"I am Jack's absent REM stage"

IN PROGRESS... Ahora mismo me he puesto a pensar en mi nacimiento. Desde las primeras contracciones. Pero principalmente en el momento en el que mi cabeza saliera traumáticamente por el útero de mi madre. Y mi pregunta es: durante ese tiempo, ¿qué tuvo que suceder tan terrible para que todo empezara tan mal ya entonces?.Veo una cabecita de neonata roja, arrugada y asustada tras demasiadas horas de parto... y me pregunto de dónde llegó esa infección de oído que, tras unos pocos días de vida, me convirtió en una criatura demasiado llorona, gritona, incomprensible y desesperante para una madre primeriza sin mucho apoyo.Y durante los 28 años restantes la genética tampoco me deparó sorpresas agradables, la verdad...En este momento pienso que en cualquier entorno más natural (y ni siquiera hablo de un entorno natural HOSTIL) previo a nuestras edades industriales y modernas yo habría muerto unas treinta veces antes de llegar a la madurez sexual.Así que en este momento me planteo seriamente no...

I eventually have something like a diagnosis: I have an “ anxious brain ”, which means… permanent/chronic anxiety. I have been suffering anxiety since the very first moments of my life, but I was unaware of that. For me that was just the “usual way of being”, because you can’t get inside other’s minds and compare how much nervous their brains are with yours. A year and a half ago the situation in my brain got over its control and I started to suffer my current anxiety disorder. But it was only that, a situation over control, I always had anxiety and I always will have anxiety, the rest of my life. Hey, that’s not bad. It’s my natural way of life. And it’s so good to know the truth, the whys and wherefores at last… But I have to learn how to live with that again. I learned when I was a baby, by an unconscious automatic mechanism. Now I have to do it again consciously, while I’m dealing with the “adult” life, the fucking mortgage, the work, the bad people out there.... ;P Anyway, I’m so ...

IN PROGRESS... El miércoles me van a hacer otro estudio del sueño... Sólo que esta vez no estoy tomando pastillas, así que se verá cómo duermo realmente cada día de mi vida.Estoy bastante cansada. Quiero recuperar el control de mi vida. Estoy pensando en pedir que me den de alta en breve incluso. No me apetece pasar por ningún tribunal médico. No van a solucionar nada y voy a tener que darme de alta igual, así que al menos me ahorro tener que mover a nadie para que me lleve a Madrid a perder la mañana conmigo.Y realmente necesito saber que estoy recuperando el control de mi vida, no dejándome llevar por lo que dicen unos y otros médicos y especialistas...Hace unos días comprobé con mayor exactitud los "efectos colaterales sociales". Me hizo mucha gracia... o algo. Porque hacía nada había leído en un prólogo de Guillermo Fesser sobre la gente que a veces ha ido a "refugiarse" a un hotel, entre ellos "Aquel que necesita hablar de su enfermedad pero cuando lo hace...

IN PROGRESS... Dejé de tomar las pastillas el lunes (me lo mandó el médico). Y todavía no he conseguido recuperar la "normalidad" con el sueño.Ya no le cuento nada de esto a nadie. Porque hace unos días fue bastante evidente que la gente está bastante cansada de "mi tema". Me dolió que uno de mis mejores amigos se mostrara distante al teléfono el otro día... Aunque es cierto que también lleva así una temporada, supongo que por el estrés de su nuevo curro... Pero no sé. Pienso que será todavía peor si le digo "Pues he vuelto con las pastillas, por cierto, porque estaba un poco malilla... y ahora, claro, pues estoy peor...".Dios!! Estoy tan harta de esto!!!! Bueno niña... al menos puedes seguir desahogándote por aquí... peor estarías si no tuvieras manitas con las que escribir.Y tengo que ponerme a estudiar, joder, que lo he dejado abandonado otra vez...Ah, las buenas noticias... El sábado, si mi cabeza me lo permite (que empiezo a dudarlo) quizá vaya a ver ...

IN PROGRESS A veces pienso que nada tiene sentido. Darwin diría de que no tiene sentido seguir con esto. Estoy sufriendo ¿para qué?. Nunca he estado bien y sé que nunca lo voy a estar. Siempre seré de los débiles.Hoy estoy hundida en la mierda y sé que es por culpa de las putas pastillas. Quizá mañana llame al psiquiatra y le pregunte cuánto tiempo voy a tener que aguantar estos "efectos secundarios".Hoy me gustaría tirarlo todo a un pozo de mierda, renunciar a mi trabajo yo misma para que me dejen en paz los médicos, vender mi piso, cortar con mi novio, sacrificar a mis gatos, volverme a casa de mis padres y encerrarme en mi habitación a llorar a oscuras en mi cama.

IN PROGRESS Me he levantado en mitad de la noche con una crisis de algo... no sé si de ansiedad, o de pánico o de qué... Sólo sé que estaba mareada, no podía respirar bien, que el corazón me latía deprisa y muy fuerte, que me daba terror quedarme dormida y que estaba sola pero sentía movimientos alrededor.Y ahora se me plantean las primeras preguntas: ¿sigo con estas pastillas?, ¿y si me vuelve a pasar esta noche mientras duermo?, ¿y si aguanto y me acostumbro a la medicación?, ¿cuánto sufriré esta vez a la hora de volver a desintoxicarme?...Cambiando a otro tema... Llevo un rato mirando fotos de mi antiguo instituto. Sueño mucho con él, con que estoy en clase, haciendo un exámen y todas esas cosas. Me pregunto si sería buena idea ir a visitar a mis antiguos profesores algún día.

