The language of love letters is the same as suicide notes

A shot to kill the pain
A pill to drain the shame
A purge to stop the gain
A cut to break the vein
A smoke to ease the crave
A drink to win the game
An addiction's an addiction 
Because it always hurts the same 


Razors pain you,
Rivers are damp
Acid stains you
Drugs cause cramps
Guns aren't lawful
Nooses give
Gas smells awful
You might as well live

It's raining outside. The thunders sound like almonds breaking in the sky. And the rain could  be little almonds hitting a padded roof. The grass suddenly becomes blue and the God dyes the sky pink and the clouds become amethysts. Slowly, the red nail polish comes from heaven like a holy fall from the clouds and this liquid kills all the human beings in the world.

It was something like this: I was in the middle of nowhere. I think I was alone. So I had to walk and walk, a mountain, and then enter inside of a tunnel. In the tunnel I would an empty cave with rails and as soon as I get there a train would come, maybe a red one. A guy came and told me that I had to take the blue one, sometimes it was going to be the second train, some other times it would be another train. I took the train, the blue one. I can not remember what happen, I remember it was awesome. I remember a villain of peanut butter and jelly who was trying to put jelly & peanut butter in a river. But then I made a mistake, a told about this magical cave to other people to the point that they constructed a mall annexed to the cave something like an office of gossip magazine who used to be in the magic world (I remember whenever I get to that office something changed, the people wouldn't remember me and sometimes they would be obese, some other times there was a small fake town there), and a few Disney attractions, like meet and greet thing. So once I tried to take the train with a friend but when I got there I noticed there was a lot of people. I waited but there was no blue train, just red, green, black. I asked about the train to this girl and she said "here it comes". I said "you take a red one?". She did not answer and I left to a Disney attraction of meet and greet. I talked to this actor who was supposed to be in an old tv show in which he even got to sell weed for his son. So when he said that I felt alone and I started to cry and run around the cave: in a part with rain, next to the office, next to Drake Bell who was there I don't know why, until I got to the entrance of the mall and my math teacher saw me, she said "if I didn't care I wouldn't say anything, come here" so I ran away from her through the office. I woke up later I had some tears on my eyes.

The first one is still there. She's pale but then she can blush all the time. She has light brown hair and it's short. She's skinnier than me and her ass is bigger than mine, as well as her boobs. I can see why he liked her instead of me. She doesn't think she's pretty but I think she is. She lives inside her own world of fantasy and love, her head is in the clouds all the time, not pink clouds. I bet her pussy is pink but she doesn't like pink. However, all the things related with sex she's into is Fifty Shades of Grey, and that was probably her sexual awakening. She's such a girly girl although she doesn't like pink, so I think it's weird that her sexual awakening was partially Twilight and partially a BDSM novel. She's lovely.

The second one was pale too. So pale. She didn't even blush. She had blue eyes and blonde hair but she dyed it black, then it grew up brown and now I think it's red. She's skinny, flat and perfect. She tried to kill herself. I can't possibly imagine how can someone as beautiful as her can be ignored and can suffer from lack of love. 

The third one wasn't pale. She had brown eyes, brown hair and a round face. She wasn't so skinny although she wasn't fat at all. She was beautiful, in every single way. Strong, pretty and she tried to kill herself. But she survived because God wants her for a sunbeam. 

I just saw "Turn me on, Dammit!" and I love it so much. Birdie and I laughed a lot with it, like with almost every single movie. Kind of "FUCK HE POKED HER WITH HIS DICK WTF". Yeah, that's me. Did you know that "pikken" means dick in norwegian? That girl has some grrrl attitude. But then she falls in love like everyone. Sara's boyfriend, Kjartan, kinda looks like him. Of course, mine isn't a stoner. I wish he was more into weed, we could be together and be happy together with weed. But nope. 

