from the year 3002The shelve above our heads became the kitchen floor of a cosmic fast food restaurant, with body parts of exotic monsters scrambled aroundThe pencils of his Crayola-themed sheets became knivesThe left end of his bed became the end of the world...it was intimidatingI was there....I felt his presence...so strong...so powerful...it was Xag...I could feel itHe was all around the place...in the air, in what I saw, in what I what I smelled, In what I touchedIt was XAG, I was inside himAs we spoke, I heard a whisper...It was the room..., his mattresshis demons? They were talking to me from under his bed...I think I heard a little boy crying...a boy asking himself questions he could not answer...a boy yelling at himself...a boy praying...a boy talking to God, a boy hitting the wall with his head...a boy asking for help...a little boy that was alone, a boy that felt rejected; I heard a boy talking to a webcam...a boy wondering; I heard a boy laughing, I heard a boy dreaming, I heard a boy happy to find an answer, I heard a boy's underwear ripping, I heard some liquid dripping on the floor, I heard the wet steps of a victorious boy that got away with his mischief, I heard the moan of a young boy collapsing on a dry orgasm, I heard the heavy breath of a boy that violently woke up from a nightmare, I heard a boy playing with his toys, making stories; I heard a boy writing on his notebook, typing on his PC; I heard an insomniac boy counting sheep, trying to get some rest; I heard a boy flipping pages with excitement, eager to know what's going to happen next...I was comfortable though, because when I turned my head right, I saw I boy smiling for having me by his side.He hugged me

I'm in love

I'm in love I don't know how it happened, but today I knew it more than ever....I felt it more than ever...I've never EVER cried like that...for love...I just keep revisiting my romantic life trying to remember a moment that resembles the profound and powerful feeling I felt today when Xag broke up with me.I cried when Maria Camilla said I was ugly and I dressed bad on 4th grade (I was 9)I cried when, very dramatically, Chajín revealed that I was "gay" and that I liked Nicolas (Nicolas was there, I was 12) I cried of regret when I realized I hurt a naive 11/12 year old making him believe a hot older girl was in love with him(14)I cried when I realized I was old and ugly enough to make the prettiest boy in school, declare his love for me(16)Today I cried for love...because I'm truly in love with Xag. There wasn't a random tear like the other times...I felt something inside, something that made me...feel...I'm still crying and it hurts...but GOD, I'm crying for love...(cheesiest thing I've ever said) but what the HELL its true!, I'm in love bitches! And it feels amazing...Today, Xag made the noblest thing someone could ever do. It's so amazing I can't even believe it...Let's suppose that I'm as good as he says I am....He was willing to give up the "most precious thing in the whole wide world" just because he didn't feel he deserved it...how come? he thought that he would make me suffer, that I'll be better off with him...now tell me what person in the world is willing to sacrifice the most precious thing in the world just because the sake of it?...I have no words...Hun, I feel humble in front of you, and I feel I'm the happiest person on earth because I found you.god...crying makes you feel tired and sleepy...my face is all sticky and I have Goosebumps...every time I try to show Xag something about me, there's problems....either because he can't believe it and becomes overwhelmed or because he discovers that I want something else...What do I have to show him to believe me...I'm not making a charity job...I don't feel sorry about him...I LOVE HIM DAMN IT....as I've never loved someone before...I have flaws...my mistake maybe was not showing myself to him when I was most hurt on Monday...It was for my sanity...for my mental health...I´ll try to use this blog to expose my traumas...I think I've said them all but I'll try and dig deep into them, and show Xag that they don't hurt anymorethere's so many things I'd like to say right now....but I just can't I'm so tired....I still have to cry a little more...I miss him so much right nowI'll complete this entry later, don't take it’s finished..

December starts

December starts, people are celebrating… the prince and I are crossing the bridge, the light reflected on the smooth water… fireworks are going off… all colors, they are awesome, some in shape of hearts…. the price says: look Xag… look where we are going. The air was moist, it was going to rain soon and the street is damp from rain earlier… Xmas lights from all the houses nearby and their reflection on the dark damp streets. Suddenly, there’s this need… this scene… someone has to kiss there, it just makes sense. I stop dry, turn him around, and go for it. We kissed. I need to remember this; I need to write it, not looking for beautiful words, just stating the facts for my broken memory. Because it actually happened. Things like this actually happen… and I replay them out. Then I read him my love letter, most of it was rambling, but well that’s what love letter are… rambling on and on for what are just three damn words… I love you. 

