Is me?

Sticky

 

 

Do you remember that feisty girl who was full of motivation and willingness to try new adventurous challenges?
Well, she doesn’t exist any longer. You wouldn’t be able to recognise her.

Pain

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The pain can become so deep, so sharp, that it pierces the soul leaving it bored forever, without the capacity to contain emotions because they are squeezed leaving it empty and more painful to know that it can no longer fulfill its function
Dolor

El dolor puede llegar a hacerse tan profundo, tan agudo, que traspasa el alma dejándola agujereada por siempre, sin capacidad de contener emociones pues se cuelan dejándola vacía y mas dolorida al saber que ya no puede cumplir con su función.  

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Mi nuevo proyecto

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Hoy, mientras caminaba, se me ocurrió la idea de escribirme cartas a mí misma,  al mi yo anterior, a ver si de esta forma me veo desde fuera, y la fuerza y la ilusión que tenía antes me ayuda a salir de donde estoy.

He cambiado el nombre para leerme como si fuera otra persona y de esta manera tener otro punto de vista.

Esta es la primera

Cartas a mí.

23/04/2017

Querida Marta, si me vieras, mi corazón se acaba de acelerar y sólo porque un guarda de seguridad me ha llamado la atención en los jardines universitarios por no tener atada a mi perra. ¿Una perra?, te preguntarás. Si, es mi fiel compañera desde hace unos meses y yo que siempre dije que no me gustaban los animales. Pero las cosas cambian, y tanto.

Volviendo al guarda, mi respuesta a su pregunta de si es mio el perro ha sido inmedista: &No me multe, por favor, que no tengo  dinero&.

Si Marta, dinero tampoco tengo. Han habido tantos cambios en mi vida.  Yo quería vivir cosas diferentes,  ¿Recuerdas?, pues no me imaginaba la de cosas que me han ocurrido, algunas buenas, las más casi mejor  borrarlas de la memoria.

Corre aire frío aquí,  te escribo esto desde mi tablet, intentando tomar el sol que pasa a través de los árboles, pero  la temperatura no es la  más agradable.  Frente a mi, bueno mejor dicho en otro banco del parque un chico lee, otro está durmiendo en el césped cubierto con una manta, otros caminan, ¿y yo?. Yo salir a andar, me acabo de levantar de la cama y eso que son las 4 de la tarde, pero me he sentado en el lugar más cercano a mi casa que había. ¡Maldita  mente! ¡Maldita  vida que me ha llevado  a este estado!. Pero mirando el lado positivo, ahora mismo vivo en Granada, auunque no salgo ni me relaciono y estoy conn mi perra Kira en un bonito jardin, sin obligaciones.Mi única obligación es la de curarme.

Voy a tomarme un café con un pastel que los promocionan juntos en la cafetería de al lado de mi piso con los dos euros que me he encontrado en mi bolsillo. Eso me hará sentirme una persona &normal& al menos por un rato.

Me despido, mi paseo apenas duró 5  minutos  hoy y mi estancia al aire libre casi media hora. Poco, pero mejor que nada. Mañana volveré a intentar andar durante más tiempo.

Despite fear, I am doing myself.

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Difficult days are these last, too much anxiety when I have to speak with somebody or wait in a queue.

In the last week I have suffered many panic attacks. Nowadays whenthis happens, my hands begin to shake, my tongue is not able to emit the properly sound, stuttering is becoming to be my way to speak. Sweat runs though my body, and fear, much fear. Fear of people, fear of face problems, fear even of goong for shopping, fear of my reactions. But, though it, I am doing.

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MAS EN ESPAÑOL

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My book

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It all began on a night of immense pain, which even penetrated the heart, asking for voices. I wrote a whatsapp with my feelings, but I had so much despair and suffering inside that I needed to be communicated to the world. I had two options, the first to let me consume and the second, to release a little that torrent of feelings and empty at the same time. Thus was born my Blog, which was gradually taking shape and in which I still continue to express myself. “Living with depression”, a place to release emotions, thoughts and much pain.

This book is a compilation of the ideas and poems that best define me and that more answers of the readers I got communicating that they felt identified with my words.

