Is me?



Do you remember that feisty girl who was full of motivation and willingness to try new adventurous challenges?
Well, she doesn’t exist any longer. You wouldn’t be able to recognise her.

​El dolor puede llegar a hacerse tan profundo, tan agudo, que traspasa el alma dejándola agujereada por siempre, sin capacidad de contener emociones pues se cuelan dejándola vacía y mas dolorida al saber que ya no puede cumplir con su función.  


Frente a la Torre Eifel

​Ya no doy nada positivo, mi corazón ya no me permite dejar sentir lo bonito. Todo es vacío dentro de mí, aunque tenga en frente la Torre Eiffel iluminada.

Ya no me comporto como madre, ya no me comporto como un ser humano, sino simplemente cómo un animal asustado que  a veces se defiende enseñado los dientes y escondiéndose otras.

No me siento nada bien. Sé que necesito ayuda para salir de esta ó no salgo.

Estoy muy mal, y el no encontrar silencio sino continuas quejas me hacen volverme loca. Estoy perdiendo la compostura y mi fuerza de voluntad. No sé que va a pasar estos días. Mis hijos necesitan otra madre que los cuide. No es justo para ellos mi comportamiento pero no lo puedo evitar, ni tampoco corregirlos.

Christmas Eve

​Paris, the cradle of love, in Christmas Eve. in a room of a luxurious hotel on the outskirts of the center, with hungry in the night in which people usually eat more than any day in the year, and without love. Or rather, with the love of my two children.

Since the airplane I have seen the illuminated Eiffel Tower in the distance. A different start of Christmas. Tomorrow will be a different day as well, with the wish of everything will end up changing.

Mi deseo de Navidad

​Tiempo de familia, amigos abrazos, cariño y soledad. Mucha soledad y tristeza que se hacen más notar entre tantas luces de Navidad y polvorones.

Un año, llevo un año luchando por mantenerme en este mundo. He dormido, me he drogado para no pensar, he jugado con la muerte a ver si me asustaba, pero he conseguir que me atraiga aún  mas. He viajado cerca, lejos, he leído, escrito, estudiado. Tengo una perra que es mi mejor regalo, 30 kg de màs y muchos dolores varios.

Un año en que he descubierto verdaderos amigos y he se han desenmascarado los que no.

Voy en un autobus destino a Málaga para desde ahí volar a Paris. 

Paris, que bonito sería poder disfrutarlo, pero me doy cuenta de que eso en mi ya es imposible. Lloro, y lloro y lloro más, porque es navidad, porque he comido al mediodía con mi madre, porque me voy de viaje con mis hijos y porque mi único deseo es llorar. Llorar porque no puedo morir. Morir, que bonito seria hacerlo en Paris, cómo en las películas. Pero no debo, pero yo quiero. 

¿La navidad no es la época donde los deseos se cumple., pues yo deseo que se cumpla el mío, poder morir sin cargo de conciencia, que sea una opción como otra.

Ese es mi deseo de navidad.

Feliz Navidad a los podéis disfrutarla. 


One day ~Un día

One day I gave all of me,
Many days I fought on the wrong side,

I fought against those who warned me of my mistake,

I fought with those who hated you because they saw me suffer,

I struggled justifying the unjustifiable,

But I wanted to believe

One day I get down but I kept fighting.

Many days I suffered, I cried, I despaired,

But I kept believing and fighting.

There came a day when so much fighting,

To know that it was not worth it,

That all my effort was useless

To see and not want to believe that the one that everyone admires,

That who they think it is, it is not with me.

Not understanding why so much indifference,

A day came where  I was empty and broken.

And another day came when the only way to stop feeling,

From feeling empty, useless, insignificant, wrong, despised,

The only way to stop being all this and to be nothing, which is the same,

It was to stop being. Stop feeling, stop living.

And many more days came where death was my only companion,

That one that does not fail, that waited for me with open arms,

The only one who wanted me, and I wanted to.

And days went by, weeks, months and even a year, without living,

Trying by all means to not feel, not to think, not to be.

And if not, when I needed to be, my body and my mind no longer knew how to be,

They had forgotten, forgotten to walk, to move, to talk, to live.

And here lies a body abandoned by its owner,

A mind that to protect itself has shielded its main connections,

By preventing the process of thinking from reaching its end,

Thus avoiding to feel, to fight that means to live, avoiding in turn to die.

