I've decided not to polish what I write here any more, after all nobody really knows me and it's not like my language is that vulgar anyway. Because of my poetic sense, I am a person who likes to speak in metaphors when possible.

In the very first post on this blog, I said that I would try to be optimistic most of the time, but, well... who knew that I would fall into a depressive crisis soon after opening the blog. How unfortunate. Thinking with my buttons I came to the conclusion that the trigger that made me go into this long depressive crisis was the day the drunk bastard grabbed my 13 year old sister in front of my house and I had no way to protect her, luckily my brother was home, he ran after him and the people on the street beat the guy up. It was a tremendous feeling of helplessness that I had never felt before, I remember sweating all day and going through something similar to - I think - an anxiety crisis. It was a release of a huge adrenaline rush, as my body could do nothing... I just kept shaking. I was in the mood to scream my lungs out, but knowing that would only make her worse, I restrained myself as I always do and tried to comfort her with words, because I am so useless that I cannot even go to her in these moments and hug her and make her feel all the love and protection in the world.

I am a person who shows love through touch and the only times I could show it to my sister was when she was so little she wouldn't even remember if she wanted to. I remember the day I put her to sleep in my arms, she was crying so much at that moment.... I took her in my arms and started rocking her and soon she stopped crying and just mumbled, I kept rocking her until I could hear nothing but her breathing, sleeping... and that was the day I realised the angel that had come to soften my depression and make my urge to kill myself stop, which I didn't even know I had. When I heard her crying, that memory came back to me and I felt so incapable, so weak and useless that my will to live faded for long hours and once again I kept it to myself. I buried it and managed to contain the consequences for about three weeks, but a very full vessel eventually spills over.

And I think I'm giving in, I've been sleeping at 6 in the morning for almost two months. I'm tired. I've been sleeping at that time because I'm tired of seeing the dark circles under my mother's eyes and the stress she's under because she can't get a good night's sleep. I can't turn over in bed and I keep waking her up so she doesn't sleep properly. I have decided that I will only sleep on time again if I get home care. I do all the things I shouldn't be doing, I should be sleeping and waking up early, sunbathing... but the reality is I wake up and have a fucking erection all day.

They say the world only makes sense if you force it, but why force it when all I do is stay in bed? You just stay in God. How funny that sentence after the question mark, I said something completely different and Google wrote that. If I stay in daydreams, I invent a waking world where I do all the hobbies I want and I've had so many jobs that would only be possible in three lifetimes, from the most manual to the easiest of them all. I don't know, I think being retired since the age of 7 has sapped my will to try and get a job. My God, I'm writing one post more depressing than the other.