Todo comenzó en una noche de inmenso dolor, que incluso llegaba a penetrar en el corazón, pidiendo salir voces. Escribí un whatsapp con mis sentimientos, pero tenía tanta desesperación y sufrimiento dentro que necesitaba ser comunicado al mundo. Tenía dos opciones, la primera dejar que me consumiera y la segunda, liberar un poco ese torrente de sentimientos y vacios a la vez. Así nació mi Blog, que poco a poco fué tomando forma y en el que aún continúo expresándome. “Vivir con depresión”, Un lugar para liberar emociones, pensamientos y mucho dolor.

Este libro es una recopilación de las ideas y poemas que mejor me definen y que más respuestas de los lectores obtuve comunicandome que se sentian identificados con mis palabras.

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe ~ Quizás 

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Maybe it could be tonight,
or maybe tomorrow,
maybe I find the way,
or maybe I lose totally myself in it.

Quizás sea esta noche,
o quizas mañana,
quizás encuentre un camino,
o quizás me pierda del todo

It’s said..

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It is said that when you really want something, it is not always fulfilled, but at least it keeps you entertained.

I only need to find this stuff that I’d like to fulfill.


Dicen que cuando tienes muchas ganas de algo, no siempre se cumple, pero al menos te mantiene entretenido. 

Sólo necesito encontrar aquello que desear.

Poem: I waited

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Yo esperé y espere hasta que el mundo me aparto .

I waited and waited for until world left me alone.

Primera edición en 07/2016

One day   ~ Un día

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One day I gave all of me,

Many days I fought on the wrong side,

I fought against those who warned me of my mistake,

I fought with those who hated you because they saw me suffer,

I struggled justifying the unjustifiable,

But I wanted to believe.


One day I got down but I kept fighting.

Many days I suffered, I cried, I despaired,

But I kept believing and fighting.


There come a day when so much fighting,

To know that it was not worth it,

That all my effort was useless,

To see and not want to believe that the one that everyone admires,

That who they think it is, it is not with me.

Not understanding why so much indifference,

A day came where  I was empty and broken.


And another day came when the only way to stop feeling,

feeling empty, useless, insignificant, wrong, despised,

The only way to stop being all this and to be nothing, which is the same,

It was to stop being. Stop feeling, stop living.


And many more days came where death was my only companion,

The only one that does not fail, that waited for me with open arms,

The only one who wanted to me, and I wanted to.


And days went by, weeks, months and even a year, without living,

Trying by all means not to feel, not to think, not to be.


And if not, when I needed to be, my body and my mind no longer knew how to be,

They had forgotten, forgotten to walk, to move, to talk, to live.

And here lies a body abandoned by its owner,

A mind that to protect itself has shielded its main connections,

By preventing the process of thinking from reaching its end,

Thus avoiding to feel, to fight that means to live, avoiding in turn to die.

And here, in a room from which you can see the largest Christmas tree in Andalusia, the tree in a shopping center where people live or pretend to live, where all that Christmas, shopping, clothing, meals and meetings,

That sound to actions of another world taken from a book of science fiction in which I do not appear.


And here, in this room with sight lies this abandoned body,

Looking lost in a huge tree of colors,

Waiting for his drug dose so that his mind continues without thinking,

Because if he did, if he woke up,

She would choose to leave with her friend the death to which she has already chosen on numerous occasions,

The last time two days ago

Leer en español

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Sharing Writing and identity — Idiot Joy Showland

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We must not only write what we know.

via Writing and identity — Idiot Joy Showland

Do NOT blame suicidal people for wanting to die

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Thanx 4 nothing

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I saw it in a exposition in London. This send me shivers down my spine.

I want to share with you

Listen to the poet

THANX 4 NOTHING
on my 70th Birthday in 2006

I want to give my thanks to everyone for everything,

and as a token of my appreciation,
I want to offer back to you all my good and bad habits
as magnificent priceless jewels,
wish-fulfilling gems satisfying everything you need and want,
thank you, thank you, thank you,
thanks.

