Where I grew up

I grew up in a home where for some reason I was embarrassed to do anything. Everything I did, everything I said, everything I thought was a secret. It still is.

I was incredibly embarrassed of keeping this diary. I had to wait till it has late at night, to sneak around and write without anyone noticing. I was embarrassed to paint, so I had to do it at school. I was embarrassed to watch TV so I never used the TV remote... I always wanted to walk around in my underwear at home; I've always felt embarrassed...

I don't come from a home where I am free to be myself. Judged, questioned... made uncomfortable. Everything is I was embarrassed to ask for the clothes I like. I still am. I was embarrassed to get the haircut I liked. I was embarrassed to bring my friends home or speak about home... or even have my parents come to school for grades.

I think from there came much of my urge to lie as a kid. I didn't like where I came from.

I know now, my mom was severely depressed most of the time... and contemplated suicide a lot. I know she didn't’ got married out of love. My dad is never around in any of my childhood memories... except to watch if I brushed my teeth... which was a traumatic experience.

my parents lacked taste.... they were always behind in any sense of fashion... you ask around my childhood could have very well taken place in the 80's ... plus they never cared much about how the place looked, or how we dressed... most of my clothes where inherited by my older cousins anyway, so they were always old fashioned... we didn't have cable, so we watched a lot of local TV, Peruvian channels mostly...the TV I watched was never in sync with the TV people I met. Watched.

I remember I played some games with my sisters, we had an Intellivision that never worked, and board games got so boring after a while, so we used our toys and made up storyline that were actually part of the TV roast of our own imaginary TV channel: happy channel, and each game we played was an episode of a show we had there. It was all pretty cool actually.

But most of the time my sisters hated me. They said I was little fag every time they could and were so embarrassed I was their brother. They however have each other for better or for worse. So I was forever excluded from, games, conversations, TV shows, friends, visits... They were pretty much geniuses on their own right, I was always left as the dumb old brother. The queer.

I can’t honestly remember my mom or my dad caring for us at all... like, being concerned about a school, or our happiness, or our wellbeing. I only remembered one time my parents were called by a teacher at school or something... and they asked me about it. And I told them that this girl on the bus was calling me names and bullying me.

I was the ugliest kid in school, I remember the girls saying I had like this huge head... which I found so painful (because it was true) I think I became oversensitive to criticism... and kind of forgot to talk to people.

Hence... I looked even more as a moron. I remember once, we went to the Francesa with the school... and most of my friends found it came and went on be themselves, leaving me alone. And there that there was this sign on top of a comic shelve.

"Pay for one... takes two"

And I didn't quite understand it.

"I pay for one... and I get two more? That two awesome to be true!!! I got to ask!"

I know.... I was kind of hardheaded. So I asked this lady about it. And she said something like ¿are you a moron or what?

I told her some lie about being in the hospital... but since then, I never ever asked for help in store... or to the police or anything. The sense of utter stupidity was just too much.

I remember being so lonely and stupid that time... and I kind of punished myself for years for it. I was a moron. An idiot who couldn't read a sign.

I lived with this moron complex, for years and years... I remember it wasn't till second semester in collage. A girl in my photography class asked, actually asked me if I had some mental disability... that I realized how amazingly stupid I appear to people.

School sucked for me... there were some few scarce memories that I cherish... but they are so few and feeble.

Tilatá was a nightmare... I remember never being able to make a stupid friend there. Like... never. I think there were few recesses I spent with people... and it was rare...

I remember I was psychology most of the time in my first school... then..., well they stopped caring. I never spoke much in my therapy sessions either... it must have been frustrating to everyone. I was just sad. By the end of my time there... I was such an outcast... I felt so stupid... I was glad...

then my second school... was, well at least different... co I kind of made friends with the most un cool people... which lasted about a year... and then it was again loneliness... being mediocre in all my classes. I don't think I excelled at anything... besides design and arts which weren't even considered in my school...