I love you my prince. Just as you are, I don’t know if my love letter was clear on that point… I love you with the prince costume, the costume that shows who you really are. I’m finally in vacations; it’s sort of a relief… to know I can just sleep for hours and hours on end… I am depressed. The prince once asked and I said no. but I am my prince… I think I’ve always been.

I was born crying, lived crying… and probably die to let someone else to cry. I was born in a small little country in one farfetched corner of the world… a place devastated by war… where no one really does anything. 

I know what my role in the prince’s life is. I… am the angel of death. He knows it… I break his soul… “Xag… you are killing me” he says.

My prince, what were you doing today? Did you breathe? Did you blink? Did your blood pulse through your veins? Then everything is ok.

Chaos at the end of the sidewalk

Yesterday... I experienced a lot... I learned a lot... I felt a lot... I liked it a lot. Suddenly I realize that there really is a whole other person in my life. A person so deep in thought, emotions and history... everything in ONE big mess... its chaotic... it’s like... All there... there are no ages, no changes no organization of any kind... it’s overwhelming...

The prince’s lair... he lives at the end of the sidewalk... when he starts I’m finished... he is just kid in Bogotá, that lives yes... of all the places in Bogotá... I would have never thought of finding love there... at the end of the sidewalk... in an ugly place (like he said)... industrial zone... exactly the kind of place I just wouldn’t like to live. Too much chaos, too many elements that would make you feel: hey... I want more... he of course doesn’t feel like that because he is nice and pure...

I’m starting to believe his ability to wish is tempered by his lies, the ones he tells and believes... how awfully tedious his existence must be at times... but then again... does he even notice? Do you save someone when they are happy the way they are? Do you save someone from being happy?

I’m starting to feel what is like to be him... that close are we starting to get... I’m starting to hate his eternal cough... I’m starting to hate his: it’s just sex attitude...

I haven’t been able to sleep tonight not more than two hours straight... I dream about him... it making me sick...I had a fever... my shirt was all sweaty and soaked... I’m losing my mind yes. I no longer doubt that. I’m just going to be one of those people that belong in a mental institute and no one notices... I sort of wish they did... I need help... imposed help, I need drugs, and I need so many kinds of drugs... I guess I just want my sanity... I want to make my emotions stop being toxic to me...

I left his realm kind of wishing he had not touched me so deep... I hadn’t been so wowed and terrorized... wishing I have not cared that much... wishing I did not love him that much... but I do... 

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... 

This journal... is an addiction.

This journal... is an addiction.

And it’s hurting me.... I’m an emotional nympho... I’m a shameless punk...

I stop myself from being with the people that make me happy so I have time to write... I procrastinate; I even disclose private secret personal information from those around me... I hurt people.

This journal has to end.

I have a problem, that I can only confide in a machine... and then share everything with the world.

This is how it ends... in pain... in deceit... in utter disappointment... no pretty words... no dramatic metaphors... this is how it goes...

I never went for a kiss...

I never went for a kiss... I wanted to kiss girls, and a boy, then another couple of boys, and then more girls and a boy... I don’t know why I am so obsessed with girls, if I don’t even know them... I wish I was ameinian, like so fucking completely ameinian.

Now... my virgin days are close to being over... I feel like yelling. 

I’ve written so many times the final entry for my journal, it’s just absurd... how long will I keep this up?

I have million things to do and books to read, things to finish... I have book that needs to be read... I barely have started doing all those things god told me to do.

I had my first talk with the Marquis de Sade girl (whose name is actually Jessica)... it had to last like 6 minutes... and she like completely shared herself with me. Out of nowhere. I found her... brilliant... broken, but brilliant... sincerely wowed.

Life... is an addiction

Life... is an addiction.

Doomed if I do doomed if I don’t

My mom is convinced that cutting is an addiction... she should know she is a psychologist... I didn’t think so... until... the prince asked me to never do it again.

I couldn’t make such promise! What if 5 years from now I cut again? THEN I would be an addict for not being able to keep my promise...

But... if I can’t make the promise.... I’m obviously an addict.

Where the hell is my free will?

And not only cutting... but everything... life for example...

People want me to stop being sad...

Am I addicted to my sadness?

It’s the only emotion... I think I’m familiar with... it’s that emotion... suicidal sadness I can handle... heartbreak, doom... I can handle that...

I can’t handle sex...I can’t handle having fun... I can’t handle being loved, loving someone... I can’t handle a relationship...

I took a look... around me...

My childhood... my adolescence... they have all passed... uneventful... empty... wasted

The prince... could I become addicted to the prince. I know I already am in a way. Like being addicted to a chocolate bar, to gum, to sparkies... I just like him too much.

