Without the fear of what people will say. Without a glimpse about the meaning of a balanced life. Without support and without sustention. Without professional collaboration. Get stuck in the nostalgia of a hospitalization. Waiting for the moment when it explodes and I lost consciousness. Run over by my impulses that had never been good in fact. Infested by foreign sensations about this body that I don’t recognize. Guarded by fear and lack of sanity of my pursuers. Paranoid to know the dreaded alley, that has no way out. Numb for every attempt to save myself. Aware of the high dangers. Anesthetized by a past that drags me and scratches my skin. Condemned to the thirst of your smile. Forced to carry the chains of a freedom that I do not possess. Sentenced to kill the part of the problem. Confused in the delirium of a new learning. Exhausted from drinking of your hope. Reluctant to remain in ignorance. Convinced to run away. Establishing the coordinates for the search. Feeding spirits of unknown intentions. Extreme precautions. Seducing the wrong person.
Well, when something seems to have broken right in the middle, you hear the creaking of the material in any surface, and come as clouds to an already dislocated mind. The images of the owner of the broken piece. And guilt reappears and is established. Guilty until they have removed three zeros to the mexican peso. I immerse myself in muds lacking in texture that send me sensations of lodging in my mother’s womb or every fear that my father dissolves. And the crisis reappears and is established…
I feel fractured. I imagine that I am the only one in the world that suffers. I lack the strange force of lucidity. To prove again that the impossible happens every night. Dusk with the suspicion that there will be no return. Prove the improbable. To conclude that my life will be wasted. Lacking empathy with anyone. Discussing problems that can be solved without saying more than five words. Fight and flight for a life that takes a very high risk. Remember thosedays when I kept laughing, no matter what I did. I always blame myself for going into crisis. Almost no word reaches me to describe the degree of implosion of my arcane and hostile psychiatric derailments. Even more than broken, I’m “braken”. Like this word: wretched and poorly written; inexistent and ashamed of not being able to feel simply broken.
I declare myself a pessimistic pessimist. I fight against myself so I can see the light in every scene, however lugubrious it may seem. And it is another war in my head, but that’s why I write. This text is the record of a crisis in 2010. Many days, today, I feel the same. But by reading it and sharing it, I can see that I survived that feeling of being bogged down. And that’s it.
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