I'm going to smoke one cigarette and then I'm going to bed. Today I slept until 12 pm but I'm tired as fuck. I'm always tired as fuck anyway. Maybe it's because I took like 3 pills for my fake headache. 

In love with Courtney Love

I have issues with love. For being such a loveless person, I love way too much. Just because I'm not a blonde pornstar doesn't mean I don't deserve a little love.
I'm listening to Eyes on fire and then I think about you. My way to describe my love is "I love you so much it makes me sick". I should kill myself, oh God I really wish I could kill myself. And I'm not sad. And just in time, in the right place, suddenly I will play my ace.
I miss your voice and I feel alone. Why do you hate me? Why do you hate me? Why don't you love me? Not a single piece. I didn't throw up.
Melancholic wish of glitter all over my nails. And the lipstick was everywhere. And she was wearing heart-shaped sunglasses. And the sky was made of little plastic stars and clouds of smoke. Who's afraid of it because of the pain? Do you want to be sober or stoned? I will be right back, let me buy cocaine and coke. Do you want some heroin, too? Who's an american bitch? Who? Tell me who the fuck are you?
Courtney Love. Courtney Love Cobain. Courtney Loves Cobain. Courtney Loves Hate Cobain. Courtney Love Hates Cobain. Courtney Hates Cobain. Courtney Michelle Harrison.
I'm fat as fuck. The scars one my wrist just decided to show up. Small, left hand, skinny line. Skinny love: you can't be loved if you're not thin. What is wrong with this shit? I need a minute to catch my breath. People are really dumb. I can stay here forever. Forever. Forever. Forever. And then let me sleep forever, forever, forever. I might have to go.
Do you wanna be a dirty blonde too? If you are I will whoreship you.

"Heavenly paradise, probably, is rather boring, and there's so much fluffy Seraphic eiderdown there that smoking is banned... Mind you, sometimes the angels smoke, hiding it with their sleeves, and when the archangel comes, they throw the cigarettes away: that's when you get shooting stars."

-Nabokov

You're a fucking gutless whore, aren't you?

I don't really miss God, but I sure miss Santa Claus

Am I allowed to talk about love? Like in a really pathetic and hippie way. But I'll have to wait a second, I'm listening to Gutless and to be honest this song doesn't makes me feel like talking about love.
Heart-Shaped box.
I told you about this girl from my class who lives inside a world of love fantasies. I want to be here for a few minutes. Or try.
How do I feel? How do I feel? I feel like I'm in the middle of the sea. There's no water but then suddenly and huge wave comes and hits me. I'm drowning in anxiety (No, I can't be her). It hits me with some kind of weird beauty. Like it's a wave of rose petals and rose water. A pink ocean, where people use to have sex after their weddings. Then when I notice I didn't drown and I'm on the surface of the ocean I can look at the sky. It's a starry, lonely summer night. You can see the stars shinning like little diamonds, like little pieces of the broken sun. Here's the love story of the moon and the sun; the story of how the sun loved the moon so much he died every night to let her breathe. When the sun killed himself, after putting a gun against his head, the pieces of his mind became stars. Yeah, that's it, love and suicide; flowers and stars.
It literally shakes my world. I can't be okay and this doesn't help at all. Why do we have to watch movies? Movies make us think about things we can't actually get and it hurts you until you finally get used to a cruel cold world.
Your priceless advice, priceless advice... I'm thinking if he ever gave me a priceless advice. Oh wait he did. "You know how I stopped being depressed? I got tired of it. So I just stopped".
The words I used to describe my love for her were a little disturbing. "You're my gun when I'm broken".
And the the hippie rhythm. So happy together. And you say you belong to me. I wonder how does it feel like if someone can actually feel that for you. I'm so used to feel this way for the people. But did anyone ever feel that about me?
Thanks mom for fucking up my thoughts. Who the fuck cares about the fucking tarot and the dangers of the fucking satanism?