He tasted like humans do...

He tasted like humans do...

Like love, like experience, like truth, like mind, body and spirit. He tasted like, the sweet warmth of home, like the heat of adventure. He tasted like reality. I had dreamt and fantasized so much about a kiss, I had imagined a flavor... a weak fantasy lie flavor. But it was sublime, raw... a taste so marvelous, so grounding, you feel you have touched the essence of life.

I read true kisses were dreamlike states, where the soul melts and consciousness disappears... they let out half of it. Kisses are conscious half of the time. The states shift so fast, so marvelous, so quickly... the body barely has time to catch up; the words barely have time to come out.

I was so aware of us, his taste his smell, the trees... me, a sloppy kisser I am sure, immature, waiting to be directed. I smiled. I always thought I would cry after a kiss... but I didn’t, I smiled.

I was so ridiculously happy... it was so ridiculously wonderful. I had my fist kiss... and it was... worth the wait...

We kissed in a park bench... by the moonlight, besides a calm river. An old couple saw... us... ... we inspired them... they kissed later!!! We moved to the wall, where we stood up for almost an hour... I spoke... my heart my mind... I held him so tight... so close... I was so relieved, comforted, pleased, excited, and happy, saved, loved, read, listened, tasted, and smelled.

We were against the wall... on the city; there was graffiti besides us... it read: KISS. The band of course. 

Everything was so me my phone rang, the lord of the rings ringtone, my Spiderman boxers, my superman hoodie, my cuts in my arms, my heat, my nails... and him... he was so.. Him. He smiled with me. He was turned on; he was listening to me... who wouldn’t stop blabbing... I spoke about superman... who is him when he wakes up? He said... Xag, I’m not your savior... then I realize I didn’t want him to be... I just wanted him.

“Death is at most… a change”-Siddhartha 

If I was to change tomorrow… would anyone miss who I am today? … The person, the ugly un-kissable person I was… the person I’ve been all my life… doesn’t not exist anymore. He died my prince… you killed him. And I’m in some way deeply thankful for that… thanks to you I’m not the ugly duckling anymore. 

It’s some sort of emotional stupidity..

It’s some sort of emotional stupidity... why can’t I just fall in denial? Don’t be hurt by who I am? Like the prince does (in a very special way)... like everyone else does...

This is what it has come to isn’t it? Maybe I don’t wish I was normal... I just wish I could blend in... In the beautiful life everyone sees... I’m sick and tired of being ink spots... I’m sick of being cuts on my skin...

I’m sick and tired of being that person people always wonder... "What’s wrong with him?"

My mask... the best mask... is damaged... I forgot to put it on, my mom saw it... and I saw myself, a hypocrite a liar... a wreck... a mean human being... someone who is not only ugly on the outside is ugly on the inside...

(1 day late)

The Suicide of Dorothy Hale

 

Dorothy was known for her incredible beauty and charm. In 1927, she married a painter by the name of Gardiner Hale. She only starred in two films in her entire life, but because of her husband, was friends with many in high society. On October 21st, 1938, Dorothy killed herself by jumping out of a sixteen story building. Later on, the Mexican artist Frida Kahlo made a famous painting of Dorothy known as "The Suicide of Dorothy Hale."

Right now...

Right now... I have to calm down... my heart is beating... I got my first date with the prince tomorrow ;)

A voice that makes sense

A voice that makes sense

"There is really no doubt you are a very sick person. And if this diary has been online so long and been read as much as you claim and there are still no changes, it is very clear that either no one really cares about you or that you are indeed beyond any kind of help. Suicide is your best option, it really doesn’t sound your life is worth living at all. I live near you, I will be glad to be of assistance. Stop torturing yourself with this diary and most importantly stop torturing people online who deceived by your videos and other works come into this depressive world of yours. I’m not blaming you, it’s not your fault, you are just very sick. Please stop, and if you are not able to do it by yourself, let me help you end it. For your own sake and for everyone else’s."

(3 days late)

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. 

Just Shoot Me

Just Shoot Me

I live in country where pretty much a lot of people die every day in a violent conflict that has lasted for years... so why am I not one of those? 

Why hasn't just someone come along and just shoot me, and set me free form this existence. And it’s not that I'm in pain and I can’t take life anymore... I'm just so bored; bored out of my existence that getting shot seems like just something that could be.... well... just something...

I'm going through of one of those moment when I see myself objectively, and I'm nauseous... this guy described my videos as ...

An interesting way of transmitting sensations though simple things...

This is the sweetest way to put it...

(3 days late)