I just finished reading it. Abzurdah is its title, Cielo Latini, Argentina, its author. It is a heartbreaking story that is not lost, including to cry, not for what they lived but because of everything that makes you stand inside your head, because you're reading words that you say you thought or quietly when you can not more.
I leave some fragments below. The book was edited and in Spain (about time!), As you can see on your page: Abzurdah .
Yesterday, when I began to read, write this:
His sincerity seems outrageous, however, their changes of thought and personality that reminds me so much to me, are something I would not like to tell a Friends, my friend.
Now that I finished, I that the person who wrote what will remain in his person, but you have the maturity and polish endeared many things from the psychological point of view.
I can not advise reading the whole world: there are parts terrible, very strong. And I'm sure that you have read it more slowly (it took only two days, while most compulsively read), would have been a letdown for certain things that count. Now I'm like a temptation on-foot, a seesaw, a balance that is seeking the middle ground shakes. Still, some parts need to bring here.
@ Let each one feel free to read, buy the book or never do so.
Abzurdah Fragments:
is known that when one feels that things can not be better or at least is going through a stupid and life fragile balance, they tend to fall apart almost instantly. Thus, a vital rule, a stupid result of consciousness. Because maybe thinking one is being filled with fear of life and is open at the same time the bad vibes. I have the hallucination that when one is ignorant of his own happiness can keep much longer and in better condition.
always had that stuff, this obsession: writing. Write anything that suited me in mind, the things I was going. Or simply exterminating phrases: "I'm tired of this school," this thing has me sick "," I love this one, "blah, blah. The paper is conservative. The paper is not cheating you is not shit you, you let it be. No circumstance puts you face(...).
guess that's why I always cut myself off from that way: I never had the need to communicate, because I was doing. Writing is communication, but always ended my letters hidden
(...) I decided that my friends would be mostly for convenience. I needed to surround myself with people that I used for this or company and if someone I was not going to be directly useful to a nuisance. So, who did not serve me would be dismissed. Sounds pretty handy, cold and calculating. And so I wanted to be after so many colleges and disappointments. I bragged about my decisions and I wondered who would answer that I hung out with this or that just because I needed them. But it was fiction, a lie. I am the most attached to the feelings I know. I need friends, family, loves, pets, need all that, to people who remind me who I am. (...)
a rusty nail another nail(a chapter title)
It's great how to Over the years, people use the same words but mean entirely opposite to express
(...) I always grabbed it with my body to show people what I thought, what he felt or what I did not dare to say (as well as what he said without being heard). (...)
In one of my worst times I got to invent conversations to not feel alone. (...)
changes plans are not acceptable in my life. If we do that, make it. There is no reason to repent, there is no reason to change plans, anything is justifiable. (...)
Usually when I wake up, no I remember why I cried so much (splitting) and when I can see why, still do not understand. I can not get in my own shoes. As if the night of broken dreams I had erased all records of empathy with myself. Appears to raise the penalty reduced and even minimized. Reduced to a pile of neurons than did bad synapses. (...) My psychologist later forced me to not ignore my pain, "and you're coming, but I guess it's something resolved. With you is always the same. At one moment you are dying and the next day, as did you cover it (drown him, the feeling of sudden death), you do as if nothing had happened, ignoring the issue completely. "Nestor you're right. Always drown my feelings, my desires, my feelings, my miseries and joys. I deleted everything, forever, because time is less painful to stop feeling. Stop feeling
When I start thinking. I get sound and I answered questions without major problems. And life is like: easy, cerebral. I have, indeed, different personalities and each one of them a different group of friends. I find it hard to mix friends. At times, I am many people who differ among themselves, have different personalities and motivate incomparable things. Hard as it may sound, I know it well. (...) I am what the environment wants it, what situations do I indicate that it is better to be. Which is more convenient be. (...) What I can understand them both at the same time? In the same way as love and hate someone. So, without explanation. I mold. Not that I have strong views. Do not think that's it. (...)
We got along very well: when we write starts the week to see who started more hobbies and how long it took to leave. He bought a bike and let it roll, unused. We always do those things. We are so excited with some activities in our minds are fantastic, so much so that when the plane as we seem disconcertingly real boring. And always the same. We also bore people. I can not be with someone over a day, people get bored. Reasonable time after that need to be alone, being in my bed alone, be in the bathroom alone, or simply watching television. The company often becomes a hindrance to the passing of the hours. That is, I'm not antisocial, I do not sound like a forties single, but it is true that I need my privacy and it bothers me that people do not know when to quit. Would someone ever invented a switch that will notify people when is the exact moment they begin to be a hindrance.
do not know what it is. I always leave the bush.
