Let me die, please

Every psychologist assures that depression is a state from where you can get out.
'It just takes courage and will to live'
But depression is just not willing to live.
You don't find a purpose.
That purpose is adopted by your brain by genetics, culture, nurture...
Those who have a purpose and love in life are the lucky ones.
Everyone says that being the fastest in our first race is a miracle.
But is it?
What happens when there's nothing you'd sacrifice for?

I've been depressive. Yes. It was harder than the suicidal depression.
I found myself trapped by nothingness. Everyone and everything were just shadows.
A theatre play.
Life took a horrendous shape. The crudest form of understanding life.
To me, everyone who was weak, seemed stupid.
Those who were strong, were also stupid.
Those that enjoyed videogames or walking, were wasting their time.
Those that didn't enjoy anything, I felt pity for them.

Sorrow. Pain. Stupidity.
Nothingness.

Nothingness but I was not numb. I felt everything.
Emotions running through my veins.
I didn't want to live.

The worst part was thinking about death, which honestly was the thing that I feared the most.
So even death was not a solution or an escape.

What was left for me to do?

I was afraid of looking at the sky and being around people. I was trapped in my sofa, where I slept for 1 month.

With time, and great effort, I overcame depression (if it can ever be defeated).
And slowly integrated myself into life.
I started taking showers, then going for brief walks, then going to the supermarket...

And got stronger by the next month.

Life seemed thrilling again, as I've always felt about it.
People say I'm sparks, that my group of friends don't feel the same without me.
They say they miss me a lot, which I'm kind of proud of, I guess.

I started taking again classes, like boxing, running, theatre... also found a job.

But then, out of nowhere, Love hit me.

I was in a fleeting love situation. I felt invincible and wholesome.

But Love grabbed a fucking grenade and shoved it into my guts.
My body exploded, along with my heart.
That miserable clown ripped and burned my heart inside out.

I swore I would never fall in love again.
But just like with alcohol, you find yourself in the mood, and 'the situation makes the crook', as my father says.

I met this intelligent, beautiful, sweet, introvert girl I had met many years before.
So, we had a great time. We hanged out, and talked and laughed.
One day, with hugs she declared her love to me, and with a kiss I accepted, leading to flesh passion.
But something told me that I was more into her than otherwise.
Just like the past love situation.
I can see she has no further interest in me.
Little details, cues... said words and those that weren't.

How could I? I'm terrible at heartbreakes. I knew she had to leave for her studies, anyway.
HOW COULD I DARE TO BE INTO SOMEONE?

I would say I'm not religious, but since yesterday, I'm praying to God to take me as soon as possible.
No luggage. No arrangements.
Just without notice.

If love is this painful and Love keeps playing around with people,
then God, let me die right now.

Don't let my parents and family feel bad for too long.
Let my friends know that, although I couldn't face Life and Love plays, I loved being around them.

I never thought I would say it, in a million years,
but then again, God, or Life, let me die right now, please.

'Alone With Everybody', by Charles Bukowski

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

5000 pages and I can't find an answer

5000 pages. Stack of Psychology books.
I fllip through pages and pages,
memories flash.
You and I.
But not anymore.
I think you don't love me back.
I don't know.
I wish I could.

My nose is runny,
my tears crash and shatter on the pages.

I can't fricking find it,
a 'Love Instructions' chapter.

I left an Engineering degree for this?
I supposed Psychology had the key to life.
I really feel dumb, innocent and immature.
Please, I want math back.
It's hard to understand,
matrices, vectors and hydrostatics,
but at least it's not impossible.

If I believed in God,
I would guess Satan invented Love.

Your lips violently trespass my mind.
Get out of here!
Well, maybe not.
Brain and heart waging a Great War.

Does Love really exist?
If it doesn't, what's the point of living?

All those poets and artists
that were drunk,
writing about finding a partner
but died unloved...
I thought they were rare exceptions.

Were it be true people die not being loved,
truly loved, I mean,
then please, Life, or God, or whoever is up there:
Take me!
TAKE ME!

 Let me die! Please!


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Poem written by me.

Amor no correspondido

El tiempo todo lo destruye.
Carcome recuerdos, sonrisas, pasiones...

En unos días, tú estarás en Buenos Aires,
volverás a encontrarte con tus amigos,
tu vida, tus estudios...

Quedarán en tu memoria nuestras historias.
Y poco a poco,
como papel preso del fuego,
el tiempo convertirá en humo nuestro fugaz amor.

Yo, aquí, pasearé por donde vimos 'Bokeh',
y una película de miedo,
donde jugamos y hablamos.
Donde me dijiste que así recordabas tu infancia.
Donde me sentía tranquilo, a tu lado.
Y también tendré que pasar por tu casa.

El dolor es de quien se queda.

Cada frase que salía de tu boca,
cada dulce gesto, tus besos...
eran éxtasis para mi cerebro.

Y mientras suelten lágrimas mis ojos,
de dolor,
forzadamente intentaré consolarlos
con tu dulce voz.

Pero estarás cansada por los exámenes,
o sólo tendrás en mente qué hacer de cena.
Y yo, en Comodoro, muero.

A la vez que escribo este intento de poema,
ese fuego interior que todos dicen que tengo
se apaga. No me apetece vivir.
No me importaría morir.

Mi corazón se retuerce.


___________________________________________________________________________________

Poem written by me.

A calm coffee morning in Germany

It's late in the morning,
city clothed by mist.
I stand by the white-framed window.
Hustle & bustle.
People rushing, it's rush hour.
Coffee is ready.
I usually like it cold,
but today it's freezing.

When I sip the mug,
my lips burned.
It slips down my esophagus,
slowly.
High density heat,
reaches its end in the stomach.
Butterflies effect.
Iris' fabric stretched,
pupils are opening gates.

Piloerection. Mydriasis.
Memories rushing in my head.

My recently burned lips,
ours purple and bruised.
Embers.
Bloody moon crater pattern,
your pale skin.

It hurts so good,
but only if it's you.

My esophagus heated,
vocal chords vibrating
to the melody of our joy.

Coffee in my stomach,
tummies touching,
soft strokes, soft skin...
Your delicate fragrance.

Your almond eyes,
open mouth
show pleasure.
I'm glad.

Scratch my back,
scratch it really bad!

.
.
.

The alarm wakes me up.
I've got to leave home.
Hustle & bustle.
Busy people.
Calm coffee morning.

Piloerection. Mydriasis.
Memories rushing in my head.


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Poem written by me.