Love will tear us apart (english version)

Quick explanation, I got sick. Nerve sick. But I'm back in the game. Again, sorry for mistranslation.

Original in spanish

-There is something the ones like you will never understand, 'til fall in love. Or 'til they become someone like me.

-What is it?

-No heartbeat is the same. No matter if it is in pain, in fear, mad, or even in love and joy, heartbeat always keeps a proper and unique rythm, that makes the difference among the others. I could easily find you in a crowd, just for the beating of your heart.

-Have you ever fell in love? Or do you preffer one-night-stands?

-Yeah, right, make fun on the elder...

-So?

-Well... yes, I admit I had lots of lovers, beautiful lovers. But in all my years, in all this endless come and go, I only fell in love once.

-How was her?

-Why do you assume it was a woman?

-But you said...

-So?

-Alright, alright, I'm sorry... ok, how was... him?

-Thin, like a finger. With intense and limpid looks. He was a musician, a 70's punk. A tortured soul.

-Did he knew?

-Nah. I wasn't his kind, he was not into guys. Sad, huh? My one and only love and he wouldn't ever love me back.

-But I guess you could come closer...

-Oh, yeah. We were friends, although I guess he thought I was... I don't know, an imaginary friend, or an allucination. He was not ok, you know? he had mind issues. 

-What happened?

-He got married, had a family. And then he blew it up with some Annik.

-...no way.

-What?

-It wasn't HIM. It couldn't.

-Why not? Who can rule over the heart? Over the feelings? Nobody can keep the line over that, not even our own. Even someone like me.

-Where did you meet him?

-Brusels. I met him there, I... I don't remember why I was there; he was going to met his favorite writer, a beatnik or some crap like that. That fucker totally mistreated him... I was so mad, I wanted to kill him, you know I could... but then I saw him, so sad about it... I couldn't leave him alone. Except fot that pedantic sucker, he was into the same authors I love. Since then, I wrote him letters, phonecalled, visits, I made everything to keep in touch with him.

-What did you love the most of him?

-His gloom. His anger. The intense darkness his soul exuded. I loved his eyes, so clear and beautiful. His poetry, oh my... I could've give anything for him to write me at least one song. To be a part of his creations. His heartbeat, even his heartbeat was charged on that pain, that sorrow that got me so crazy, so lost. So alive. I think that's mainly what I miss.

-Did you really never tell him?

-No way, he might have hated me... but... if I've done... maybe he could be still alive. I still remember that weekend. I saw him after he talked to both of the gals. He was devastated, he really wanted to end up the trouble he was in. Annik put an ultimatum: His family or her. What kind of person does that?

-Yeah, well... that was not nice. And then?

-I don't want... 

-I think you should. I mean, I've not lived as long as you but... It hurts you, I can see it.

-...

-Please.

-Well, he told me that. He was forbidden to see Nat, had a crisis and then the ultimátum. I was about to confess; that was the reason I was there, but... I thought it would only get it worse. I just let him unburd. I couldn't say anything. I just... hugged him. It was the only urge I allowed to myself the whole time I knew him. I embraced him to be close to the furious heartbeat I loved, even if it was only once. I'll never know if he noticed there's no sound in my chest.

-And then?

-I ran away, without a word. 

-Why you say he could be still alive?

-Call it guilt if you want. But if I'd told him maybe we'd fought all night long. He'd never seen that fucking movie, or take the ropes to the kitchen. I could have bought him at least one more day, even if he never wanted to see me again. ... I loved him so much... just knowing he's still alive could be enough for me, you know? to be joyfull for the rest of my life...

-...

-I knew he was dead 'cause I felt it, Suddenly the world became silent. I couldn't hear his heartbeat anymore. His sad music. I wish I got there before Deb. Or take his life on my own, if I knew there was no step back. His blood would still run through my veins, I'd have in my system his feelings and thoughts forever. I could see how he saw me. What he really thought about us. But when I could finally look for him, his body was gone. And when I found him at the morgue, he was already cold, and his blood was fully clotted. All I got is the tombstone I stole. And one of his notebooks. 

-Why you didn't turn him, I mean, like you? You never thought that?

-Everyday. But I was afraid of it. This is no cure, even less to the kind of pain he was suffering, I could've doomed him. There are so many like me that still bear the aches of their former existence,and other ones that only got compounded their misery. I never wanted him to suffer it, only because I was a selfish lover.

-You'd have done the world a favor...