And here, in a room from which you can see the largest Christmas tree in Andalusia, the tree in a shopping center where people live or pretend to live, where all that Christmas, shopping, clothing, meals and meetings,

That sound to actions of another world taken from a book of science fiction in which I do not appear.

And here, in this room with sight lies this abandoned body,

Looking lost in a huge tree of colors,

Waiting for his drug dose so that his mind continues without thinking,

Because if he did, if he woke up,

She would choose to leave with her friend the death to which she has already chosen on numerous occasions,

The last time two days ago

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London and the phantom of the opera

The thorn that I carry inside reopens and hurts with every movement, with every effort that my aching body tries to realize.

The wound is already so deep that sometimes it is about to touch that called soul. The soul, so subtle and so powerful which generates such energy that is capable of changing your world oy you can simply stop belonging to it. And your thorn, according to the motion I make, touches my soul, strikes it, its skin is so fine and sensitive, for, with a millimeter more depth of roze, my soul would break into a thousand pieces, Prick with the thorn of a beautiful rose, exploding at the same time that it dazzles by the beauty of the flower, and that makes the damage hurts a little less, although the result is is more.

My thorn is not beautiful, it is not sweet, I can not even smell it, maybe if it smells good and I face it enough so I can smell it, maybe that would numb the pain. But there is no smell, no color, no beauty, no aroma or force. There is nothing, and nothing hurts more than nothing. The absence of a whole or something. That emptiness breaks so sharply that no blessing nor magic potion can heal. The void is that, nothing, and where nothing is installed, nothing can grow there. My thorn is full of nothing, has emptied part of me, that’s why months ago that part of me left not to return.

I write this on a bus, full of people who travel, some with illusions, others, tired. A hostel is a good way to observe people, most of them alone, some not. Many happy, enthusiastic, not least. My foot, the destiny that makes my dreams can not be realized, but to win from me, has made me spend a lot of time in solitude and in the is more place, with a vibrant London around me, with a desire to walk by its gardens as the only objective of my journey, something so simple, that I could hardly realize. The first two days I decided not to think about pain, to pretend I did not exist, but this one has become stronger, to the point that the last three days have been impossible not to return after 10 minutes in the street, despite my effort, despite having tickets to a theater.

The emptiness as a malignant tumor spreads rapidly creating more empty, to the point that you stop being a person, you stop being something, to become nothing. And the little bit that remains of me tried to enjoy the musical the phantom of the opera. Who was going to tell me. I was the ghost, I felt the ghost, looking for love as the only element that could make sense to his life. I am the ghost. A ghost of mine, deformed, neglected, physically abandoned by not feeling “somebody”. Just something in the wrong place.

For two days I saw, I walked aimlessly but slowly, I discovered, I felt myself. Now minute by minute I stop feeling, and the thorn of your emptiness is doing the rest, breaking the little left of my soul. By the time he returns to Spain, all that is left is loose pieces, like the balloon that blows so hard, it exploded.

Less than a month ago, I think I was suffering from overdoses and autolytic ideas. In a month in London. Let them tell me that I am not brave, that I do not fight. But it does not matter, happiness, love, affection, that would fill my voids, flees from me.

La espina que llevo dentro se reabre y duele con cada movimiento, con cada esfuerzo que mi dolorido cuerpo intenta realizar.

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Words :


Some of them pretend to live,

Others live with as they were strangers,

The less ones live a real life, changing their fate into new challenges.

And you? Have you ever gone beyond? 

In response to The Secret Keeper’s Weekly Writing Prompt #46 

Secret Keeper Prompt

Dicen que cuando tienes muchas ganas de algo, no siempre se cumple, pero al menos te mantiene entretenido.

It is said that when you really want something, it is not always fulfilled, but at least it keeps you entertained.

Thanx 4 nothing

I saw it in a exposition in London. This send me shivers down my spine.

I want to share with you

Listen to the poet

on my 70th Birthday in 2006

I want to give my thanks to everyone for everything,

and as a token of my appreciation,
I want to offer back to you all my good and bad habits
as magnificent priceless jewels,
wish-fulfilling gems satisfying everything you need and want,
thank you, thank you, thank you,

May every drug I ever took
come back and get you high,
may every glass of vodka and wine I’ve drunk
come back and make you feel really good,
numbing your nerve ends
allowing the natural clarity of your mind to flow free,
may all the suicides be songs of aspiration,
thanks that bad news is always true,
may all the chocolate I ever eaten
come back rushing through your bloodstream
and make you feel happy,
thanks for allowing me to be a poet
a noble effort, doomed, but the only choice.

