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)

 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.

There are some perks to living in a warzone...

There are some perks to living in a warzone... first you develop the ability of sleeping through almost anything; Gunshots and minor explosions for example. You get to see the dark side of life since forever, you learn to live in a truly rotten society (you guys think your health care is broken? here is basically inexistent!). You learn the rules to live in no man’s land, to not expect anything from your government and that the answer to most (if not all) problems is definitely money.

You learn to look beyond the general moral rules of good and evil. The values system is different, it does not hurt at all that fellow citizens dies in a massacre, it doesn’t hurt that children are starving, that your maid, the woman who babysit you your whole life, prepared your meals, and washed your underwear kidnapped children of others people for ransom in her spare time.

You learn that one block away there is a center for prostitution and drugs (not to consume... but to export of course). You learn that politics are corrupt to the bone, and that the downside of that matter is not to be in it... 

You also learn to objectively look at a situation no matter the amount of casualties. You look beyond the massacre to see whose fault is it really is, not only here but anywhere else, being Iraq or Vietnam, it does not matter the time or space.

But most importantly you find that problems cannot be solved, at least not without extreme radical change (and that unfortunately means taking the rough decisions)... so where does this leaves this image that Colombian is passion? That Colombia is a better land for tomorrow... where does this leave all our goodness and expectations...

Well today the country was indeed paralyzed for an hour, where everybody just halted to show the terrorist that we had enough. Now, I'm very critical of my country's situation, but I must admit I had not experienced this ever, and god knows there have been marches, manifestations and all sorts of crap during my lifetime. Yet, today was something Huge. Why I say that? Because I was involved me... it reached me, I live on a part of the city that is pretty much excluded from what happens and it even got here... it was something... an hour where you wear a white shirt and say: "yes we can still dream of something better"

Non-sense

Non-sense, bad grammar and terrible syntax...

I feel can do more, so much more and somehow I just don’t. This feeling of constant auto sabotage is wearing me out... tearing my soul apart.

While I’ve managed to convince myself to stay alive, I find now that during a lot of time I’ve just accomplished this by getting myself stuck, sinking deeper and deeper in the mud until I’m not moving at all.

So many plans... and somehow they just never happened. And I know I shouldn’t complain... but damn, that’s pretty much all I can do for myself right now, it just seems wiser to get an overall look at my life and cry, than just keep on living numb to the situation. Now self-pity won’t solve any problem, I know that... what I don’t know is exactly what the problem is...

This guy offered me the chance to be in one of his clips, I kind of avoided him all week... firstly because I’ve felt really monstrous and I wasn’t  in mood of being in front of a camera, but besides that there was my recurrent fear that will somehow let down people once they know me.

I manage to spend my time imagining, day dreaming nonsense, obsessing over meaningless maters...

I've deleted so many people from my contact list... somehow I stopped emailing with all the people I was emailing with.

I am broke, and with that all that comes with it. Secondly I’m unemployed yet I’m working my ass of doing favors for absolutely nothing in return.

I’m worried my mail is not reaching me, but living in Colombia it shouldn’t be a surprise...

Gruesome news lately 11 deputies murdered by the FARC... they were probably corrupt to the bone, but still. 

Days are passing so quickly and I’m doing anything... 

(29 days late)

Exhausted I dreamed of the pleasure that arises

 Exhausted I dreamed of the pleasure that arises

Exhausted I dreamed of the pleasure that arises,

but lives without me, as it shines and passes:

its rush to burn delays

and subtracts me from what within me devours.

Detached from me who falls in love

and in its fire absorbed the scarce life,

I am the sterile residue of its embers

and death wins me from now on.

What happens for me is not equaled

nor restored after it appears;

I am only its absence, which remains.

Oh death, idle for the past,

your shadow is vast and the occasion and the nest

of the defect that I am of what I have been.

Jorge Cuesta, Córdoba (Veracruz) 1903 - Mexico City 1942

On August 13, 1942, the Mexican poet, Jorge Cuesta left his life after finding the exit in the sheets of his bed with which he hung himself. 

Cuesta was admitted to a mental health asylum  for having relapsed into a paranoia crisis that he had already faced with success two years ago.

He was 38 years old and in life he never saw any of his books published.

I just can't be any good to you or myself

 Carol, 

I am so sorry for this. I feel I just can't go on. I have always tried to do the right thing but where there was once great pride now it's gone. I love you and the children so much. I just can't be any good to you or myself. The pain is overwhelming.
Please try to forgive me.
Cliff

 Gloomy Sunday

Diamanda Galás

Sadly one Sunday
I waited and waited
With flowers in my arms
All the dream has created
I waited 'til dreams,
Like my heart, were all broken
The flowers were all dead
And the words were unspoken
The grief that I know
Was beyond all consoling
The beat of my heart
Was a bell that was tolling

Saddest of Sundays

Then came a Sunday
When you came to find me
They bore me to church
And I left you behind me
My eyes could not see
What I wanted to love me
The earth and the flowers
Are forever above me
The bell tolled for me
And the wind whispered, "Never!"
But you I have loved
And I'll bless you forever

Last of all Sundays

Reasons

 

Reasons to attempt suicide

A list of reasons

Altruistic/heroic suicide. Voluntary death for the good of a group (e.g. Japanese Kamikaze pilots or hunger strikes).

