I cut myself. Once. I felt empty. Or worse, I felt a piece of rubbish. Alone. No love. Nothing. Just empty.

And all this frustration, all this loneliness, all empty. I was empty, nothing inside, nothing outside, just void. I am empty, i am empty, i am empty, if i concentrate hard enough i will disappear, empty, nothing, silence.

And something started to grow inside of me.

Frustration

I can’t escape. Void is stronger than me. I lose. And i could feel physically this animal growing inside me, i could hear it, feel how it moved inside me, starving, consuming me, since the deepest part of myself getting to the surface, just under my skin where i could even touch it.

I felt contaminate, dirty, infected. And more frustrated, because it was nothing i could do to escape, to find the exit. And nobody to help me, i am in my own…

in my own

“your problems are your problems”

My problems…
…my problems

So i did it. I just wanted to sink, touch bottom and feel my pain with all its intensity. To die of sorrow. It was with my father’s razor blade and i wrote down “my problem” just up my left knee. And it felt fucking good. I liked it, i loved it, i fucking loved it. I started writing with shaking hand, insecure, sitting down on the bathroom, freezing my legs and back because of the tiles, but with the first superficial cut a calm, warm, sensation cover my body, since the depths, just were the void has been one before. The taste of blood came up to my mouth and i savoured it. Oh yeah, it felt fucking good. My hand got the razor blade firmly and the cuts gained depth and size.

When i finished i stayed in there, sitting down on the bathroom floor, caressing the bleeding letters in my leg and thinking about what i was doing with my life.

I never did it again, I knew it was foolish, wrong, immature, and useless. The truth is that i felt pride of my scar. I get used to caress the wound and looked at it alone in my room, with a strange feeling of pride because nobody knew about that, it was mine, my secret, my secret bleeding heart and nobody else knew it. During two years i couldn’t go to the beach or show my legs because against my extremely white and clear skin, the letters shone as if freshly done.

But it wasn’t me, it was just one dark part of me. And now I am another person. No scars, no empty.

CUTTING

y por supuesto que no lo entiendes. tampoco ha intentado explicártelo. Lo que sí entiendes es que hay cosas que no puedes entender, porque pertenecen a mundos a los que nunca te has visto arrastrada. Y las diferencias se levantan como murallas, infranqueables, poderosas, impenetrables. impenetrables...

Tú. FULL STOP. Ella. FULL STOP. Ella. FULL STOP. Tú. FULL STOP.
No hay lugar para ti. No hay dolor compartido, más allá del dolor estéril del espectador. Dolor limpio, sin heridas ni cicatrices.
No habrá te quieros.
cuando los actos hablan a gritos las palabras callan, inútiles
ruido t ruido e ruido q ruido u ruido i ruido e ruido r ruido o ruido

the truth is red
la muralla amortigua todo lo demás
the truth is red the truth is red the truth is red
no hay sonidos, ni voces
solamente
the truth is red
is red
the truth
RED

Va ' dove ti porta il cuore

"Es durante la adolescencia cuando empieza a formarse alrededor de nuestro cuerpo una coraza invisible. Se forma durante la adolescencia y sigue aumentando a lo largo de toda la edad adulta. El proceso de su crecimiento se parece un poco al de las perlas: cuanto más grande y profunda es la herida, más fuerte es la coraza que se le desarrolla alrededor. Pero después, con el paso del tiempo, como un vestido que se ha llevado demasiado, en los sitios de mayor roce empieza a desgastarse, deja ver la trama, repentinamente por un movimiento brusco se desgarra. Al principio no te das cuenta de nada, estás convencida de que la coraza todavía te envuelve por completo, hasta que un día, de pronto, ante una cuestión estúpida y sin saber por qué vuelves a encontrarte llorando como un niño."

Donde el corazón te lleve, Susanna Tamaro

hurt