xibalbainducekalopsia

Escribo sobre miedo frecuentemente. No escribo en español porque mi autoestima no lo permite. No creo en mi español, mi ortografía, mi vocabulario, etc. Creo en yo mismo, pero no creo lo suficiente para funcionar bien.

Escribo sobre miedo porque aunque digo que no soy cobarde, la realidad es que sí hay cosas que me dan miedo. Lo único que sé es que mis miedos no cuentan para nada. Es decir: los venceré. No sé cuando pero sí sé que los venceré. Triunfare y saldré adelante.

Mi tiempo en (y con) xibalba no es permanente. Todavía respiro aunque arde en hacerlo. Todavía vivo aunque mucho parece gris y sin color. Eso me digo cada vez que me encuentro con miedo. En turno, me caen las dudas como lluvia. Permanezco pero... ¿pertenezco?

No entiendo exactamente como es que entra kalopsia en estos asuntos. Sí, cosas parecen bellas pero no las son. Viene siendo por miedo, quizás. Una cantidad enorme que causa que la lógica se vuelva loca. 

¿Llueve sobre empapado?

Su perfume se burla de mi a veces. No le hace. Pronto, no se burlará de mi. No tendré la idea de que esta situación es una tragedia pero tampoco tendré en mente de que es una comedia o algo que solo se barre a un lado. Será algo que paso y que pasará de nuevo. No porque me repito o porque no puedo escapar o porque soy idiota pero porque así es la vida.

Tendré mi venganza. No para derrotar a otras personas pero para lograr victoria para mi. Lograré la victoria más profunda y significativa: sobre el ser mismo.

No se confundan: no voy a cometer suicidio. Solo haré cosas que me ayudaran mientras sigo adelante. No para ella, no para él, no para nadie. Para mi. 

No se cuando se me olvido que yo si cuento.

Juro que haré lo más posible para que no se me olvide de que yo sí importo.

Sin duda, el sol saldrá mañana.

Selcouth?

I've been here before. Many times. By that logic, this shouldn't be strange or unfamiliar but it is.

This place or state or whatever the hell you want to call it, seems to shift and change in some way shape or form each time.

Where a regular wooden chair once stood, there is either a bare mattress or a torn leather armchair. Each time, something seems so much more different though the air echoes with the past.

Her scent remains, dancing perpetually in front of me. Her scent was never there to uplift me or drive me happily fucking crazy or make me aware of the beauty around me. Her scent is buried so far deep in the past that it has become impossible to retrieve or salvage.

The end delivering a river of tears destroying dams. The end presenting a jungle set ablaze by an endless burning anger. The end with heavy sighing followed by a walk off into the sun. The end with an increasingly numb and confused monkey launched into the darkness of the night.

The same thing. Different. Each time.

It's strange, unfamiliar, and wondrous.

How the hell can the same thing that morphs each time be wondrous?

It morphs each time, revealing something new.

You learn something new every day.

Tacenda

There are a number of things we all want to drown in a deafening roar of anger, and general frustration. If not a roar, then it's something more involved. To confront people, stab them in the face (or cause them some degree of harm proportionate to the harm they might have caused one), and to be as destructive as one can until the blind rage fades away.

This is a bad idea.

When done for the wrong reasons.

As Mark Twain said:

"Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured."

Yes, you can angrily break someone's nose but what will that accomplish? In the workplace, the person punching will get fired without a second thought. The receiver will be seen as the victim even if they totally deserved it. Of course, that's a bad example because despite it being common, it's generally common sense to avoid physical altercations at the workplace.

If one were to hold a terrible grudge against someone else, the person holding the grudge would be inviting a host of problems like isolation from friends and family, ulcers, stressing themselves out, lack of concentration on things that actually matter, and- you get the point of that particular side. The person that's the target of the grudge probably doesn't notice, or even care.

The same argument holds for someone acting on the grudge- "I fucking hate that guy! I'm gonna kick his teeth in!" It's something that weighs heavily on you afterwards. Yes, you accomplished what you set out to do but at what cost? Could what they did really justify having their health ruined to a great extent? What revenge will they exact on you for this? Will the cyclical back-and-forth game of vengeance end?

A better solution is to let it go.

Let go whatever issue you have that has you so fired up and has your feathers all ruffled. Let it go. Let it destroy itself. Don't feed it your time. Don't feed it your energy. By letting go of it and not feeding it, you're guaranteeing that you are superior to whatever is trying to drag you down.

Instead, starve it.

Do things for yourself. Improve for yourself. You are more important than that thing that goes unsaid and ultimately has no importance.