Bad habit

I think vomiting when thinking about your own existence is a bad habit. 

(20 days late)

"My heart is finally content... but my art will suffer"

I need to feel less... how do I feel less? I was watching these documentaries 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...

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... 

(20 days late)

Medellin

The prince has asked me to join him a in a little trip to Medellin... which I think  means something like going to Vegas or something... lots of drinking parties and orgies. And I think that’s what he wants (except for the parties he is no the party kind of guy) I already told him, I’m too stressed over to go... but he insists. I like it he insists... 

So the problem is mainly that I am torn between my rational wanting to go (I do want to be the kind of guy who goes on a trip with someone... sometime)... and the mood of going (which I’m honestly not into most of the time). I keep debating with myself over this issue...

(80 days late)

I’m destroying myself for him.

Right now I feel I’m destroying myself for him... I’m writing love letters to him... and as they go on and on...  I am more and more convinced that I don’t love him or that he doesn’t love me... I’m falling out of love... and I will go back to being doomed...

I should be telling him how much I love him, how much I want him, how much I wish he will be happy. How much I don’t want to hurt him, how much I wish I was his confident, how much I wish I did not make a video of everything we discuss.

He needs someone that would make him smile, not exasperate him, he needs someone who he can make love to every so often... someone that can invite him over his apartment all the time. Who can drive him to school.... ok maybe he doesn’t need to... maybe he just deserves to. Someone who can spoil him. If I was him... that’s what I would aim for, he deserves it... and he can get it...

I’m doing it his way, I’m going to have random sex today, for the very first time in my life, I just called someone for sex... someone I don’t really have feelings for. Just someone for sex... get it over with. Just not be passionate, not be in love... don’t make a video out of it. Why do I wish the prince the will call me and say... no Xag, don’t do it... or better yet... here: take this advice...?

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)

I got a half liter of pesticide poison seating in the kitchen... screaming “drink me”. I just have to figure out what kind of poison it is really, so I know the lethal dose -surviving with no esophagus does not sound appealing at all- 

I just don’t know who to ask, without seeming suspicious… mmm… ill figure it out. It’s just weird, because… it’s a long weekend, so I’ll have the time to do it. Everything has come together to just do it… it’s so easy…. of course it makes me wonder… 

I’m 13 again am I 13 for good?

I’m 13 again am I 13 for good?

I can feel so unsexy for someone so beautiful 

So unloved for someone so fine 

I can feel so boring for someone so interesting 

So ignorant for someone of sound mind

I was going to say today I couldn’t ever love him if I didn’t love myself… I was going to break up with him, because of irreconcilable differences… he liked me… but I didn’t like myself… I felt like I had to say good bye because I feared we were just going to get bored of each other… and that was the problem really:  fear;   I was completely and utterly afraid of him… of us… 

Why was I so scared? He had complete access to my dirty laundry and he liked it… but he hasn’t given me any access to his… why? What was the sick game we were entering? And if he saw the worse of me and liked it… today I tried to flirt with him… he hated it; I stopped… he then asked what I hated about myself…. I answered my body… which to what he had a moderate polite reply… and all I could think was… god I’ve had more passionate replies from YouTube freaks!

Maybe I am not much into self-loathing and more of a diva…

Maybe I put this entire thing out on line, because I deep down know… even my dirty laundry s worth for the world to see? 

Nonsense, I write because I have to… the same way I breathe, I have to write… and I publish it online, because I need to… because I need help… because I need to connect to the world in some way… because I know I can’t bottle this inside without hurting the people I care about…. I need to blow off some steam, so I can smile every morning, wear my masks calmly… I need to say all of this now because tomorrow I have to see the prince and I want him to see someone that’s not case of charity… but someone he can learn from… if he wants to… god I don’t know… he says so little about himself if I’m not asking…

(3 days late)

Take a deep breath…

Take a deep breath… I said I had never been satisfied about anything with my life… well I’m just happy I met the prince… it was great… he showed me that there’s like people worth living for… that there are in fact people hat make the world a special place by just being in it… 

How often you come across people that make you feel better than what you think you are? How many people come along and make you feel you might be remotely valuable to someone? 

… he has been offline for 3 days now… today (this is going to be so embarrassing to say) I repeated his voice mail message on my cellphone , over and over till the battery died… every time I listened to it, its meaning varied… was he satisfied? Tired? Was he sad? Was he disappointed? Was he fed up? why did he call?.. Did feel he had to do it? did he wanted to? Was that simple calling a way of saying goodbye? I keep replaying our date on my head… sometimes I think it went great… sometimes I think it had to be the worst thing for him ever…when I judge it by my actions, when I dated Daniel (the really bad two dates) I lied a lot to Daniel to try to make him feel comfortable… I’m afraid he did the same thing to me, I said awful things… he said the most wonderful… I just was so focused trying to hide the cuts on my wrists while we ate… now I have the urge to cut more. I wouldn’t blame him; maybe I was his bad date… He did say he was a detached person.

I don’t dare try calling him on his cellphone … I don’t even know if it is his… I’m not that desperate… mmmm… ok maybe I am a little… probably, the biggest act of self-sabotage is this… writing this, because I know he’ll read it (hiya!!^^) … but all I think of is him… and I don’t know if that’s good or bad… but I just need to let it out somewhere… here… in the screaming room…

 I just hoped through the day as a voting juror he would show up... for some reason… it was… so… psychotic… so pathetic…. I’m so damaged and despaired… I try to keep myself from just calling him and telling him all those things… damn phone phobia!