God I hate my school. I find it... unbearably boring...

When I think about it, I just have this urge of screaming... like just really screaming so loud I cry. I just never screamed... there were so many things I kept to myself, so many things unsaid, so many things undone, so many wrongs ignored... I was the kind of kid that would take a shotgun to school and kill people. I fantasized with it, on endless times. There is just such a sense of frustration about everything. About not being recognized there as... something special.

I just wanted to say deeply... "You are wrong, you are so wrong... and I am right."

Nausea... from what that school meant... nausea ...with some really bright colors that showed occasionally in the gray mist...

Now I'm home again. Term is over. And I'm alone... feeling stupid. 

(12 days late)

He called!

He called!I was waiting on him.....Never, ever have I felt so alone...so sick....so damaged, so unloved...I wanted to sleep; I wanted to stop thinking for a moment...I pictured him on my mind...his bright eyes looking at me...he looks down and then stares at me again, he smiles...I start to cry...I start to miss him like I've haven't seen him in a million years....his face starts to become blurred.....what are you doing right now? you have to be in pain, you miss me as much as I miss you?...I begin to see me a few years from now...I'm devastated, depressed, ugly...sick....then, someone tells me he saw him on the street...."where?" I ask, and start to cry harder....I put up the volume on the TV so none could hear me cry...I won't sleep, I know I won't be able to sleep tonight....I miss him, how can I live without him now.....My boy, I'm here for you, I don't have definitive answers, I don't have a magic stick...all I have is my body and soul for you to take, to join you; not to take you there, but to take the ride with you...god I miss you....your voice, your creamy, sweet voice....I see him again on my mind, we're completely wet...god the rain...how can I be on the rain again?...we take our pants off...he smiles again, and looks at me....I cry even more....the phone rings.....I jump....my heart is racing, so hard I think I'll spit it out....please, please, please, God, be you, please....it rings again....I grab the phone..."Te amo" he saysI'm frozen....is his voice...his beautiful voice, is talking to me...and he loves me...Oh god! Thank you....I breathe heavily; it takes me a second to understand that I'm not dreaming..."Yo tambièn" I say...he hangs up...I smile...he called....he cares...he loves me....I lie up in my bed...thinking on him...I really miss him tonight...I'm so tired of crying....I start to fall asleep...one hour passes, two hours....I'm fighting the dream....I'm asleep...A car crashes just outside the street...I hear the noise, but I can't see the accident from my window...I jumpeverything’s' dark, everyone went to sleep....can only think on one thing...I call him...it's like 3am...his phone is off....I call again, I leave a message...."Te amo...te extraño" I whisper...and make myself to believe that he's dreaming with me.... 

(3 days late)

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

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)

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.

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… 

We tend to search a lot for meaning

We tend to search a lot for meaning. making sure everything we do makes sense in one way or another…. and the clue word is sense… sense because we have to know we are going somewhere, not just going in circles. My ethics teacher claims to possess de knowledge of the sense of life… isn’t it strange that “sense” can be felt? I feel like that something makes sense or that it doesn’t… 

It’s not a completely logical process, especially when someone explains their emotions things either make sense or they don’t… decisions in life wither make sense or they don’t… relationships either make sense or they don’t. We search for meaning, we are actually looking for sense… the real question every couple should ask themselves is… do we make sense? 

Now you could say: hey! Love doesn’t make sense! Its love!

Bullshit… 

I don’t believe in love that way… love for it to be love has to build, that means that there is no contradiction in within, contradictions destroy.

(2 days late)

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…

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)

Ameinian

Ameinian

For a long time, I've always found some kind of linguistic injustice towards men, specially referring to homosexual men and women. 

You see, the word commonly used to denominate an homosexual woman is the word lesbian which I personally think it’s a beautiful word, it just sounds beautiful but also has this cool etymological background, the word comes for the inhabitants of the island of lesbos in Greece where the most famous homoerotic poetess lived thousands of years ago (now this sounds great for us occidentals... not sure how the people over at lesbos in Greece right now feel about it). Meanwhile men are stuck with the word Gay which, not only lacks the thousands of years in history, it is also used on girls.