May every drug I ever took
come back and get you high,
may every glass of vodka and wine I’ve drunk
come back and make you feel really good,
numbing your nerve ends
allowing the natural clarity of your mind to flow free,
may all the suicides be songs of aspiration,
thanks that bad news is always true,
may all the chocolate I ever eaten
come back rushing through your bloodstream
and make you feel happy,
thanks for allowing me to be a poet
a noble effort, doomed, but the only choice.

I want to thank you for your kindness and praise,
thanks for celebrating me,
thanks for the resounding applause,
I want to thank you for taking everything for yourself
and giving nothing back,
you were always only self-serving,
thanks for exploiting my big ego
and making me a star for your own benefit,
thanks that you never paid me,
thanks for all the sleaze,
thanks for being  mean and rude
and smiling at my face,
I am happy that you robbed me,
I am happy that you lied
I am happy that you helped me,
thanks, grazie, merci beaucoup.

May you smoke a joint with William,
and spend intimate time with his mind,
more profound than any book he wrote,
I give enormous thanks to all my lovers,
beautiful men with brilliant minds,
great artists,
Bob, Jasper, Ugo,
may they come here now
and make love to you,
and may my many other lovers
of totally great sex,
countless lovers
of boundless fabulous sex
countless lovers of boundless fabulous sex
countless lovers of boundless
fabulous sex
in the golden age
of promiscuity
may they all come here now,
and make love to you,
if you want,
may each of them
hold each of you in their arms
balling
to your hearts
delight.
balling to your hearts
delight
balling to
your hearts delight
balling to your hearts delight.

May all the people who are dead
Allen, Brion, Lita, Jack,
and I do not miss any of you
I don’t miss any of them,
no nostalgia,
it was wonderful we loved each other
but I don’t want any of them back,
now, if any of you
are attracted to any of them,
may they come back from the dead,
and do whatever is your pleasure,
may they multiply,
and be the slaves
of whomever wants them,
fulfilling your every wish and desire,
(but you won’t want them as masters,
as they’re demons),
may Andy come here
fall in love with you
and make each of you a superstar,
everyone can have
Andy.
everyone can
have Andy.
everyone can have Andy,
everyone can have an Andy.

Huge hugs to the friends who betrayed me,
every friend became an enemy,
sooner or later,
I am delighted you are vacuum cleaners
sucking everything into your dirt bags,
you are none other than a reflection of my mind.

Thanks for the depression problem
and feeling like suicide
everyday of my life,
and now that I’m seventy,
I am happily almost there.

Twenty billion years ago,
in the primordial wisdom soup
beyond comprehension and indescribable,
something without substance moved slightly,
and became something imperceptible,
moved again and became something invisible,
moved again and produced a particle and particles,
moved again and became a quark,
again and became quarks,
moved again and again and became protons and neutrons,
and the twelve dimensions of space,
tiny fire balls of primordial energy
bits tossed back and forth
in a game of catch between particles,
transmitting electromagnetic light
and going fast, 40 million times a second,
where the pebble hits the water,
that is where the trouble began,
something without substance became something with substance,
why did it happen?
because something substance less
had a feeling of missing out on something,
not
getting it
was not getting  it
not getting it,
not getting it,
imperceptibly not having something
when there was nothing to have,
clinging to a notion of reality;
from the primordially endless potential,
to modern day reality,
twenty billion years later,
has produced me,
gave birth to me and my stupid grasping mind,
made me and you and my grasping mind.

May Rinpoche and all the great Tibetan teachers who loved me,
come back and love you more,
hold you in their wisdom hearts,
bathe you in all-pervasive compassion,
give you pith instructions,
and may you with the diligence of Olympic athletes
do meditation practice,
and may you with direct confidence
realize the true nature of mind.

America, thanks for the neglect,
I did it without you,
let us celebrate poetic justice,
you and I never were,
never tried to do anything,
and never succeeded,
I want to thank you for introducing me to
the face of the naked mind,
thanx 4 nothing.

TIME ~ EL TIEMPO

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English

Time passes, since I do not write, I needed to get away from myself, I needed to forget myself, because seeing myself reflected in words hurts me as much as looking at me in the mirror.

