lunes, 24 de julio de 2017

Why suicide isn't a matter of "strenght".

It's hard for me to picture someone who has never dealt with suicidal thoughts, since most of my friends have gone through a lot and many of them have diagnosed depression. I've also realized that people from my generation seems to have depression and anxiety in common, I see it everywhere. I've written before about people that I knew who committed suicide, and I have struggled with those ideas in the past, many times, actually.

Recently, I went to see a therapist because I became very afraid of not being able to handle it myself anymore, because I know I'm very strong, even when I feel like I'm not but this isn't about being strong or brave; being strong has nothing to do with not being able to go out and talk to the people I love for the last 3 days. Suicidal thoughts don't get only inside "weak" people's minds (whatever is your definition of "weak", since that's also very subjective), you see, when I'm suicidal I know I have reasons to keep living, I know my dad loves me as much as the rest of the family and friends I have; I know I could have a great life and there many things that I'd like to do before I die, but depression doesn't make sense and do you know why? because it's an illness. A mental illness doesn't need to be reasonable at all, if I were able to convince the chemicals in my brain of the things the logical part of me already knows, I wouldn't even need therapy, it probably wouldn't be considered an illness, but a dumb choice.

I think the part that pisses me off the most about this, is that there are people putting energy into criticizing these poor souls who couldn't help committing suicide like they are the filthiest beings in the world, instead of focusing on why so many people have depression and how to make it better, how to help friends, family, or even ourselves. Just because someone can handle depression and stay alive by focusing on the rational side, it doesn't mean that everyone else can do it that way. There are many types of depression and every single head works differently. For some of us, asking for help takes many years, while for others asking for help is the easiest part. Even with help, I'm pretty sure it's a hard, long journey in most of the cases.

How about we learn from this very sad situation and help each other? Let's have some mercy and empathy and if you can't, keep it to yourself, nobody needs to be put down like that.

domingo, 16 de julio de 2017


It was December when I got to work one day and a friend told me about what happened to O. Of course, knowing someone I knew in person and was friends with at some point of my life died, was a big shock by itself. It was painful and sad but I could have never known the impact it would have over me and the decisions I would make.

It was finals' week and I was printing one of my final projects when another friend of mine sent me an article. It was about how O. died, it was about his suicide; now I was sure that it was suicide. I remember standing there telling to myself "not now" just to avoid making a scene in front the store's employees, so as soon as I was ready to go, I hurried inside the mall I needed to go through in order to  get to the bus stop. The entire mall was covered in Christmas. I saw happy families, giant gifts everywhere and children taking pictures with Santa Claus, all while listening to happy songs about how good it is to be together during the holidays... but what about O.'s family? what about O.?

O. wouldn't have a merry Christmas ever again and I was pretty sure his mom and his brothers wouldn't have it that year (if they ever could have one someday). The entire world seemed to melt in front of my eyes, it was like watching a movie screen, it was all made of cardboard. Love, happiness, friendship, it all seemed fake, all of that would never be enough, no cure would ever exist. And I wondered "Is this what O. was feeling? Is this why he left? Can I see what he saw and made him want to go away?". The mall seemed to never end for a moment; it probably took me around 5 minutes to walk across it with cold sweat on my back and my legs shaking but I felt the world mocking me for hours. The moment I got out of there, I tried to keep walking under the dark of the night but how could I? how could I keep breathing in a world made of cardboard? how could I ever keep going? and I felt tears burning my face while choking, still trying to walk through the empty parking lot until I fell down and sobbed without anyone around me. I knew life would never be the same, that even if the rest of the world seemed to be working perfectly with a young man hanging himself somewhere, I could never have a cardboard life. Those hot burning tears, kept rolling down my face the entire way home, also weeks before, during nights when I finally got home and even now, months before whenever I remember that night.

It's July but that winter never ended for me. I keep trying to believe in love and friendship, and find beauty all around me, sometimes even getting excited over small things, but I can't help wondering sometimes... will it ever be enough again?

I can't forget about that article, which was mistaken about his age, he wasn't 22; actually, he was 23 when he passed away. I'll be 23 in three months.

domingo, 16 de abril de 2017

Lost boy is lost. How unexpected.

I'm in a weird position here. So far, I know I'm a boy and that seemed enough for a couple hours after talking to a therapist about it, it made me very happy to realize that I had been sure for a long time and just playing dumb for different reasons. I am a transgender male.

"But now what?" people always ask. You see, I thought that if the time finally came and somebody were interested in me, the questions would be about my name, nouns, how and why. Reality consists of people asking about my body. They all want to know about surgery, will I get it? how many? when? what about hormones? and I don't blame them, as long as they ask nicely, because I think of all that too sometimes about other people (I just rather keep my mouth shut). Truth is, I'd like to try hormones but I won't be doing it yet, maybe not until I move out from my dad's house and not because he will kick me out, but because I don't feel like explaining this to him; I thought I was forced to explain myself from the point I realized I'm not the pretty girl others think I am, and there I was, panicking about when I should tell people until a friend told me that I don't have to explain myself if I don't want to, that if I wasn't dating these people, it was ok to stay quiet. It's not like we're about to have sex and then I tell them "Oh by the way, I'm a man so now you're having gay sex, love lol". I like being transparent, but I guess I can keep a couple things to myself too.