I want to thank you for your kindness and praise,
thanks for celebrating me,
thanks for the resounding applause,
I want to thank you for taking everything for yourself
and giving nothing back,
you were always only self-serving,
thanks for exploiting my big ego
and making me a star for your own benefit,
thanks that you never paid me,
thanks for all the sleaze,
thanks for being  mean and rude
and smiling at my face,
I am happy that you robbed me,
I am happy that you lied
I am happy that you helped me,
thanks, grazie, merci beaucoup.

May you smoke a joint with William,
and spend intimate time with his mind,
more profound than any book he wrote,
I give enormous thanks to all my lovers,
beautiful men with brilliant minds,
great artists,
Bob, Jasper, Ugo,
may they come here now
and make love to you,
and may my many other lovers
of totally great sex,
countless lovers
of boundless fabulous sex
countless lovers of boundless fabulous sex
countless lovers of boundless
fabulous sex
in the golden age
of promiscuity
may they all come here now,
and make love to you,
if you want,
may each of them
hold each of you in their arms
to your hearts
balling to your hearts
balling to
your hearts delight
balling to your hearts delight.

May all the people who are dead
Allen, Brion, Lita, Jack,
and I do not miss any of you
I don’t miss any of them,
no nostalgia,
it was wonderful we loved each other
but I don’t want any of them back,
now, if any of you
are attracted to any of them,
may they come back from the dead,
and do whatever is your pleasure,
may they multiply,
and be the slaves
of whomever wants them,
fulfilling your every wish and desire,
(but you won’t want them as masters,
as they’re demons),
may Andy come here
fall in love with you
and make each of you a superstar,
everyone can have
everyone can
have Andy.
everyone can have Andy,
everyone can have an Andy.

Huge hugs to the friends who betrayed me,
every friend became an enemy,
sooner or later,
I am delighted you are vacuum cleaners
sucking everything into your dirt bags,
you are none other than a reflection of my mind.

Thanks for the depression problem
and feeling like suicide
everyday of my life,
and now that I’m seventy,
I am happily almost there.

Twenty billion years ago,
in the primordial wisdom soup
beyond comprehension and indescribable,
something without substance moved slightly,
and became something imperceptible,
moved again and became something invisible,
moved again and produced a particle and particles,
moved again and became a quark,
again and became quarks,
moved again and again and became protons and neutrons,
and the twelve dimensions of space,
tiny fire balls of primordial energy
bits tossed back and forth
in a game of catch between particles,
transmitting electromagnetic light
and going fast, 40 million times a second,
where the pebble hits the water,
that is where the trouble began,
something without substance became something with substance,
why did it happen?
because something substance less
had a feeling of missing out on something,
getting it
was not getting  it
not getting it,
not getting it,
imperceptibly not having something
when there was nothing to have,
clinging to a notion of reality;
from the primordially endless potential,
to modern day reality,
twenty billion years later,
has produced me,
gave birth to me and my stupid grasping mind,
made me and you and my grasping mind.

May Rinpoche and all the great Tibetan teachers who loved me,
come back and love you more,
hold you in their wisdom hearts,
bathe you in all-pervasive compassion,
give you pith instructions,
and may you with the diligence of Olympic athletes
do meditation practice,
and may you with direct confidence
realize the true nature of mind.

America, thanks for the neglect,
I did it without you,
let us celebrate poetic justice,
you and I never were,
never tried to do anything,
and never succeeded,
I want to thank you for introducing me to
the face of the naked mind,
thanx 4 nothing.



¿Cómo es que, siendo tan inteligentes los niños, son tan estúpidos la mayor parte de los hombres? Debe ser fruto de la educación.

Alejandro Dumas (Escritor francés).

Os dejo los primeros deberes de este libro. Una charla de la organización TED donde una niña prodigio (Adora Svitak) nos enseña a los adultos lo que tenemos que aprender de los niños.

Taking off

In my narrow seat, which now it seems to me that it has shrunk  since the last time a flew, I think about life, about death. For one moment when the plain was about to take off, I realised that I didn’t want to die here. Not now, my son who is making a great effort to study and behave better to avoid going to the home school and my daughter who cried last night because she doesn’t manage to get the marks that she want to be able to choose the degree I will choose next years.
Now not, I thought as the plain was increasing the noise of the engage, what meant that it was starting to fly. At this moment I felt a glimmer of hope about my future . I still could have a life and enjoy it.
But now, that the plain is flying, with  the clouds behind us, I have felt a cold sensation crossing my body, hurt me, making me to feel despair  again.