(...) Ah, my personalities. I guess they were born in my need to please the world. All life I felt marginalized or fat or antisocial or because I liked books instead of the power rangers do not know. I just felt isolated. And in my need to not isolate individuals created according to each group of friends I made. I think we're all a bit like: we do not behave the same with our family with our friends or our teachers or by phone and email or who knows what other situation. I can not tell my family the same way that my friends, a boyfriend and I can not tell jokes I do with my family and at work we have to take another image. Everyone passes inventing characters, the problem is that I take them seriously and help me.
(...) Because I never want to come true, ever. Because my grand ma imagination is always more powerful and more pleasant than reality. I wish I was autistic, I wish I lived inside my mind. I would sleep forever.
(...) I can not take life less seriously, as I said a doctor. "Honey, you have to take your life less seriously" - replied when asked why he had such a headache and stomach. Somatization, is what I do to defend myself. I get angry with my body and he is my statue of sand molded to do what you feel when you want. My poor body. Poor me. (...)
Because yes, we know that I have an issue with the abandonment (and probably due to some whim of my childhood) but if something costs more than me giving up is the replacement. Strong word, if any. Being abandoned is rid of a tie, loosen your belt, feel insecure. When someone leaves me I am an orphan, lost, without land. (...)
So I ended up laughing too, without suspecting that he who laughs last laughs the worst. (...)
But just when I was single, reality slapped me as it usually
(...) So, I started to eat outrageous quantities than ever in my life thought to digest: it was fun to know that if feel bad (or at any rate) could remove the damn food in my system. Was immune to everything, nothing affected me.
(...) I started to refuse food because i was too lazy to go throw up, so at first I decided not to eat until I was much more hungry and even vomit to eat. (...)
bulimia feel that consumes me, I feel it is more than the food that leaves my body every time you vomit. I'm throwing pieces of soul. (...)
Does it matter to know what is the limit? I do not recognize it, but my mind makes a "click" that indicates danger "Or stop now or suicide is imminent." And that click is organic, I do not choose, so does my body instinctively (conservation, of course). (...)
drank water as if it were to warm the soul or reactivate my neurons: it was more hydrated and brainless person who had ever known. Let's not mindless in a derogatory manner, I mean that when you are starving (and is not a metaphor) the brain is not working properly. Irrigated blood goes to the vital organs and in priority need, like my heart had to keep beating, the blood that ran before in my brain, now was focused on my heart, which left me dumb and arrhythmia. (...)
My personal image also was changing was changing so transmitted to other mortals (because deep down I knew my mortality.) Sweet and spontaneous sky was dying and instead gave an ice sculpture sculpture mutated directives and to cancel a former branch tree. I was eating, I knew and could not stop to enjoy it. If you did not love me then I was going to die, and I'd die beautiful, smart and perfect body. Perfection was my purpose and my illness was understood as achievable;
(...) I followed by going to college and suddenly I became more demanding than ever: needed to be the best but was far from being so (lack of food caused me to stay asleep anywhere). My friends became suspicious when they repeatedly said that he had eaten "a lot!" And was pleased when at the same time was like a cloud and dark circles wearing color of coal. When you're anorexic thinks he's smart and others are all stupid, or clueless, or are not interested in one and therefore assumes that any silly excuse is valid.
What you do not know is that the diagnoses are made because there are behaviors that are repeated, because the disease is not unique (even if you think as I touched to you is not going to touch anyone). Serial behaviors are not happening to hundreds of boys and girls happens to thousands around the world. Anyway, you know you (yes, you know!) The smartest person ever born and ego so as to give lessons of philosophy in Sartre. So I felt, and I remember. (...)
If today's mannequins were real women would not have menstruation.
(...) I understand your anger because I was aware of how little I ate, but I do not think that food is the basis of human welfare. That is, how no one understands you and I feel fine? Well, the answer is no: no one understands. I believed then and still believe strongly that the important thing is the welfare of the soul, the human being as a whole. Some people only interested in me eat them, even knowing that it put me in a foul mood, made me feel obese and very unhappy. If he had wanted the best for me would not have had a discussion that night in the restaurant. (...)
When you're anorexic, bulimic, and you refuse to seek help because you think you know them all, began looking for a stone that you like because you're near death. (...)
My mistake was this: to believe that things were perfect. I was always sure that my family was the perfect family, my parents were the best, most dedicated, that my brothers and I were perfect. Nothing is further from reality,(...)