Be a failed grrrl

¿Qué era yo? ¿Qué soy? Ya no soy capaz de explicar nada. Desde hace dos semanas que pienso en matarme todo el tiempo y desde el fin de semana pasado he intentado cortarme las venas al menos 3 veces pero siempre me detengo. No es tan fácil como cortarse las piernas. Estoy tan aburrida, como narcotizada. Vivo en un estado en el que mi felicidad ha sido anestesiada. Hablo en serio, ¿qué se siente ser feliz? Supongo que cuando era pequeña era feliz pero la verdad no me acuerdo de nada, no recuerdo lo que se siente ser feliz o al menos esa falsa felicidad. ¿Era falsa porque venía de la ignorancia o sí podría llamarla felicidad? No cambies, por favor, sigue queriéndome. Siento que todos huyen de mí, ¿estoy tan mal? Hoy lloré por mi mejor amigo, él estaba triste y me sentí como una molestia. En cuanto a ella, se va en julio. Hoy en el receso quería decirle todo. Tengo ganas de sentarme con ella un día y decir absolutamente todo. No puedo hablar, estoy sola y necesito alguien a quien decirle eso. Ella, encerrada en su romántico mundo de fantasía quizás ya no tan virgen mentalmente, puede no saber mucho de este tipo de mundo de fantasía en el que vivo yo. Son tan diferentes. Pero es suficientemente inteligente para entender al menos la mitad de lo que digo, o tal vez no.
Perdón por ser una molestia, te quiero. Yo también.
Carla, Alicia, Chris. Tengo estrellas brillantes en las uñas y esmalte de uñas rosa. Comer está mal y no como muy a menudo. Comer, no. No, deja de comer, eso está mal. Ni pienses en esas 120 calorías. No te cortes las venas, detente, duele mucho, entiérrala y ábrelas para que puedas crecer. Pienso en unicornios y cabello rubio opaco o color ceniza. Pienso en cerezos y cabello rojizo. Pienso en arcoíris y cereales con azúcar, chocolate y calorías que me he restringido comer. Pienso en campos de exterminio nazi y en amoríos infantiles dentro de ellos, en el tráfico de cigarrillos que se daba en los baños de Polonia.
Po-land.
Cosas que me causas: dolor en el pecho, confusión sexual fingida; nostalgia.

I wish I could. I wish I could shut up. Shut up. I have barely eaten since last sunday. Mommy's proud. The ducklings run away from me, they see me as that evil ugly girl who take them every single night and put them in a box for a whole night. But then I spent time with them and everything was better. Why why why come fucking here why why why fucking here right now. Yoga showed me I can bend myself almost enough to lick my pussy but not enough. Hang out on clouds. Hang out. Smoke smoke smoke I wanna smoke with you and then have sex. I saw him yesterday, we talked for a hour, apparently he doesn't hate me anymore. I'm glad. Come here while I'm sleeping, wake me up and talk to me. What if...?

Creo que puedo abrir los ojos lo suficiente como para que se salgan de mi cabeza y se desprendan todas las venas que los sostienen

-"I want to start my life over". -"Me too".

"The fatal consequences of masturbation"

Last night I got so depressed without reasons that I was about to kill myself. I was lying on the floor, I could barely breathe, I was feeling a deep pain around my neck, back and an annoying and painful headache, probably because of my failed attempt for not to cry. With the blades in my hand, then on the floor in front of me, I had a big temptation to end it all. But I didn't, I put the blades inside their box again and then I went to sleep. I couldn't for about an hour, but then I got naked and I fell asleep.

Today music died. I guess I'm depressed because of it. April 5th, clichés. Good night, we need to rest.