This morning while I was walking way to the bus stop to take bus to the airport, out of the blue my left foot stated to hurt, I kept walking, regardless this, but the damage was getting bigger. In spite of go back at home, knowingly that this could affect my trip and besides, I haven’t got the documentation that will allow me to go to a hospital hin London, I made up my mind to keep on, walking and travelling. So, I decided to struggle for living.
But now, I not sure of I want that. I change mind continuously, but at least, now I am in a plain, way to London with my foot hurting, a suitcase nearly empty because the lack of clothe  I have since I got a lot of weight, without carrying make up or another stuff to be smart, but here I am, and still alive

I am fragile

While I listen to the music of Sting ” Fragile”, I think how complicated is life.

Some people who want to live, died, and others who just want to die, must fight for keep themselves alive to no cause more pain in their relatives. Life is unfair.


FRAGILE by Sting

If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one
Drying in the color of the evening sun
Tomorrow’s rain will wash the stains away
But something in our minds will always stay
Perhaps this final act was meant
To clinch a lifetime’s argument
That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could
For all those born beneath an angry star
Lest we forget how fragile we are
On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star
Like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are
How fragile we are
On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star
Like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are
How fragile we are
How fragile we are
How fragile we are.
By Sting.

Donal Trump is the new president of the Unated States, it is that I am listening from the television in the bar, whilst I am having breakfast. I don’t usually, or rather, never watch TV at home, but now I am in Granada waiting for the hour of my appointment with my psychiatrist.
While I was walking from the bus stop to here, I have remembered the last time I was here with him. As much as I tried to forget him, I can’t pull out of my mind.
For a while, when I was passing beside the Cathedral, I thought that I have done lived, just for moments, but I have lived. But now I feel that I am dead, I was always dead, and I will be dead the rest of my live on earth.

Todavía, however, I seems to me strange the image of my attempt to kill myself.
But it happened, to week ago, exactly, it happened.
Oh no, just now, the waiter has switch on the music, I am not able to listen the music yet without getting nervous, unless the music is classic or relaxing.

There are shedloads of changes in me since I was wandering around with him in here.
I have been without making me up almost a year.
Now I weight about 90 kg, when before I weighted 62kg. Anyone who looks at me can see a sloopy woman in his mid ages, scared, without strong, mindless, without nothing special that appears people. This is me now, or not, because I feel that I passed away on years ago.
It’s time I go from the bar because there is a marvellous song from Shakira and Mana that makes me cry.

Diary 3/11/2016

What today has happened is outrageous for me, far cry what seemed to be an uneventful journey.
I had an appointment with the psychologist of the insurance for this morning. She has told me that she leaves me, because I’ve done a grave thing and I need an specialists, thus she is used to working with less important diseases. But the true is that she does not want to have any responsibility if I get worse, namely if I try to commit suicide, and yet she doesn’t give the help that I need.
I felt as if I don’t deserve that someone aid me by I did last week. It’s more, when I went out of the clinic I thought that the problem isn’t already that I sometimes don’t want to live, but I do not deserve to live.
I am glad that this morning an afterthought before I took the bus made me call to my former psychologist and he this had reserved this afternoon for me. I have been talking deeply about how I feel and he has really helped me understand everything and has calmed me down.
I am ill, but I am not idiot to believe what the insurance wants me to do.

This is me

Some people live life, others pretend to live.
I no longer pretend anything, I only survive.
Sometimes with fear, sometimes I find some peace,
sometimes I fight and let me beat others.
This is me.

The sea and my fears.

I’m by the sea, in front of me, gulls hovering; and I wonder if they are free despite their flight or are tied to the survival instinct that don’t allow them to move away from the group. What would happen if one decided to fly on their own, without a guide ?. While I watch them, I feel a tense calm that a minutes ago was fear, terror, horror. As a thriller where you are with the soul in a fist because you do not know who is the bad guy, nor when will appear, making viewers sticking a jump from their chairs or close their eyes whenever the suspenseful music sounds, so I’ve lived my walk along the beach. Scared, petrified, terrified, trying to look at the sea, the palm trees, to think in other stuff, but my body shakes and trembles at the presence of “people”. My phobia increases despite my efforts like I have made today keeping my walk without avoiding it.hombre-frente-al-mar