The word lesbian is never used to refer to guy relationships is it? So I've been searching for a while looking for a word that would match the equivalent of "lesbian" unfortunately poets who wrote male to male relationships in ancient Greece are guys like Theognis and Anacreon who self-identify are pederasts... so taking their names would not really help the ameinian community, since pedophilia is even further away from being socially accepted.

However other more famous poet touched the subject, Homer in the Iliad mentions the myth of Ganymede (god I love that name) The young boy who was kidnapped by Zeus to make him his servant (because he was so darn beautiful) yet again... old Zeus and a young boy do give some remembrance of pederasty again. So I kept searching... along the way, I remembered narcissus that was in love with himself... now of course we couldn't call ameinian men narcissistic of course. Yet however reviewing the myth, there is this little known part.

Many were those who fell in love with the beautiful lad. Even when he was a baby his nurses swooned over him, and by his sixteenth year every man and woman in town pined for him. None of them however were good enough for him, he felt. One day his neighbor, Ameinias, could stand it no longer, and told Narcissus how much he longed for him, and asked him to be his lover. Narcissus said nothing, but merely sent a servant to deliver a dagger in response. Ameinias understood the meaning of the ' gift,' and with that dagger took his own life, calling down the wrath of the gods upon Narcissus, and cursing him to ever meet in love the same disdain that he had for others.

While most of the myth centers on the conflict of narcissus an echo, Ameinias seemed to have been somehow obscured. Ameinias' tragedy is... well... really ameinian... maybe even corny. BUT it really says much more than the word generic word: Gay... Ameinias could be the perfect word. Except for the similarity with the word Anemia which is a disease, however its use on people would not be Amienic but Ameinian - if there wasn't an already established structure for the English language that probably regulates this stuff -.

So yes... I spent my day today trying to make up a word. Imagine what I can do tomorrow…

(8 days late)

I’m scared

I’m scared, I’m scared of what I’m feeling, for some reason, I started to care for someone else, absurd I know… and then I thought someone wanted to love me when all he wanted was sex, and that’s why I’m heartbroken. 

Do I believe in sex between friends? Yeah. 

Do I believe in marriage? No.

Do I believe in boy/girlfriends? yeah

So of course I’m scared and dumb when it comes to relationships… I’ve never had one. I feel vulnerable because people tend to leave marks on me… a burn, a scar, something that will never go away… god I still remember people from when I was 10 y/o…. I’m insane, that’s it, and I’m totally and completely insane. 

How is it different a fling from a relationship… a fling is a kid of a relationship… yeah it’s constant, but without the compromise, or the exclusiveness, or the labels and responsibilities. There is something going on inside that I’m having trouble identifying… 

Do I want unconditional love? Yes… 

Do I want a lifelong partner? Yeah! 

Do I believe in sex with no compromises? No 

Oh my god… I don’t believe in sex without compromises.

Is that wrong? 

But I have put myself out there not expecting any compromises; I can have sex just to have sex. Not feeling hurt. It’s all very weird, it’s all very weird… 

David, David, what’s your problem… I’m bothered by your use bisexuality as a shield, like if it was less bad or something… Does it bother me because I use it as a shield? I don’t know… I don’t think I do, or I don’t want to, I believe I can love a man or a woman the same way romantically… actually if I’m not deceiving myself, I can have sex with both… right now I feel like I can be more open about what I like with a guy, but I’m sure a girl would understand… a girl like Elektra, I liked her… I really liked her. 

I need to… publish this… yeah… I need to, my diary it’s not over, I need it to continue or things will bottle up inside and become really confusing. And I don’t want to be confused.

(1 day late)

I take a step back ... I stagger.