I just came out of the hospital. They put me there because of my malnutrition. I was just a bag of bones about to die because of the lack of iron. They noticed this after I got there for other reasons and this condition caused postponed my freedom. I went there because the cuts on my wrist were letting all my blood out so I was bleeding my own life. I remember I was dizzy. I was lying in my bed and watching the blood staining the white sheets. One, two, three. The door opens and they see me. The paramedics came into the room after about ten minutes of him screaming, asking if I was okay, and hitting the door in an attempt to open it, but I locked it and threw the key down the toilet. I remember his face when they were taking me into the ambulance. I bet I looked horrible. He was crying and I could see how worried he was. It was like a mixture between his previous anxiety when I didn't answer to his voice and this recent relief he felt when he saw I was still alive. He wasn't able to get into the ambulance, he thought I was going to die and he didn't want to see me dying although he probably knew I would love being with him while dying. Anyway, I remember how the neighbors were looking at my corpse through their windows , the paramedics and the ambulance. I must have fallen asleep after that. I remember the hospital, the doctor, the needles. Then him, concerned, asking if I was okay, what happened, and all that stuff. Then _______ took me home.

A veces me siento como una niña pequeña. Estoy ahí, sentada en el piso con las piernas abiertas sin saber qué puede significar ese gesto físico, y de pronto empiezo a pensar que el mundo es absurdo, injusto sin sentido alguno, vulgar y raro. Empiezo a pensar eso y siento algo de enojo al pensar lo absurdo que es este planeta y lo imbéciles que son las personas. No viene la monotonía de vivir injustamente una vida sin sentido, sino la impotencia que se siente vivir en un mundo tan desigual e ilógico. Esta es, precisamente, una de las razones por las que tendré cinco años para siempre.

MY PUSSY,

MY CHOICE;

MY BODY,

MY VOICE.

A

Algo menos imbécil, hablemos de el morbo que me provoca la idea de cortarme las venas y desangrarme en el piso mientras vomito más sangre (la que viene con los golpes, la que explica los hematomas en mi abdomen). Viene una sensación de que te ahogas, te asfixias. Sientes el dolor de un ataque cardíaco en tu pecho derecho. Te despiertas a la mitad de la noche porque has escuchado a tus hijos llorar y a medio camino recuerdas que no tienes hijos y sólo estás embarazada de un perro. Luego vienen las ilusiones rotas porque tus pezones han perforado tu blusa preferida en medio de la calle, los hombres se quedan mirando a esos dos puntos que parecen botones de forma extraña y todos pueden ver tus mal formadas tetas. ¿Quién quiere un trío? Si no me enamoro todavía puedo venderme.

Anorexic magazines, Part 2: Wish away the pain.

Los ácidos vaginales causan alucinaciones, te cause fiebre alta. Estás tendida en la cama y de pronto ves luces de colores en el techo, sientes como se quema la piel que recubre tu cuerpo (como en ese creepypasta en el que la piel se enrolla como un pergamino) y tus dedos huelen como veneno para cucarachas. Se te queman las pestañas y el iris del ojo, así como las puntas del cabello. Empiezas a blasfemar y a hablar de cómo los padres no maltratan a sus hijos cortándoles las muñecas sino que toman el cable del teléfono para ahorcarlos, les llenan la comida con eméticos y laxantes hasta que sus intestinos arden y están corroídos mientras los golpear con rocas en bolsas de tela como un modo de disciplina inspirado en Disney. Estás todo el día encerrado en un armario oscuro y húmedo y luego te das cuenta de que la puerta siempre estuvo abierta. Aflujo de sangre: eventualmente pasa a ser un coágulo que desemboca en una enfermedad terminal de células cancerígenas. Cuando andas por la calle ya no ves iglesias cristianas ni católicas. Ves cultos a la Cienciología  y al Nihilismo y sectas satánicas decentes operando secretamente en los baños públicos de los parques atiborrados de niñas vírgenes para sacrificar en la noche. No te enamoras, te enfermas. No dejas de comer, te estás alimentando de ti mismo. El corazón es un músculo caníbal que se alimenta de sus propios tejidos para sobrevivir. Todo está conectado, son ramas de un árbol, son olmos con raíces que huelen a saliva. Hay quienes usan collares de dientes y quienes se sacan sus molares con martillos para poder enviar sus dientes a un joyero y todos gastan su dinero en drogas y lobotomías.
Lo qué ha pasado últimamente:
-Me ruboricé.
-La depresión me hizo perder el apetito por dos días, creo que era algo que venía de una pequeña recaída mental que tuve debido a que me encerré en una habitación por dos días sin agua y con una cantidad limitada de luz al día. Luego podría copiar aquí lo que escribí mientras estaba allí. Estaba segura de que me estaba volviendo loca.
-Compré dos patos, Pez, para que combinara con Pato, mi pez, y Quacky. Son bebés. Son molestos, ruidosos y adorables. Cagan por toda la casa y tengo que limpiarlo todo o mi madre va a pasar horas gritándome y diciéndome que va a regalar a mis mascotas si no puedo cuidarlas.
-Hoy tuve una discusión, con quién más sino mi mamá, en la mañana. Analicé sus palabras como "estaría mejor sin ti" por lo que mientras caminaba a la escuela sólo me quedé pensando si sería muy doloroso o humillante saltar frente un coche para que me matara.
-Volví a leer Pregúntale a Alicia, abrí una página al azar, me salté el comienzo del libro, y leí desde la mitad el lunes. Me di cuenta de que leer anestesia la incomodidad constante que tengo desde hace tiempo.
-Daria. Daria. Daria. Te pareces mucho a Daria.
The proud family. No había visto un programa de Disney que tratara el racismo de forma tan directa. No es algo malo, sin embargo.