IN PROGRESS... Anoche tomé la primera pastilla. Hoy me he sentido una adolescente de nuevo. ¿Por qué? Porque me he pasado todo el día durmiendo, despertándome a ratos, pero sintiendo la terrible imposibilidad mental de levantarme. Como en mis tiempos de instituto. La adolescencia fué una época muy mala para mi con respecto al tiempo de vigilia. Recuerdo que fue entonces cuando empecé a darme cuenta de que algo no andaba bien en mí, que no era normal tener siempre tanto sueño, dormir tan mal y que fuera tan complicado salir del estado de ensoñación al intentar despertar una y otra vez.Pero me siento bien porque por ahora parece que ése es el único efecto secundario que estoy notando. POR AHORA. En dos semanas se supone que el medicamento ya debería estar haciendo su efecto beneficioso sin darme complicaciones a cambio. Cuánto deseo que sea así.Hoy duermo sola y tengo que tomarme la segunda pastilla... ay.......

IN PROGRESS... Welcome to the second part of this, so controversial one, film... For this repeated occasion that offers us the destiny we have looked for a new protagonist, could not less be. Its name is Nobritol, and is everything an expert in scripts and papers that intermingle anxiety, psicóticos and psiconeuróticos depression, upheavals. Still having itself confirmed today their presence the tests will not begin see you tomorrow or past, for want of which its contract finishes signing itself. Nobritol faces a ruthless script of nightmare, panic and distresses, in that they will be intermingled, with the purpose of giving depth to a modern history, terrible traumas of childhood that remained hidden. From the direction of production of this film we hoped that this new protagonist, arrived at authentic moment of cinematographic crisis, prevails there where their predecessors failed resoundingly. Enjoy the film!

IN PROGRESS... Then that. One finished. New paragraph in my life. The things must change. It is not another triviality written in blog. It is question of life or emotional and mental death. If I return already it will be for the second part. But this one has arrived at his...

IN PROGRESS... Thank heavens that I have not written the last weeks. It would have been a really depressive entrance. But much. The last week I got to be very sunk. Although thanks to the sun baths that I am occurring by the mornings I have improved enough my psychic situation. It seems incredible that something so idiot can help as much. Even so today enough I am disheartened. And this feeling is going to me to last in spite of all the sun that it wants to take. So the hour has arrived to look for blog and to relieve a little telling it to me, to see if at least him thus exempt a little pressure at the top, because today I feel that it is going to me to explode. By the way, of the tablets it is not left anything, obvious. Clear that I continue undergoing anxiety attacks. I at least take it with more philosophy, because no longer I must add them to tens of adverse effects more caused by the tablets. To which it went... Last night it was in house of a pair of friends to whom months ago ...

IN PROGRESS... ... because the jodido love does not believe in me. This late I have written this phrase in an email in which it tried to relieve to me and to explain why no longer I believe in the most romantic concept of the Love. It I have releido a pair of times and I have realized much that I say in her. Also I have reached the conclusion that "my history with the love, that began my 8 añitos, is a song of the Counting Crows". And with that phrase also I say much more of which it seems. There was somebody once it would have understood it perfectly. Peculiar memories assault to me lately. I yesterday realized of which a good part of everything what it has happened to me in the life has strange connections with many of the things that come to me at the top in the situation in which I am. It is not easy to explain. It either does not desire to me to do it... I do not know, is as if my life was an article of the Wikipedia, in which of each ten words linkada "to another a...

IN PROGRESS... If I am a damn vixen it is clear that the life is grandísima mother of all putas. You leave the skin in wanting it, trying it, paying your quota of effort, trying to even conciliate to the others with hers... It is not that she does not give back to you the same or nothing even in return. She enjoys sliding her fingers around the throat your spirit. Sometimes hatred. When it tenderly watches me at the eyes and it says "you do not worry to me, you do not suffer, MY girl, everything is by a reason" now I know that after his it is laughed heartily of me. It caresses to me with the hand that before tightened my neck. I curl up myself. Something has sounded behind her... something like sharpening against the air? It gives equal, she knows like causing that it does not matter to you what hides in the claw that hides after its back. I believe that I begin to seem me to her, that as I cannot overcome it me unconsciously one to its cause. I am really becoming so puta? I...

I will go to Alcosebre finally! It’s so cool. It’s the first time I compel myself to do something for MYSELF which implies a certain effort to obtain it. Tomorrow I will go to my dreadful doctor, and I will force her, armed if necessary, to discharge me from my sick leave. That’s also a step forward, since it will remove from my mind certain mental anchorages to all what happened to me lately. In addition, I’m going to be with my parents in Alcosebre, and I’m going to be able to give them back some of the lot of affection that they have been giving me during this anxious year. And, to make to make things even more perfect, I’m going to be able to talk directly, face to face, with an important part of my present and past. Though my intention is to chat a lot, but to think not very much. I will have to suffer a very long and hard ride, and I don’t know if I will have the sources to survive alone the weekend, hehehe, but I really don’t give a damn. I’m going to make a different, emotional...

[…] To die, to sleep: to sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause: there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, the pangs of despised love, the law's delay, the insolence of office and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes, when he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, to grunt and sweat under a weary life, but that the dread of something after death, the undiscover'd country from whose bourn no traveller returns, puzzles the will and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment w...