-Maybe. Maybe not. I really loved him. And when you live as long as me, you reach a point where love has no room for selfishness. Besides, you don't know if that could've been a favor. Look at all those musicians that are still alive and haven't done anything good again.

-Touché

-...

-You think you will find someone like him again?

-If I do I'll tell you.

-Me? Why?

-I like you. And I trust you.

-I think it's something else.

-Perhaps. Now I must go. 

-Sunrise?

-Yep. And I'm feeling thirsty, if you know what I mean.

-Ok, then... see you soon. I hope.

-Good night, my dear.

Sin título

Me gustaría decir que no he publicado debido a que la he pasado bomba, me gustaría decir que he tenido mucha tarea o mucho trabajo. Me gustaría decir que no he escrito nada porque he estado fabulosamente ocupada, pero estaría mintiendo.

No he escrito ni una línea en este blog porque, una vez más, sufrí un colapso nervioso.

Fue debido a un "fabuloso" combo de estrés acumulado por mi proceso de admisión, varios pequeños problemas que se juntaron, una fuerte crisis de fe y cosas desagradables que me mandaron en Facebook -que me llevaron a cerrar mis dos cuentas, y no las pienso reabrir en un buen rato- y que se detonó el día que recibí mis resultados, los cuales ya no importan pues por salud mental me veo en la obligación de dejar ir, por lo menos, esa carrera.

¿Porqué digo "una vez más"? Por que ya lo viví antes, hace 6 años. Pasé 3 meses horrendos, con ataques de pánico y falta de sueño. Las razones fueron distintas, pero el miedo es el mismo. Si tuviera que elegir entre volver a vivirlo tal como fue y enfrentar a una horda de demonios con sólo una navaja, elijo la horda. En serio.

Pero la ventaja de enfrentarse dos veces con el mismo monstruo es que en la segunda vuelta ya sabes dónde pegarle y dónde no. La primera vez estuve tan aterrada y confundida que no supe a quién pedir ayuda.  O si pedir ayuda. Me dejé arrastrar por la locura hasta que mi familia se dio cuenta de que algo andaba mal, para lo cual pasó mes y medio, y el siguiente mes y medio lo pasé viendo doctores, psicólogos y hasta un chamán (no es broma) hasta que un día el miedo se marchó tan repentinamente como había llegado. Y aún un tiempo estuve todavía con momentos difíciles.

La semana pasada se cumplió un mes del segundo ataque de pánico. Esta vez, pedí ayuda antes de que me volviera a arrastrar, me acerqué a mi familia, a mis amigos; retomé proyectos que estaban pendientes para mantener mi mente ocupada. Volví a acercarme a Dios, lo que sorpresivamente me dio la paz que había perdido, y digo "sorpresivamente" porque por casi 5 años y a escondidas me mantuve en un camino diferente, y tuve que aprender a patadas que no era el mío.

El día de hoy por fin me siento mejor. No puedo decir que estoy curada, pero sí mucho mejor.

Comparto esto porque sé que no soy la única persona que lo ha pasado mal por un estado mental. O por un mal que no se sabe de dónde viene (así fue la primera vez) y por lo cual no se sabe a quién acudir. Una persona muy querida lo sufrió casi toda su vida, y sólo ahora, después de sufrir por años y que ya no puede vivir por su cuenta, descubrió que no era su culpa, sino un problema físico que no se atendió a tiempo.

Hay personas que sufren enfermedades y no lo saben. Hay personas que aún se culpan por cosas que en realidad no tenían nada que ver con ellas, y esa culpa les enferma. Tenemos la mala costumbre de minimizar lo que nos hace sentir mal (sólo me duele cuando río / sólo estoy un poco triste/estresado/molesto) y cuando decidimos atender el problema, sea físico o mental, ya es tarde. O no es tarde, pero se requieren medidas muy drásticas, y hasta traumáticas.

Y no se trata de eso. No  somos invulnerables, aunque nos guste pensar lo contrario. Todos tenemos un punto de quiebre, un límite de fuerzas que al rebasarlo nos lleva al malestar, a la enfermedad, a la locura incluso.  Y no estamos hechos de piedra ni de palo para andar de "duros" por la vida -y vamos, hasta las piedras sienten. Lo he dicho antes y lo diré de nuevo: no tenemos que hacerlo todo solos. Siempre antes de llegar tan lejos, hay que detenerse. Pedir apoyo. Reconsiderar si seguimos aguantando o si es hora de soltar.