I have to keep in mind that I'm not my body, that this is only the house, the person I am is living in. And it's ok to be a man with amazing hips and legs (I don't mind that at all), I only have to get used to the idea that some men also have breasts and learn not to hate mine. It would be great if one day I woke up and they weren't there, but I doubt it happens, so I have to live with it at least until I am ready to get surgery, if I am someday.

Now I keep questioning myself. When should I make it public? until I'm using hormones? until I live far away? should I even wait? No, fuck it. Today... or not? What about family? what about teachers? what about my boss? Should I post it on facebook and watch the world burn?

But the biggest question of all is: What the fuck am I supposed to wear if I want to go swimming? well... that doesn't happen often anyway, I'll have to wait a couple years more.

miércoles, 6 de enero de 2016

Son of light and darkness

I found the black rusty door. Even though it looked like it could burn, the warmth was only palpable for the eyes. My fingers doubted as the coldness of the iron kissed them. It was light as a cloud but it cried as I opened it entirely and made my way inside of the room. I thought it was only me and the white silhouette of light that was coming through the door I just opened, then I saw it in the middle of the darkness below a white light. What is... it? Maybe an ice block... is it made of glass? I kept walking towards it... him. Us. As I became closer, I could see my face reflected on the ice that was covering him. His body was almost in fetal position while standing up and his hands were covering his face but I could see through him, I could see the little diamond tears running down his arms, I could feel his heartbeat singing a lullaby along with mine. I closed my eyes and felt his face in front of me, it was a vision. With our noses barely touching, I knew what was happening, that wasn't just my reflection, that wasn't a he or a she, that was me, that was actually us. And he held me so hard against his chest that I felt all my fears escape through my pores, all the agony coming through my head as some kind of steam. It was burning so I opened my eyes and we hadn't move an inch. I caressed his forehead and kissed his horns. I held his frozen skin, making all the ice melt and little by little the water frosting started shining on him like sugar, turning into beautiful sweat. His diamond tears kept running down again and his body started shaking. His voice cried like the awakening of the universe while his entire body shivered in my arms. The son of the universe stood in front of me and slowly put his hands on his sides. His long smooth tail finally moved like a black snake ready to attack. His eyes in front of me were completely white but they still told me that he was awake, he could see me. A grin popped out of his lips framed by his red skin face with beautiful fangs, as white as the light above us. His arms surrounded me and I could feel his hands like torches on my back. The heat coming out of him matched his skin color but even then, he wasn't burning me. We got closer as the light faded, his face was right in front of mine, noses together, eyelids closed...

domingo, 9 de marzo de 2014

Poema "Annabel Lee", de Edgar Allan Poe, traducido y adaptado por mí.

Fue hace muchos, muchos años,
En un reino junto al mar,
En donde vivía una doncella que tal vez conozcan
Por el nombre de Annabel Lee;
Y esta doncella vivía sin pensar en más
Que amarme y ser amada por mí.

Yo era un niño y ella era una niña,
En éste reino junto al mar;
Pero amamos con un amor que era más que amor
Mi Annabel Lee y yo;
Con un amor que los serafines del cielo
Nos codiciaban a ella y a mí.

Y ésta es la razón por la que, hace mucho,
En éste reino junto al mar
El viento sopló por una nube, enfriando
Mi hermosa Annabel Lee;

Entonces llegó su pariente de alcurnia
Y la arrebató de mí,
Para enclaustrarla en un sepulcro
En éste reino junto al mar.

Los ángeles, ni medio felices en el cielo,
nos envidiaban a ella y a mí.
¡Sí! Esa fue la razón (como todos los hombres saben
en éste reino junto al mar)
Por la que el viento salió de entre las nubes en la noche
helando y matando a mi Annabel Lee.

Pero nuestro amor era por mucho, más fuerte que el amor
de aquellos mayores que nosotros,
de aquellos más sabios que nosotros.
Y ni los ángeles del cielo encima,
ni los demonios debajo del mar,
podrán nunca separar mi alma del alma
de la hermosa Annabel Lee.

La luna nunca brilla sin traerme los sueños
de la hermosa Annabel Lee;
Y las estrellas nunca se elevan sin que sienta los brillantes ojos
de la hermosa Annabel Lee;
Y así, toda la noche con la marea, me acuesto al lado
de mi querida, mi amada, mi vida y mi novia,
en el sepulcro junto al mar,
en su tumba junto al rugiente mar.

miércoles, 5 de febrero de 2014


Es como caer y rodar por una espiral que no termina. Es ver la misma película una y otra vez con una cadena de déja vùs en donde todos viven como si no recordaran nada y no te pudieran oír gritando mientras clavas las uñas en el piso sin logro alguno. Nada te empuja, pero nada te detiene. Caes y caes y sigues cayendo; entonces hiperventilas y el frío trepa hasta tu pecho. Ojos que ven borroso, siluetas deformes, latidos y de repente nada... tu cuerpo no te deja respirar más y se detiene. Puedes ver, puedes pensar y crees que vas a morir en ese mismo momento. Esperas que alguna mano te arrastre porque parece que al fin es el momento, pero no pasa nada. Tu pecho ya no se mueve y aún así sigues consciente. No. No es el momento, no puede serlo. Algo se enciende adentro de ti y puedes sentir tu piel gritando en cada vello que se eriza. Ves obscuridad mientras inhalas como nunca lo has hecho, como si volvieras a nacer pero sin los beneficios de ser nuevo. No parece otra oportunidad, parece más una idea deforme que no ha incubado en tu cabeza lo suficiente. Nada sale como lo planeaste... ¿alguna vez lo hizo?