CATCH THE NIGHT

I always saw myself as a safety net for all the people I knew. I have always tried to cushion everyone’s fall, even those who do not know how they ended up on the net. Then one day I realized that I can’t spend my whole life cushioning the falls of others, because the one who gets hurt in the end is always me, tense and waiting. Becoming aware of your limits is perhaps one of the most powerful and at the same time debilitating things that can exist. You understand that you are not Atlas, that you do not have the world on your shoulders, and with the relief comes the feeling of loss, bewilderment. You feel small, all the potential strength you had dissolved in an instant. It remains only you with your limits and the awareness that Atlas the world on his shoulders in the end had it as a punishment, otherwise with the cock that he chose to carry the globe on his back. Every now and then the lump in the throat returns, the breath stops in small moments of panic in which you just try to get a little air into the lungs. I feel suffocated by the weight of all the things I haven’t done.

FASTER THAN FURIOUS

People go on, but I stay behind. Between the constant panic attacks, my thousand obsessions and paranoia, between my beliefs and my illusions, between my words and my thoughts, between traffic and horns, between graduates and workers, between being or not being, I stay behind, between the accelerated beats and those too slow. I am always, at least, one step behind, even if I pretend that I do not weigh it on me, even if I strive four times as much, something must always happen, even a tiny thing that slows me down, and it is difficult to pretend to feel good while I struggle continuously and obsessively to do something on time. I would like to reach things quickly, I feel so much pressure that I end up slowing down by myself, complicating things, but I don’t think it’s all my fault. I think part of the problem is in society that forces me to do anything in a set time, almost as if we were machines. The problem is that not all of us are perfect, indeed, some are even so slow that they find it difficult to breathe. Some are like me.
They talked to me too often about friendship, now I don’t even think it exists anymore. Before I was hoping for it, today I have resigned myself and it is a bad reality. You put in your soul, body, mental and physical health, blood and bones to get a lot of fucking nothing, not even respect, not even that anymore. And yes, having a friend is a beautiful thing, but I have no reach, I don’t know if it is because I have always put too much heart into it, but no one has ever done anything to have my friendship, then there is me who in three seconds I send fuck all for this. What deluded. Who are then called “friends” and are always ready to throw the first stone, to spit on respect and, above all, to believe they know me, when they stopped at the external facade. What a hypocrite he is who considers himself my friend, you only want to be friends with me when it suits you!

PANIC ATTACK

A panic attack causes certain specific symptoms such as tachycardia and the feeling of having a heart attack, wheezing and cold sweats. When you try it for the first time and arrive in the emergency room, not knowing what is happening to you, doctors mislead the conversation by talking about stress as if the word panic were taboo. However, panic often comes with images, sometimes at the same time of the day and sometimes as a surprise. The attack of anguish is very different. It is as if a hole is opened in the diaphragm and this is about to absorb all the vital strenght. All you can do is lie down and wait for it to pass. There is no tachycardia and no images or sweats. Just the feeling that something inside you is about to be absorbed or poisoned. I describe this distinction because they are such profound personal experiences that after so many years I can distinguish them well. I have seen, reading many texts, that hardly anyone ever talks about images referring to states of anxiety. I do not know if research has been done in this regard but I have not found any feedback. Yet in me the attacks have always been preceded by images, blurred, but which were repeated every time.

INNER DEATH

Why don’t many women raise their arms, scream and rebel? Because they were killed by girls by men who abused them. This is why they continue to suffer without having the strength to rebel. Because they have been killed inside and cannot see each other, feel, live wanting something. They are like ghosts of themselves. We are always overwhelmed by those atrocious memories that cause us panic, depression and inner death. This is why we are unable to have more strength in our voice. We have been killed. I died at 4. Nobody can give me back my childhood and I hope that mankind will all disappear from the face of the earth. I don’t forgive anyone.

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