But I will return. I am still alive despite much fighting with my friend ‘death’ and I have given some steps that I will write here bit a bit

My feelings need to leave me, to see me from the distance of a writing.

I will continue to share in this my little world called “living with depression“, the struggling and falling of a person in constant disagreement with his own mind.


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By Google images


Español 

El tiempo pasa, hace ya que no escribo, necesitaba alejarme de mí mismo, necesitaba no pensar, puesto que el verme reflejó en palabras me hacía tanto daño como mirarme en el espejo.

Pero vuelvo. Sigo viva a pesar de mucha lucha con mi amiga la muerte y algunos pasos que irón contando. 

Mis sentimientos son de mi, verme a mí mismo desde la distancia de un escrito.

Seguir compartiendo en este pequeño mundo llamado ” vivir con depresión” la lucha y las caídas de una persona en constante desencuentro con su propia mente.

My broken dreams

London and the phantom of the opera

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The thorn that I carry inside reopens and hurts with every movement, with every effort that my aching body tries to realize.
The wound is already so deep that sometimes it is about to touch that called soul. The soul, so subtle and so powerful which generates such energy that is capable of changing your world oy you can simply stop belonging to it. And your thorn, according to the motion I make, touches my soul, strikes it, its skin is so fine and sensitive, for, with a millimeter more depth of roze, my soul would break into a thousand pieces, Prick with the thorn of a beautiful rose, exploding at the same time that it dazzles by the beauty of the flower, and that makes the damage hurts a little less, although the result is is more.

My thorn is not beautiful, it is not sweet, I can not even smell it, maybe if it smells good and I face it enough so I can smell it, maybe that would numb the pain. But there is no smell, no color, no beauty, no aroma or force. There is nothing, and nothing hurts more than nothing. The absence of a whole or something. That emptiness breaks so sharply that no blessing nor magic potion can heal. The void is that, nothing, and where nothing is installed, nothing can grow there. My thorn is full of nothing, has emptied part of me, that’s why months ago that part of me left not to return.

I write this on a bus, full of people who travel, some with illusions, others, tired. A hostel is a good way to observe people, most of them alone, some not. Many happy, enthusiastic, not least. My foot, the destiny that makes my dreams can not be realized, but to win from me, has made me spend a lot of time in solitude and in the is more place, with a vibrant London around me, with a desire to walk by its gardens as the only objective of my journey, something so simple, that I could hardly realize. The first two days I decided not to think about pain, to pretend I did not exist, but this one has become stronger, to the point that the last three days have been impossible not to return after 10 minutes in the street, despite my effort, despite having tickets to a theater.

The emptiness as a malignant tumor spreads rapidly creating more empty, to the point that you stop being a person, you stop being something, to become nothing. And the little bit that remains of me tried to enjoy the musical the phantom of the opera. Who was going to tell me. I was the ghost, I felt the ghost, looking for love as the only element that could make sense to his life. I am the ghost. A ghost of mine, deformed, neglected, physically abandoned by not feeling “somebody”. Just something in the wrong place.

For two days I saw, I walked aimlessly but slowly, I discovered, I felt myself. Now minute by minute I stop feeling, and the thorn of your emptiness is doing the rest, breaking the little left of my soul. By the time he returns to Spain, all that is left is loose pieces, like the balloon that blows so hard, it exploded.

Less than a month ago, I think I was suffering from overdoses and autolytic ideas. In a month in London. Let them tell me that I am not brave, that I do not fight. But it does not matter, happiness, love, affection, that would fill my voids, flees from me.

Dreams’Espe 

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Frente a la Torre Eifel

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​Ya no doy nada positivo, mi corazón ya no me permite dejar sentir lo bonito. Todo es vacío dentro de mí, aunque tenga en frente la Torre Eiffel iluminada.

Ya no me comporto como madre, ya no me comporto como un ser humano, sino simplemente cómo un animal asustado que  a veces se defiende enseñado los dientes y escondiéndose otras.

No me siento nada bien. Sé que necesito ayuda para salir de esta ó no salgo.