I never thought I could be like this, thinking about someone for such long periods of time… I just like… I want to be with him…. god

I don’t even know him… I spoke to him once, this is sick… this is… self-sabotage… I’m tired of sabotaging myself; I’m my worst enemy… I don’t know if I want to be with him or be him… or maybe a bit of both… I am just so  incredibly happy I actually met him… even if it was just to see him once… and also I’m in so much pain now after (the good kind)… I feel so alive… all thanks to him… to him… I have to visit some historic places and museum here in Bogotá… I mailed him asking him to come… if he doesn’t… well… I can always ask Ana to come, I really wish he does… but again, I’m too scared to just call … me and my damn phone phobia…

I keep searching

My emotional support system has resided in sporadic kind words from strangers who assure me I do have something. Only the people whom I’ve called "friends" (more out of desperation than from real sense of friendship) have told me I’m really not going to make it, and if I do, it will take me years and years.

I know have no serious expectations from publishing anything in the next 5 to 10 years. Actually the thought that I will die without ever seeing my work "out" is even more persistent. I’m haunted by this thought that my work will be meaningless while I live. Even when I think of the moment I finish my book... I think, I must die after or otherwise it will all be just pointless.

I guess, what I’m really hoping is for someone to tell me, that I’m terribly wrong, that I made mistake, a terrible mistake... that writing was not my thing, but to do something else, something I’m truly great at and I just haven’t realized!

I’m back waiting for a savior… 

(31 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. 

God?

 Yeah?

 I have problem

No! Really?! 

No need to be sarcastic.

... The girl I like talks to you…

 But I think you tell her something different than you tell me so... l, are you lying?

 Of course not.

Lying would imply saying something that is not true, and everything is true.

 She thinks I am a sinner 

You are sinner

You told her you spoke to god.

She asked me what you answered me back when I spoke to you... I lied 

What did you say? 

I said you always replied the same thing: yes.

 Well, you certainly omitted my neat sense of humor and sarcasm. 

I know... I don’t know why id did it.

 You don’t believe it’s me anymore

I do.... I do believe this is you

 Then why didn’t you tell her. 

I don’t know... 

I guess I was afraid I would come out as a raving lunatic, I told her... I was god. 

Which is true? 

Yeah, for you and me who understand it? 

But for her... must have sounded insane... 

Can you talk to her? 

I will 

Thanks she is bit stubborn

 I know

\(4 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."

The end of our elaborate plans

"This is the end, beautiful friendThis is the end, my only friendThe end of our elaborate plansThe end of everything that standsThe end
No safety or surpriseThe endI'll never look into your eyes again" 

- Marilyn Manson

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 

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 

I can see it so clearly

I can see it so clearly, in 2 or three years, right after finishing collage... I am going to be so lost; I’m no journalist, but that’s my career… and people will ask me "why don’t you change? Why don’t you change your career? Why don’t you make new friends? Why do you finish your book?" 

And I’ll have to answer something lame like 

"It’s like being lost inside a forest, a thick forest, and I’ve been shown a path, not a clear path but like the trace someone left behind, and I’ve been following it for ages and it hasn’t got me anywhere, now, impulsive, decided and strong people would notice that and would leave the path and make their own way, but me, I’m not smart enough or brave enough to leave the path I’ve been shown, even if I know it’s only going in circles... I just can’t"

(1 day late)

Ai-je bien pu vivre deux mois et demi sans toi?

I'll kill myself tomorrow, unable to stand existence without the woman who had been my sole joy, the only happiness in my life. For the last two and a half months I have struggled; today I am at the edge. I don't have much hope to see her again, but who knows? At least I am plunging into the void where one no longer suffers. I wish to be buried (this is my formal wish) in the tomb that I have had built in the Ixelles cemetery for my dear Marguerite, the vault which I own. My body should be placed in the central resting place just above her. And never, for any reason, must I be placed in the highest chamber. I ask that her portrait and a lock of her hair, which I will have on me when I die, be placed in my coffin, which should be as similar as possible to that of my dearest Marguerite's. On the tombstone, below my dearest Marguerite's inscription, in the same characters and the same style of writing, write these words: "Georges, 29th of April, 1837 - 30th of September, 1891: Ai-je bien pu vivre deux mois et demi sans toi?"

General Georges Boulanger, who, on the verge of becoming dictator of France, relinquished his power to care for his dying lover, Marguerite. Two months after her death, he shot himself at her grave site.

This is not a world to live forever

 This is not a world to live forever.
- H.R. Haggard

Here I am in collage... alone

Here i am, in collage... alone, yes all alone. isnt it sad?

well, ive been writing reading, everithing necesary to be somewhat interesting.... not that i diont do these just for that. I truly like to read and write and say uinteresting stuff, and i enjoy art.... i really enjoy art. anyway, I really think i might be in the worng place -like always- 

Today ive found how almost everyone u can tlk to, can be a really interesting person.... yet i havent got a chance to click with anyone.

is there something wrong with me?... am i really a bad person and i cant see it?

man, im frustrated right now, im lost, im confused, im really out of my mind. i dont know wot else to do.... i want to *be* with someone. 

Its not like im alone ina corner, but everymorning when i get to class, i have noone to si besides to.

this is confusing post, yet i need to say something.... i have a lot of things to say and no one to say them to, and it seem thet just telling them to myself, is just not enough enymore.

(134 days late)