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 thought... love would cure it... I think we all did...

I thought... love would cure it... I think we all did...

I did everything in my power to become emotionally stable, to find a cure and a fix... I confessed my darkest secrets in a park... I cried on his shoulder... my traumas, I read out loud my suicide letters, and I shared my work, my thoughts... I draw on him... I made love to him... I did all and everything I could ever think of to gain my sanity, for myself, for him... I really tried... I swear to god... I searched for  that cathartic moment where I knew I would never ever let go... because I knew I was... if not happy... at least content... that I wouldn't be seeking suicide in every corner... in every thought… 

(4 days late)

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..

The ugliest part of me

The ugliest part of me

I lied.... and kept things... horrible things that need now to be told...

People asked me how I knew if it was a crush and not love... well here I’ll confess:

I liked his pain, enjoyed his suffering, his pathetic ways, his tears, his over the top compliments, his words of self-hate.

You're the perfect balance of negative and positive, even if you're negative almost all the time.

Everyone has some fetish... mine can get a bit sick... I just need someone I can act all this out... and then go back to really loving...

...bisexual, boy lover, ugly, shy, polyamorist, sadomasochist, fetishist, idealist, romantic, androgyny obsessed, emotionally slutty...

Plainly impossible to love…

God?

God? will you let me die tonight?

"I've told you before... if you really, truly wanted to die... you’d be already 

Yeah... I know... *sigh* 

I looked at notes from 13 year old me

I looked at notes from 13 year old me. He seems to have concluded that I am just afraid to be hurt, too afraid perhaps… so afraid actually I rather keep hurting myself over and over and over again… That’s why I keep people apart, why I can only say “I love you” to people who are thousands of miles away. Why I say all the things I have to say to computer screen and not to my family, friends, sister, teachers, or anyone who’s actually in my life. 

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)

All and all, I’m tired of asking questions...

All and all, I’m tired of asking questions... always, the same questions over and over again. Questions that wear out the soul... stain it.

Why do I hate myself so much? When will it end? Will I die tomorrow? What should I do next? Why can’t I do what I want to do? Why am I not happy? Where am I? Is this the right choice? Where did all go wrong? How could I have made a difference? What if I was someone else? Who am I? How did I let myself fail?

I now see failure not as a persistent fear, not as threatening menace... but as the bleak reality. 

THIS IS IT.

How do you react to failure... well most people will say, you should learn form you mistakes and start over again till you do it right. 

I don’t think I can start over again... and believe me I find myself now staring at the ceiling for hours at a time thinking how would I have lived in a better way, and how I’d give to go back and do it all over again.

Wasteful thoughts indeed.

Now I find myself writing this journal, almost convinced that this will be the only thing I’ll ever write.

This dear reader. Is a story of failing, the story people are too afraid to tell, the story people hate to hear. The story a loser, a depressive freak... my story. The story of accomplishing nothing, losing friends and alienating people.

(4 days late)

Now a toast... To poor decisions!

"You see, I think there comes a time when a man has to ask himself whether he wants a life of happiness or a life of meaning.[...]

Sometimes I have the odd feeling that I can choose to be someone else, sometimes I do … I feel if I tried a bit harder I could like so many things I despise…

Now a toast... 

To poor decisions!

(8 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)

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)

I hate myself...

I hate myself...-. I hate that the only way I can utterly express my sadness is through this diary which was supposed to have ended.

I hate that I have no one to share my thoughts and wishes, I’m tired of being alone... so alone...

I know I need my own apartment, I know I do, I know I need to get a job, I know I do, I know I have to stop sheltering in my room from the world

(62 days late)

Christmas is a stupid holiday

Christmas is a stupid holiday, not as stupid as New Year’s but stupid enough.

First we must admit it’s all about the money and the presents, like one broke girl said.

“The holidays are totally about money! It’s about spending money to buy things to stuff into the giant black sucking hole in the center of each of us that reminds us life is hard and then we die.” 

It’s not about love, joy to the world, or the celebration of the birth of Christ... It’s a huge commercial complot to exploit us and taker our money.

But who am I kidding… this is not why I hate Christmas...

I hate Christmas, because it’s supposed to be perfect and never is. This time of year comes, and it’s in our subconscious that this should be a time for happiness and sharing with our families. But it’s never like that…

I personally don’t love my extended family, with whom I have been forced to share this dreadful holiday. Why you wonder? It’s a nice family… a good looking, a wealthy family, a kind family… I don’t fit. I just don’t. 

The people closer to me is the people I’m more distant emotionally, no one in my family knows me, and the only person I depended in making Christmas better is across the ocean having the time of her life. 

As I sat alone in the middle of the crowd drinking Colombiana I realized how alone and pathetic I was:

First the only person I was expecting to hear a merry Christmas from was a 60 year old in England.

Second, that the only person I could ask in a date was not very good looking 15 year old ameinian boy I met online… and knowing that if I ever meet him, he’ll be so disappointed; I’m much uglier than what you see on webcam.

Everyone else is gone… just gone… And to think this promised to be such a great Christmas season. 

(29 days late)

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)

I’m so going to hell

I’m so going to hell. Because this boy… . There   one I have lied about everything… sometimes I feel like I should rescue him, like if I should make him my prince… sometimes I hate him with all my being.

He brought up in the conversation his parents will be off next weekend, but never actually made the invitation. This left me a bit disappointed. I can’t believe I’m saying this… it feels wrong, because he is way younger then me…

God, it kills me that I can’t afford anything right now. Stupid college student budget.

I get about 8 dollars a week, for lunch, books, and transport. So I get to save about a dollar a week… form unused change.

(6 days late)

Today I’ve realized the word "friend" turns me.

Today I’ve realized the word "friend" turns me.

I’m tired of talking about me, I’m tired of writing, I’m tired of reflecting, of contemplating, of analyzing, of pondering, of distinguishing, and most of all, I’m tired of explaining; I don’t want to explain anything to anyone anymore. I can’t stand one more justification on any subject. It seems like my whole existence is focused on justifying myself in every single aspect. Every meaningless conversation becomes an act of validation of why I do or not do something, why I am or I am not something, why I like or don’t like something. But if I take those actions away then there is just nothing left to talk about… we are all just doing monologues about us and our lives.

I have a really long homework for Tuesday…. Really long tedious work to do… and yet I went out shopping and to watch a movie 

Sighs*

I have no doubt I failed, I failed at everything you can fail at life. God… I think I’ve failed in death too, or otherwise I would be dead already.

I just want to sit down and cry

I just want to sit down and cry, cry my eyes out, I want just to let myself fall on the floor and cry.

Help me.

I’m scarred by experiences and people, a scar so deep and visible I can’t forget it.

I’m so beaten I no longer wish death... because even that seem impossible for me, I’m giving up on everything and everyone around me, but specially I’m giving up on me. – 

Why do I write this?-

(3 days late)

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

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)