 2:45 AM

There is no pain at this moment

only the tormented silence of this vast space,

of this misunderstood loneliness.

There will be no more sunrises in our lives ...

Just like the chimeras that we desire,

and like the afflictions we hate

were born from what's dead of our souls.

Dead are our hearts,

incinerated by the flames they once loved!

The earth will kiss our bodies

welcoming our last breaths ...

Only in this moment that we hold on

can we recognize our past.

A feeling floats in the morning haze ...

For an instant its shape is recognizable ...

And between the coldness of our bodies without passion,

fades and dies.

For the agony of not being animals

our hand can take the initiative

and trace a strip of suns

where fear is greater than our hopelessness.

A gag on the soul

a knot in the throat and ...

Only the clouds that contemplate us

can know the dark of our history.

The breeze carries our laments

more in the depths of our emptiness

something urges us not to give up yet.

Today the black storm clouds

will not be a promise of life,

and lost childhoods will not be restored.

On the precipice of our abandonment

nor the thick forest of yesteryear

nor the cold current of the years

may prevent our last blind step ...

Our body shudders against something infinite,

something that does not listen to explanations.

I can see the waves hitting the rocks!

I take a step back ... I stagger.

The pounding of the waves is so vigorous ...

A strange calm invades me ...

Where fear and anguish abounded

now the white foam highlights everything;

where hatred and insecurity lived,

now the breeze softens everything ...

Only the rays of the Sun, which give us life

can know the beauty of our death.

For Miguel Ángel Villegas,

with love, from his father.

Why can’t I stop writing this stupid blog!?

Why can’t I stop writing this stupid blog!?

I need to stop attracting this confused 15y/o they are so lame.... I hate them and you know why? Because they are me!!! 

I hate I’m not fucking ameinian, I’m desperate to be a fucking cock sucker... and yet that specific act repulses me!

I like boxers... on girls and guys, that’s a truth.

I like girls kissing girls, maybe as much a boys kissing boys.

(4 days late)

what is it about me?

I met someone, another sexually confused 15 y/o, - what is it about me?- he seems more mature than the last one, he is Emo obsessed which is a big improvement… but knows nothing about my fetishes, is it something I should tell him at first or just let him discover. He is out of town for Easter, but he seems like it could be something serious, more than a fling… am I actually considering a relationship? I’m a loner! I’ve always been a loner… I don’t even believe in love, I haven’t sustained a relationship with anyone over the years! Is it crazy to think now I can have a relationship with someone? 

I need to stay focused on the goal

“Miracle: a happy coincidence”

(33 days late)

Writing a suicide letter is much more difficult than it sounds ...

 "Writing a suicide letter is much more difficult than it sounds ... I know this because I have written many."

FINAL from José Luis Montesinos. Director on Vimeo.

Sit down in the dark

Sit down on the dark.

Smile!

I hate you.

What?

I hate you

Why?

I just do

Stop it.

No

Stop it

No

Please.

No.

Why?

You deserve it

You think you are perfect

I know I’m not

You think you know

Forgive me

No.

...

I'll look back and laugh,

...or cry

I rather die than keep this up, it’s absurd... my life, the things I do, I’m so alone, I hate my life, I’m being the classical depressed teen... but this really goes beyond that, I’m lost, I’m so lost.... 

Writing doesn’t bring me pleasure anymore, I look at it, and it makes me nauseous. Where are you superman? come and save me, just come and fly me away, I’m just a boy, deep inside I’m just a fragile  little boy, that need to be rescued, rescued from himself.

(10 days late)

Hi, I'm Xag

Hi, I'm Xag; I am 17 years old and live in Colombia. I think I have been depressed since I have memory, I'm an introvert, and I do not excel in any physical or academic activity. I have been feeling 100 years old since I was 10 and I think I can write a great story, which I started writing four years ago, but that by the time of this writing it’s barely on its third chapter.

I believe in three things: God, happiness and magic. Of all of them I doubt of from time to time.