Mary says:
not what you want, is what we want and must do. I am worried and thinking about how you came to be so ... Lagrima
says
was progressive, I guess. But the day I found out I had called my parents I turned my head. (...)
understand my parents now that I see from afar. Was completely crazy, insane and thought they were the cause of all my troubles. I could not do anything else: I wanted to die more than anything the world would disappear and stop being a nuisance and a bad memory for everyone. (...)
was not fighting against anyone but myself. I was hanging between life and death, hoping against hope that appeared a sign, a person, a gesture, a hug, a word to save me from my imminent death. And the nothingness itself. Nothing. (...)
borderline personality disorder, that was the first diagnosis of my psychologist (a disease best known for its English name "Borderline"). Nestor explained to me, is a fine line between neurosis and psychosis. Then I became interested in the subject (always wanted to know who I am, why and what's wrong) and found out some other data that I described in detail and accurately.
I read that borderlines are born with an innate biological tendency to react more intensely to lower stress levels and take longer to recover. Who are raised in environments in which their beliefs about themselves are continually devalued and invalidated and that these factors combine to create adults who do not know what their own feelings and so running from one end to another.
It makes them difficult to decide who they are. That's exactly what happens to me: I'm not sure what I like, what my favorite color or food, which I prefer to seat on the plane, what things bother me, what gives me pleasure. I can hardly describe without lying a lot about myself. I can not describe because I do not know who I am.
record I have problems with people: every action, every word, I take them as if they have a context, as if hanging from something else. And the overwhelming sense of feeling that is "all good" or "all evil." There are no half measures with me, with no gray border. It is frightening what is currently well over five minutes can end up being the worst thing that happened in life. (...) It's not easy
to understand what a borderline can do to achieve their goals. It is difficult to explain depression as a steady state. Nothing made me happy, with no smile. Bitterly did everything almost in a state of inertia. Lived, yes, but did not know why. Why was I alive? I wondered why every night before bedtime and mourn. (...)
There is a vast difference between wanting to die and not wanting to live a certain way. I did not want to live as until then, but certainly not made good choices and I walked into the dark swamp that was the only way out lurid death. (...) When we left
the building my dad and the lord of the estate arranged a date to sign the papers and give me the keys. I wanted to cry, Mom! Dad! Not want to move! I want to live forever with you! Never leave me! She could not, my parents were doing my will and would not miss the only chance he believed he had to save me. Going to live alone in my way, there was no escape. On the way home thinking about the bad times that I had been through and wanted to convince me that was doing the best for me. "I will be able to study quietly, I learn to drive alone, I'll cook (" to cook?), Clean, in order to make my bed. I have to live alone, I can not stay at my parents. " Mama, do not want to live alone. I do not want. Do not leave me.
(...) I think I'm still not completely abstracted so as to tell, with the air blind eye, but at least I'll try. Do not eat generates reluctance, generates non-existent enemies, makes those who love you mutate into deadly enemies. Makes you want to flee your home, your body, your head all you exhausted, you feel a hideous corpse that everyone is afraid to approach. Many because they know what to expect from you and many others because they are afraid that if you speak you die. I was dying but people do not approach me. Do not eat, also makes food intimate enemy: "What nourishes me destroys me" he would say. It is a familiar phrase in the environment pro-anorexia "Quod me nutrit me destruit." That appointment could be applied in many ways and in different ways in my life.
(...) I was always afraid to hide. Fear me, to finally finish eating me. (...)
I had trouble sleeping, lack of food gave me insomnia can not refuse, so I used to stay awake until two o'clock when they had gone to bed at eleven o'clock at night. Unbearable were hours where there was merely repeating touch my bone and that is the price you pay for be perfect. " Lie, was no price, it was nearing perfection, I was sinking more and deeper. Would soon reach the limit where there was nothing beneath me and that day would be the end. (...)
I had become what he had always hated: a religious fanatic. I always thought an atheist and yet I had created my own goddess [Ana], with special offerings and sacrifices he was willing to give instead of death, or his blessing. A blessing nonexistent, that only I could give. Nobody was going to save me, nobody could. It was too late to seek help. (...)Alejandro
disappeared: men know how to solve the problems of their partners, are fleeing. Hopefully one day find a man who is not a coward, to commit myself and my history. Do not be afraid of what I am, what I was and am no longer and what can possibly be. But no, they all run away, because it is easier to take away or take a stand in a painful situation. Nobody knows cope with pain. How could I explain to Alex that my desire was not even five kilos? I wanted to disappear altogether. A day to sleep and never wake up. I wanted a silent death, a death that will stay forever in consciousness, the unconscious and in all parts of your body like a badly cured smallpox. I wanted my spots they moved forever to his consciousness, which fits on the head a single phrase as an echo echo "I did not want help," I did not want help, "I did not want help." And yet, in his mediocrity, he thought it was about food, that my fear was being fat. No, Ale. My fear is to be alive for ever, my deepest fear is my imagination to see me old, stay alive, to suffer forever. I want to die, to reconnect with Ursula. I want you to love me, too. And save me.
