Saturday, 03/02/02 - 11:17 am.
It's the first time in my life I've wished I hadn't gotten out of the bed.
I had a dream with Aerosmith, there was a new video for Love In An Elevator, it kicked ass. Unfortunately, my dreams with Aerosmith videos always follow the same pattern: I'm trying to tape it but for any given reason, I can't. Because it's too late, because I can't find my tape, because I have to fast forward it or I'll tape over other stuff, you name it.
I woke up, thinking of the word: problem. Everybody has problems. I don't like to call them that, but "difficulty". I see everybody (I think of Carmen and Veronica) dragging their problems like a shadow....I don't have problems, only difficulties. And despite how much "difficulties" I have, in the inside I am happy. Then I thought...of yesterday and I thought I do have problems. Not better, not worse, just different from my friends'. But I do have. I don't know if calling my problems "difficulties" and not considering them "problems" would be call living in denial, being way too positive or just another way to see obstacles in life. I do have problems....oh, well, at least I still have 10 fingers and 10 toes.
I stayed some time in bed, because I was still tired out. Yet I felt my problems had been slept off. Then I got out of it. By that time there was no way I could know, but it was a huge mistake.
I opened the door to the garden, to feed the parrot (or the green chicken, like he's been called because of his unusual body mass). I got some water in a bowl and rice. I got the bowl with water and then went to the kitchen to get the rice...I moved the bowl and the water spilled on the floor. I'll clean it up, I said to my mom, who was cooking. I went to the garden to leave the stuff in the garden table (in the terrace) and came back to clean up and, oh-joy...the rice fell off the table. I went to clean up and picked up a broom...I cleaned up and got out of the kitchen and I ran into my dad, who said: my document is messed up (he's working on his book, and he's using MS Word...and he doesn't know a thing about computers, so he's always screwing up)...I twisted my mouth, meaning shit, what a shame and sadly, he took it as fuck it, I don't care, you suck.
Hell broke loose...he started saying that I don't care, that no one can tell me anything, that it was just a comment (my father seems to believe we've got something against him. He's fucking paranoid)...I couldn't stand it and I started crying, saying that I was sorry, that that was not what I meant...he kept talking and didn't listen to me. I went to the garden and lied on a hammock. I cried, I cried so horrible. My father kept talking about Alan, who closed the door violently in his face this morning and God knows what else he said. I said I was sorry...I cried out loud I'm sorry. I don't even owe him an apology, since I didn't do anything. He took it the wrong way.
So I lied there, crying, and for the first time in my life, wishing I hadn't got out of the bed. Wishing this day had found me dead. A few minutes earlier, when I had awaken, I was thanking God for that, because I...I don't know, I was trying to find a meaning of why I've been suffering like this lately and the positive side of life. But then, I hated my father. I hated everybody. I thought that maybe I was just releasing all the tension I've been through. Tears, millions of hot tears burned my face. I've been really stressed with school and dealing with people, specially with my "friends", who are the ones who fuck me up the most.
Mom approached to me, and tried to make me feel better. She said I'd better go have breakfast, that these things happen, that we all had been sensible (dad because of what Alan did and I...well, you know why). Among all of the shit, in that moment, she was the sanest person on earth. She's really a strong woman, let me tell you. I can't wait for my father and my mom to go away. Though my mom...she's my mom. I think my emotional side comes from her. She's more...sensitive, more open, less stuck.
I said thank you and she walked away. But I didn't get up. I thought of not moving from there and starve, I thought of suicide and I held my breath as long as I could, until everything changed to my eyes...but something made me breath out. I'm such a coward.
I think I stayed there for at least one hour. Thinking of life, thinking of why I should be alive. I imagined what'd be after I killed myself, I imagined everybody's reaction, and I found the three strongest reasons to not kill myself: my two nephews and my niece. They wouldn't understand. Well, anyone would understand my reasons.
I planned to slash my wrists at 11 a.m., with no one else at home. I imagined myself on my bed, with my wrists covered in blood, my face pale, seeing everything turning black. Then the news at school. Then how people would cry for a week and then they'd forget about me and go on with that they think "life" is.
I tried to distract myself...I felt the grass on my hand, I looked at the sky...it was beautiful. I like how it looks in the morning...from almost-white, where the sun raises, to a dark blue-light black. I remembered the last time I went on a plane (on my way back from Houston) I looked up out of the window...up there, way up, it's always night, it's always dark blue. Then clouds started passing over me, and I saw rays of light going through them...then the day got dark, as if it was going to rain. I doubt it, because it's not the season yet. But it became really cloudy. Just like....me.
I burned my face with tears, I wonder why they're always so warm. I cried the whole time, thinking of so many things. I wish I was brave enough to hurt me that much and die. It's not that much of a long process, a few minutes and so long, farewell. I used to think that suicide was a coward action. I thought of people who think the same. And I want to see if they dare to do it. Suicide takes balls. For better or for worse, I don't have them.
I wonder why is it that I wish for someone so bad. I look for psychological reason and all I can think of it's that maybe I've lost a twin brother and I got a trauma out of it, and I can't remember as a way to protect myself. I thought yesterday that each moment I live, puts itself on top of the last one, and I don't remember it, not as clear as I should.
My eyes hurt. They keep pushing out tears and it pisses me off they're so hot. I don't like Linkin' Park, but I can't kick this line out of my head: I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end, it doesn't even matter. What we all needed, another band coming up with a song that has yet another excuse for depression.
I'm going to lock myself up the whole day. I was going to go to Mars's house today but I'd told her I might not make it. Well, here's an excuse. Plus, Norman and The Magic Corner invited me to this discotheque called The Cactus.... Me? Going out? with you? Me? Going out on a saturday night? Thank you, but give me fucking a break. I don't want to go to a place infected with stupidity.
What should I do? kill myself or kill everbody else? Kill both. I'll do nature a favor.
I am the painful feeling of being misunderstood and the isolation that it brings. I do keep everything to myself and it's...simply painful. I've been crying the whole morning, I wonder if it'll bring dehydration. I wonder where all the tears come from and where they go. I know, they run down your face and sometimes fall in your clothes or on the floor...but I mean...where-do-they-go?
I hate sounding like a teenager.
Maybe I was sent to become an Apocalypse Angel. I'm thinking one day, I won't be able to take it anymore and I'll translate my inner pain into collective sorrow.
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