I am a compulsive liar, prone to invent drama in my past. I wanted to be physically abused by my family or my classmates, thing which never happened. I don’t have now or ever had, any friends, and I have never been involved romantically with someone, I suffer from panic attacks when having to face new social situations which include sweat, itching and intense heart beating, especially at the time of having to make a phone call. It depresses me to see boys being happy, blond or in the beach and I love to see them suffer. I do not tolerate animal cruelty, but I encourage it in teens. I feel empathy with serial murderers.

I have suicidal thoughts every day since I have nine years, I've slept with a knife under the pillow just in case and  cut my wrists some times, I’m not sure if a cry for attention or because I really like it.

I hate public speaking, unless I am in a position of authority. I blame society and the misfortune of being surrounded by it for part of my unhappiness, as well as I blame my immediate and extended family. I'm shallow, masochistic and materialistic.

I criticize myself harshly at every action, and I have trouble forgiving my mistakes, specially the insignificant ones. I live with my mom who works two jobs and I'm afraid to be ameinian for the wrong reasons. I panic at the thought of changing for the better, either being improving the way I dress and act or applying for scholarships and contests that could reasonably only benefit me. I'm terrified that to continue living at home until I am 40 years old.

I think I have spoken with God, at a younger age I wondered if I was the reincarnation of Jesus and believed to be a martyr of faith. I remember the time when I was first aware of my existence. I always wanted to experience hallucinations, as well as a variety of other mental illnesses.

I daydream constantly and for long periods of time; it can be about having billions of dollars and all you could buy, or a tragic loss suffered unexpectedly, but mostly is about being confined to a wheelchair for life. (Now I’m obsessed with waking up at age 10, with all the memories I have now, and using them in the past for my advantage)

I have very specific tastes, most are complex stories that take my full attention, and even though most actually embarrass me to disclose in public. I dedicate an absurd amount of time to them. This includes also hours of daydreaming of how would be like to live in those worlds.

I hate giving and receiving gifts, I've always felt uncomfortable in my own skin because I was born to be beautiful, which I am not... I am very ugly. But very rarely I think I have an exhibitionist side.

I am submissive or dominant depending on the relationship you have with the other person. But I am mortified of being trapped in a role... I do not think there is true love for me in this planet, but in my imagination I am married with three others, they are my soul mates.

I like doing things alone, but I find it loneliness intolerable.

Otherwise I think I'm normal, mediocre, stupid and deadly ... and like everyone I believe I'm the most special person in the world.

Sick at Night

Sick at Night

I got a very long list of things to do... but no will to do it. I don’t know why I didn’t tell anyone I’m sick as hell... I feel weak, my throat my hair... ugh so disgusting all.

I wonder when I exactly started dying... I mean the boy inside me... when did it drop dead. Actually... I remember my teacher telling me when I was 10 that I acted like an 80 year old man... I have never been energetic, and I’ve always been depressive... I guess I was never a boy... something I’m sure I’ve talked about endlessly in other entries.

(1 day late)

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 

…What to do?

…What to do?

Big question for me now, what to do?

I read this poem, awesome, I should read more poetry, or write more poetry… I should actually just read more. I haven’t touched page of a book in months. I just feel like I hate to read…

Is this part of my frustration?

Yes I’m frustrated… and according to my psychology teacher, there is rarely going back for a frustrated person. A real frustration kills dreams, hopes, and the will to pursue ‘them if there’s any left.

For 5 year now I promised I would take some pictures of myself completely soaked... I haven’t done that. My EMO soaked vid really turns people on, and I’m so proud of it; to know you can turn people on is really something special... I know I wouldn’t turn myself on, I’m not that cute for my taste, but it’s really flattering some people do. There have been lots of alleged fans popping around; the first person was a girl at the wedgie board. Then some people at the TH board, now just people stumbling into my pictures her and on deviant art; not to mention of course YouTube

(2 days late)