Philosophical Suicide. Various philosophical schools, such as stoics or existentialists have advocated suicide under some circumstances.

Religious Suicide. Usually in the form of martyrdom. Found in the early stages of Christianity and during the Reformation and the Inquisition. More recently seen in mass suicides among members of the Solar Temple in Switzerland.

Escape from unbearable sitations. Persecution, terminal illness, chronic misery. There were huge numbers of suicide during the time of pestilence or oppression (e.g. Jews in Medieval Europe with the choice of conforming to Christianity or death, Jews during the Nazi-tyranny or blacks and Native Americans in the NEw World. More recently AIDS has caused similar reactions.

Excess Alcohol and Drug use.

Romantic suicide. See Romeo and Juliet but more frequent among people who have lived together for a long time when one of them dies or is terminally ill (which may lead to suicide pacts).

Anniversary Suicide. See above.

Contagion Suicide. When one suicide sparks one or a serious of other suicides. E.g. after the powerful scenes of Russian roulette as shown in the Michael Cimino film "The Deer Hunter", the number of gunshot suicides rose significantly.

An attempt to manipulate others. "If you don't do this, I will kill myself."

Seek help or send a distress signal (that fails and leads to unintentional death).

Punishment. "You'll be sorry when I'm dead and all the guilt will be on your head".

Cultural Approval. Ritual suicide (Japanese harakiri or seppuku) mostly associated to matters of honor.

Lack of outside source to blame for one's misery.

Other. Most suicides have multiple causes.

Source:
Geo Stone: Suicide and Attempted Suicide. Methods and Consequences

The truth and only the truth

The truth and only the truth. 

This was the reason I started this diary in the first place, I needed to tell the truth... why? Because I lie a lot. 

I think being a good liar is an essential quality of being a good actor; Enjoying your lies I fundamental for a good writer. 

I need to write, I haven’t written anything in months but the urge is getting bigger and bigger, and the story is now to big to keep it in my head. 

And I’m a lousy writer, just read my entries they lack style, coherence and mainly good grammar. 

I feel I’ve been giving up lately, giving up on so many things... specially my dreams. I stopped straightening and dying my hair, haven’t got dressed in days. I need to record this video and yet I seem to not find the appropriate time. Time... I need time, I keep convincing myself  to give up on these things because there is no time. No time to write, to read, to lie down, to draw... 

The truth is I don’t know if any of this is true. Or if my lies are taking a toll on me, and I’ve started fall for ‘me. Believing my own lies; If an actor gets so much in character he starts to actually believe he is his character... does that make him a terrific actor or the worse of all? 

Didn’t this happen to the guy that played Nosferatu in that old silent movie? (I’m too lazy to Google it now) or isn’t this the same that happened to Ed Wood, who blindly believed his work was truly amazing. 

Back to the pressing matter, I no longer know if this diary true, or if I’ve fallen into the delusion it is... I keep writing I’m sad, but am I? I keep trying to expand my writing beyond myself to prove I’m not an egocentric maniac... what do you think? 

Drunks have taken over the block, you can hear them arguing and laughing from all over here in the fifth floor. People are dying in floods all over the place, corruption invades everything in this country, and the truth is I am here at night, writing, expecting an epiphany from putting this words here... because I promised here I would tell the truth and only the truth.

(11 Days Late)

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. 

I promised myself I wouldn't be … well… me…

I promised myself, I wouldn't be … well… me… That I'll stay alive till I passed the original Pokémon green for GB and capture Mew. I wouldn't commit suicide till Year seven of the harry potter seven arrived, I promised myself that I would get one cool haircut in my life, that I would not care about what people think or say. 

I'm going to try to keep my word on that last one. 

I got this on my mail today:

E-mail: holly_nin@yahoo.com   <Omar Eduardo Arango "Quiñones">

Comment:   Dear fag...oops I mean Xag:   First of all, allow me ask u something: have u no life, no friends (I mean normal friends) no nothing??...Oh wait a sec, I guess u do have something: NO SHAME WHATSOEVER for being who u are and doing the most pathetic work there has yet to be done. As a classmate on "taller de television" I've got to say I was kind of disturbed by your presence and your horrifying lack of fashion. And the hair, something to kill yourself for!!   One more thing before living this hideous site, PLEASE DON'T EVER POST VIDEOS WHERE U TELL THE WORLD YOU'RE STUDYING AT UNIVERSITY SERGIO ARBOLEDA, YOU ARE EMBARRASSING FOR US BIG TIME!!!   On behave of everybody who's NOT A FREAK LIKE U, thanks for the chance of posting this comment and please do try to not leave your house from time to time so people don't get traumatized by your looks.   Take good care of yourself.   

Sincerely   

Not a fan of your shity work AT ALL.

No more videos. 

(12 days late)

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)