Yesterday night I had a nightmare. It wasn’t a really-really-bad one. But it was intense. When I awakened the sensation was bad, but normal. I no longer feel the Sopor, unless I might fall asleep because of an impossible-to-avoid nap.
I haven’t felt the greater side effects for a week. I have overcome the queasiness, the Sopor, the incapacity to awake before noon and the absolutely strange dream, although the dreams have not turned into normal either, of course.
But today is going to be a day in which I will want to die.
Intense figures from the past are returning to my life. Many wounds are being closed, but, in exchange, new others are opening. And these are deeper, and won’t ever heal completely because their conditions. Even they already show a marked scar around them.
I confess, from the certain anonymity given by this space, that yesterday I looked at the abandoned boxes of thousand types of barbiturates, anxiolytics and antidepressants in other way. In my solitude this way of looking frightened me. But I believe it would be worse to deny and not accept the phrase which beat my mind: "They are enough to die five times at least, for sure". And to confess this makes me feel so ashamed. But I must accept it. This clearly demonstrates one thing: I don’t have even the half of mental strength which I try to show off.
I will keep on trusting in this blog-therapy. I will try to keep this as a place which makes me feel closed to myself. Alone. And I will hope I never loose completely the sanity this way.
I haven’t felt the greater side effects for a week. I have overcome the queasiness, the Sopor, the incapacity to awake before noon and the absolutely strange dream, although the dreams have not turned into normal either, of course.
But today is going to be a day in which I will want to die.
Intense figures from the past are returning to my life. Many wounds are being closed, but, in exchange, new others are opening. And these are deeper, and won’t ever heal completely because their conditions. Even they already show a marked scar around them.
I confess, from the certain anonymity given by this space, that yesterday I looked at the abandoned boxes of thousand types of barbiturates, anxiolytics and antidepressants in other way. In my solitude this way of looking frightened me. But I believe it would be worse to deny and not accept the phrase which beat my mind: "They are enough to die five times at least, for sure". And to confess this makes me feel so ashamed. But I must accept it. This clearly demonstrates one thing: I don’t have even the half of mental strength which I try to show off.I will keep on trusting in this blog-therapy. I will try to keep this as a place which makes me feel closed to myself. Alone. And I will hope I never loose completely the sanity this way.
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