Estoy muy mal, y el no encontrar silencio sino continuas quejas me hacen volverme loca. Estoy perdiendo la compostura y mi fuerza de voluntad. No sé que va a pasar estos días. Mis hijos necesitan otra madre que los cuide. No es justo para ellos mi comportamiento pero no lo puedo evitar, ni tampoco corregirlos.

Christmas Eve

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​Paris, the cradle of love, in Christmas Eve. in a room of a luxurious hotel on the outskirts of the center, with hungry in the night in which people usually eat more than any day in the year, and without love. Or rather, with the love of my two children.

Since the airplane I have seen the illuminated Eiffel Tower in the distance. A different start of Christmas. Tomorrow will be a different day as well, with the wish of everything will end up changing.

Mi deseo de Navidad

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​Tiempo de familia, amigos abrazos, cariño y soledad. Mucha soledad y tristeza que se hacen más notar entre tantas luces de Navidad y polvorones.

Un año, llevo un año luchando por mantenerme en este mundo. He dormido, me he drogado para no pensar, he jugado con la muerte a ver si me asustaba, pero he conseguir que me atraiga aún  mas. He viajado cerca, lejos, he leído, escrito, estudiado. Tengo una perra que es mi mejor regalo, 30 kg de màs y muchos dolores varios.

Un año en que he descubierto verdaderos amigos y he se han desenmascarado los que no.

Voy en un autobus destino a Málaga para desde ahí volar a Paris. 

Paris, que bonito sería poder disfrutarlo, pero me doy cuenta de que eso en mi ya es imposible. Lloro, y lloro y lloro más, porque es navidad, porque he comido al mediodía con mi madre, porque me voy de viaje con mis hijos y porque mi único deseo es llorar. Llorar porque no puedo morir. Morir, que bonito seria hacerlo en Paris, cómo en las películas. Pero no debo, pero yo quiero. 

¿La navidad no es la época donde los deseos se cumple., pues yo deseo que se cumpla el mío, poder morir sin cargo de conciencia, que sea una opción como otra.

Ese es mi deseo de navidad.

Feliz Navidad a los podéis disfrutarla. 

Beyond

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Words :

GONE | CHANGE | PRETEND | STRANGE | LIFE 


Some of them pretend to live,

Others live with as they were strangers,

The less ones live a real life, changing their fate into new challenges.

And you? Have you ever gone beyond? 

In response to The Secret Keeper’s Weekly Writing Prompt #46 


Secret Keeper Prompt

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¿Cómo es que, siendo tan inteligentes los niños, son tan estúpidos la mayor parte de los hombres? Debe ser fruto de la educación.

Alejandro Dumas (Escritor francés).

Os dejo los primeros deberes de este libro. Una charla de la organización TED donde una niña prodigio (Adora Svitak) nos enseña a los adultos lo que tenemos que aprender de los niños.

http://www.ted.com/talks/adora_svitak

Taking off

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In my narrow seat, which now it seems to me that it has shrunk  since the last time a flew, I think about life, about death. For one moment when the plain was about to take off, I realised that I didn’t want to die here. Not now, my son who is making a great effort to study and behave better to avoid going to the home school and my daughter who cried last night because she doesn’t manage to get the marks that she want to be able to choose the degree I will choose next years.
Now not, I thought as the plain was increasing the noise of the engage, what meant that it was starting to fly. At this moment I felt a glimmer of hope about my future . I still could have a life and enjoy it.
But now, that the plain is flying, with  the clouds behind us, I have felt a cold sensation crossing my body, hurt me, making me to feel despair  again.

This morning while I was walking way to the bus stop to take bus to the airport, out of the blue my left foot stated to hurt, I kept walking, regardless this, but the damage was getting bigger. In spite of go back at home, knowingly that this could affect my trip and besides, I haven’t got the documentation that will allow me to go to a hospital hin London, I made up my mind to keep on, walking and travelling. So, I decided to struggle for living.
But now, I not sure of I want that. I change mind continuously, but at least, now I am in a plain, way to London with my foot hurting, a suitcase nearly empty because the lack of clothe  I have since I got a lot of weight, without carrying make up or another stuff to be smart, but here I am, and still alive

Hospital

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Este día fuí ingresada por sobredosis