La vida se ha convertido en algo parecido a ese eterno miedo de meter los dedos tan profundo que sangras. Necesitaba reírme. Todo me causa mucha gracia. Es hilarante. Todo. Todo. La barra que está designada para el título es larguísima.
Llevaba una semana, aproximadamente, sin apretar una cuchilla por mi piel hasta romperla y hacerla sangrar, pero ayer cedí. Primero sentí mucha euforia, no podía dejar de sonreír y me pareció lo más maravilloso del mundo. Sentí cierta liberación, como respirar luego de un rato de contener la respiración, como probar una droga después de un mes de rehabilitación, como morirse rápido después de dispararte en la cabeza. Eso era, se sentía así de bien. No recuerdo que fuera tan doloroso. No recordaba que fuese algo tan liberador. No recordaba las endorfinas que creí inexistentes, excepto cuando tienes sexo o te drogas con algo fuerte. Luego me sentí sola y abandonada y me eché a llorar en el suelo, asustada y triste mientras, desde el borde de la cama, mi amigo imaginario miraba como lloraba sin decir una sola palabra.
Mis notas son malas, por unos pocos puntos. Los profesores son unos hijos de puta, la depresión es muy común como para justificar la irresponsabilidad. Soy demasiado estúpida y nadie me espera por dos putos segundos. No es tan complicado, me molesta mucho.
Siento intensas ganas de golpearme hasta hacerme escupir sangre porque lloro más de lo que solía llorar. Si pudiese ir al pasado y apuñalar a mi yo bebé, lo haría. Pero si hay despersonalización, si veo a ese bebé como un ser diferente a mí, lo cual es muy probable, no podría hacer eso. Vendría la empatía, una eutanasia  misericordiosa con un bebé que puede o no terminar siendo un alcohólico miserable.
Hoy me siento bien conmigo misma, gracias. Hoy me siento como una mierda, lo siento. Hoy quiero saltar desde ese edificio, si no es muy doloroso. Hoy quiero cortarme las venas, pero no tengo cuchillas afiladas.
I don't feel euphoric 
and I need new blades
life's joyless and boring
and I want to kill myself
I'm horny
fuck me and love me, asshole
Si escribí las últimas dos líneas fue para sonar menos deprimente, patética y estúpida. Escribe, escribe, escribe.
Tengo el presentimiento de que Frances Farmer va a reencarnar en el alma de Dios.