(...) I want to be the woman who had a dark past, I want to be a promising future, that smile without having to work, it is not because he is taking antidepressants. I need to know, need to be assured that at some point I will be happy with continuity, that my ravings are going to end sometime, somewhere soon. I want to stop being inconsistent and absurd and I can finally make a decision that lasts more than five minutes. I want to be strong. I want so many things ... and that is a sign of strength and growth. Before I did not want anything, I did not, no. denial was in person, it was nothing: no food, no desires, no nothing. Only the urgent need to stop there, of be nothing.
When we return to the past, when we fly over the punishment is important to have a reference to reality. To me, this reference is not me running, sometimes I lose and I lose. In my case, I'm not flying over the penalties, I strongly penetrating them (or them to me, anyway), inspecting each of them, reviewing archived echoes, remembering, listening once again. Each eco breaks some of my integrity, of that I learned to build these years, every line of this text, which aimed to foster, is becoming more and more vulnerable to the ax, unaware of the past attacks. Many times I have fear of sinking in one dimension unknown, that between absurdity and reality, between my book and my life. It is an issue that took me several sessions with my psychologist. Lose ground, often have no references. I do not know if I am Abzurdah or Heaven, I do not know what's wrong, what day it is or where I am. The writing process isolate us: we must concentrate and "live" in a world different from the rest. We get in touch, in my case, with characters of the past, experiences, memories, archives in the mind and forget what day it is or what we're writing.
(...) I do not want to be alone while I finish this text, I have much fear of getting lost and not know which of my versions I am. These night soil go to the movies too often and too alone. Not because they enjoy the company but I find no one to share what I get. How I can explain to someone who stopped writing and I do not remember who I am? Nobody in my social circle can understand, ie finishing no one can understand the sense of not knowing who I am. (...)
me great pain, impotence and phrases that are repeated listening. Some of the things that fill my dreams are the same as me discouraged. That a person can continue to cause rejection and love at the same time. That can go on loving and hating with similar intensity to the same person. (...)
The act of mutilation can help a person break free from an intense feeling of anger, sadness, loneliness, shame, guilt and / or emotional pain. QUS cut many people doing it as an attempt to free those emotions they are feeling and yet can not express. I particularly bilge so dead I see the blood out helped me realize that I really was alive.
(...) Why would someone hurt themselves? Why would a person stop eating? Are the same old questions. There are many ways to abuse yourself and anorexia is also one of them. People are self-abuse in the peace than anything else gives them. It allows them to relieve feelings and emotions and even avoid them. If individuals feel hatred for themselves the cut would be the way to get all this hate inside. Perhaps tell themselves that are ugly, they are useless, no one wants. The pain we cause our own words has no limits.
The history of the cuts may mean "I need attention" or maybe "I need help." The person who does not want to kill yourself short, but if you want to pay attention, to be heard. It is important to know what we're doing, but more important is knowing what we're doing. Nobody misbehaves because it does and if we cut it because we feel that there is something positive in the act. So as eating disorders are used to relieve the internal pain, the act of cutting or burning has the same aim: to help the individual to deal with the internal pain. Self-mutilation is probably the least understood forms of self-destruction and there are many myths associated with it, which makes people feel ashamed to seek help or talk about it. Many of the people who cut are perfectionists and are not able to handle intense feelings, they do not know to describe their emotions verbally, do not like their way of being or body and may experience mood changes very suddenly. Can be cut as a way of expressing their emotions and feelings, or as punishment. (...)
The people I'm afraid I do not want to have because I know they will not understand. I know I can not write everything that happens to me because there are no existing words to describe it. Nobody will ever understand what happened to me. I wish I had videos, I wish I could give each person who comes into my life a disk with my data. Hopefully, so no one is disappointed, so no one would create too many expectations with me. No, I'm brilliant or the best, most consistent I'm not either. I'm little and what little bit I understand .(...) In many things I never will recover, as many forget them over time. Each of them gave me a brand. He asks me to use healing to get me the marks on his arms: I want those brands are. The one hundred and one tracks of my arms, thousands of pains that brought me blood, I will not forget. I do not want to leave marks. They will go out over time, then with forgetfulness, if learning. I'm not going to remove, will leave little, in due time.And many fragments include, but the book has about 350 pages.
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