Vallecanó

There, there (speaking to myself)

Don’t get me wrong. Or do.

I have this few friends, I do know how to speak to them.

But I still got this silly feeling that I speak better publickly.

It’s been a year now.

This gal. She may believe it or not.

She always were one of my outmost inspirations.

Both in art and in live.

She had come to my ‘hood. I had told her that bar had a great coffee brew.

And it did.

Nonetheless, I ordered a fucking glass of whiskey.

(…)

Chances are I was through some kind of a psychotic break myself.

Those are common in me. And I fucking better mind myself up with it.

Anyways. We were at a park after that.

I… I was in love with her.

And she. Well. She confessed to me she was with her bf (some Psysicist) just because he was writing her Ph. D. for her.

At that point my heart was torn to… Many million pieces?

Of course, I did speak to my psychiatrist about that.

He said that was some “desiderative” aspect of my own psychotic break (I thought she was through another… She did be through a lot).

He also told me if she was with her boyfriend out of some “freaking piece of paper” I considered myself capable of writing it as well.

And well… Some other psyquiatrist passed me through a Weschler IQ test at my age 5.

That was how Captchas had to be invented…

In all seriousness. Now I am fat.

I have been uncapable of starting the notebook in which I will (because I just fucking will) write my first novel.

Tons of notes here and there, tho.

I have been weeks now with this weird (and painful) feeling that I need to cry.

And I… I cannot.

Thanks for being here.

This is what Psyquiatric Wards Are Truly About

Many people have asked me (IRL), so I thought I would make an entry on it as well.

I have spent this month as a whole in a Psyquiatric Ward of a Hospital in my ‘hood.

There, there, I know you fellow reader thought me to be the Paragon of Sanity.

Facts hate to disagree, nonetheless.

Anyways, here’s what Psych Wards are about: A Whorehouse for both mind and body.

There are people who don’t know what they are doing there, be it as obvious as an attempted suicide.

Poeple who hardly can speak…

That was my very case the first time I were in, truth be told.

Oh, that. There are tons of newbiers who think that will be their last time.

I speak about God here a lot.

In these aspects, all I can say is bless their hesrts (I am not loling…).

I found the trick a couple stays ago:

You find a hot chich who is in her right mind (bettering possible), and you hold hands or hug.

If you are a foot fetish as well… Well. Use your imagination.

Really? You gonna keep with that?

I also had this mid-term stay of 8 months and things with this chick (let’s call her Laura) got so out of hand that I would finger her on a daily basis or she would give me handjobs.

Thanks for reading.

PS. Just reviwed. I hope I was joking, but I said a total of 0 lies or exaggerations here.

Off My Chest!

I had been way too down for some days… Perhaps weeks now.

I was home alone when I decided to call a suicide prevention public number of my country someone had taken their time to share on Twitter.

First thing I say is my name is Daniel. She inmediately replies there is no need for me to say my name. That everything is confidential and anonymous.

As far as that can be great, I stand there is a freaking social need to speak about this.

We spoke for a 20ish minutes.

Aside from family issues I have no right to speak about publickly, we spoke, among other things,

About me feeling not realised as an artist, about the 9 years I have been now struggling with mental health (hard drug here; psiquiatry, antipsychotics).

About how I had spent 5 years with a psiquiatrist so bad to me I almost feel she attempted to kill me.

About how I spent eight months in a psiquiatric ward, which was only good for me to lose interest in living (…).

About how it confronted me with my parents…

We finally spoke about loneliness, about how I feel this sick world is lonely in itself.

She agreed with me, and I can tell by the tone in her voice she wasn’t lying.

We also spoke about my freaking 1** IQ points, about how either I wasn’t ready for this world or the other way around.

That woman has very likely saved my life.

Bless her.