Estoy junto al mar, en frente de mí, gaviotas revoloteando; y yo me pregunto si son libres a pesar de su vuelo ó estan atadas al instinto de supervivencia que que no les permite alejarse del grupo. ¿ Que sucedería si una decidiera volar por su cuenta, sin guía?. Mientras las observo, siento una calma tensa que hace un momento era miedo, terror, horror. Como en un thriller en que estás con el alma en un puño por que no sabes quien es el malo, ni cuando aparecerá, haciendo que los espectadores peguen un salto de sus sillas o se tapen los ojos cada vez que la música de suspense suene, así he vivido yo mi paseo por la playa. Asustada, petrificada, aterrorizada, tratando de mirar al mar, las palmeras, de evadirme, pero mi cuerpo tiembla y tiembla ante la presencia de “personas”. Mi phobia incrementa a pesar de mis esfuerzos como el de hoy, de seguir caminando y no esquivarlo.

Following my steps

Alone, I am physically really alone in this moment, except from the company of my dog.

I am sitting in a big stone close to the railway, where nobody can see me, but I do. I can see from time to time people who are crossing the bridge which pass across the railway.

At my right, there are stones which form the rail, at my back and left, green plants which shelter me. In front of me, posters, the iron bridge, far mountains, blue sky and freedom.

Here I feel safe, the safety that can feel an animal, for a while, which is about to be hunted and finds a small shelter. A stillness that may be broken by the discovering of the hunter.

I feel like this, but nobody is pursuing me, nothing else than my fears. They are continuously following my steps. They live in my shadow and as much as I run away, they are always beside me.

Even though I feel fear, i look for appalling places where the fear could be realshelter2


Some days before ~Unos dias antes

Continuación de Monday, behind a window.~ Lunes, tras el cristal de una ventana.

It was Wednesday. In the morning I was gone walking at long last , and nothing foreshadowed what happened later. I had been several days without going out, if not weeks or months and the Saturday before the idea of looking for job, which told me the psychologist, created such a level of helplessness and incomprehension in me that I ended up taking 20 antianxiety pills to stop my mind, even for some hours.

But it had already been elapsed four days and even on Sunday I decided to go to Granada to spend three days in a hostel with the idea of  walking in a different place to not let me downnot. My son, who has a great intuits, decided to come to watch out of me, thus advantage to skip classes with my consent. But fate, or my impulses did not give me respite. In less than an hour, a discussion of less than 5 minutes between mother and daughter made my world collapsed to the point that I felt a tiny speck of dust, which anyone can trample without even seeing it. That was I, in bed, and then in the kitchen for pills. It spent half an hour or maybe just 5 minutes, I do not know, and  the intake of 90 pills  seemed insufficient to calm my pain. Then the idea became, I should punish me, I had to  hurt me as I was not doing my job as a mother or as a person. The idea grew and grew in me until there is no other thing in me than the desire to see the blood running in my wrist and with a little luck, who knows, maybe the injury was serious. That game of life and death catches me in their networks constantly and this time a voice inside me said- ‘ get up, grab something to cut and hurt yourself’. Again and again, again and again and again. Among shivering  I wrote a message “please come and take everything that cut me home.” In less than 5 minutes Tere was knocking on the door and then Gustavo. All of us decided to go to the doctor to they could controll the desire.

Upon arrival at the health center I had two doctors around me, three nurses, serum with an antidote on my arm and the ambulance waiting. In seconds the pills began to take effect and was unable to open his eyes or to answer questions.

The guy of the ambulance, which had already taken me to the hospital in another occasion, asked me my name. I heard it farther and farther and more until all seemed like a dream. I was in the ambulance, the hospital unit Loja in critical states with doctors and nurses taking care of me, injecting me, performing analytical, and there already returned to recover, my tolerance for pills is already enormously creepy even for me. I only was sleepy, I wanted to sleep, not to think, to be quiet and so I spent the night in a spacious room hospital Loja.

At midnight I woke up to the voice of a nurse who could not decipher saying but I had my brother at his side, my side, and that I also found a dream, but I knew it was true, my words did not have much logic, I said something like “Uiff, seems a puzzle of these tetris”. And so I spent the night in which the world went and came to me.

At dawn I returned to stay alone in the room until a the ambulance came  to transfer me to the hospital in Granada, to enter the psychiatric unit.

And there began another new experience in my life, those that leave their mark, of which I think everyone should experience at least.

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