I was bullied by two guys all throughout junior high school. One of them used to be a friend when we were 5-6 years old. But for some reason when we reached jr high, he took pleasure in belittling and humiliating me. He would make fun of my height, calling me a dwarf. He would do this constantly in front of others.

The other guy was weirder. He didn't know me at all. He would simply push me or shove me at any opportunity. For no reason. If there was a school activity, he would look me and push me.He was a big guy, the head of the volleyball and basketball team, a really popular guy with the girls. There was no reason for him to do that to me. But he would constantly.I never knew why. And just like that, he stopped it.

I also saw some of my friends bully others. Especially they would bully a couple of guys who may have been gay. It was really cruel. And it used to bother me, but I did nothing. I may have even laughed, out of nervousness and out of trying to be cool. I never did the bullying, but I feel I should have done something to stop my friend's macho posturing. Strangely enough one of my friends who bullied may have been gay himself. I used to hang out with him later in life and he was incredibly uncomfortable around women, as if he didn't have any sexual attraction towards them and had to struggle to fake it in front of others. Sad man, really.

anxiety has always been a part of my life. It's just I didn't know it until a few years ago. Ever since I was a child my parents would install fear in me about everything, telling me not to do this or that because it was dangerous. Don't ride a bike, there is too much traffic here. (I never learned to ride a bike because of this). Don't walk so far away. Be careful of this, of this other thing.
I understand parental concern, but it was so hard for me to do anything out of the routine.

So I stuck to routines from that young age. I remember one day the school bus left me. And I had my first panic attack. Something which was uncalled for, because I had a friend who lived 3 blocks from school. I just had to go there and his mother would drive me home. But suddenly it seemed the world was falling apart. I started trembling and crying. Finally I did walk to that house and I was driven home. But just the thought of it made me lose it. I was like that from such a young age.

words can not describe how exhausted I am.

everything was more or less the same....

The aloneness feels soothing.

Kind of soft, if that's a word one can use to describe something like that.

The books, the writings, the photos.

An old song that used to mean so much and now only serves to slightly awaken an old pain.

The silence between the music.

Expectations.

Anxieties.

All gone.

Yes, soft was the correct word.

Must be 25 degrees, he though as he walked home. He had just finished dinner where he had talked with a couple of people. It was the first conversation he had had in two days. He wondered whether they had noticed that. He entered the rundown building where he lived and checked the mail. There were a couple of magazines for him. He walked the stairs to his second floor apartment. He was home. Or what passed for it, he thought. It was warmer. There were 23 days left until he got home, to the warmth of the island and to his friends. But it was still here.
Here where he was alone. He turned on the tv.

haven't written here for a while.
maybe because there is a certain stability in me.
and I usually write when my mind is full of doubt.
and things are kind of clear.

losing my touch.
so I thought.
but not quite.
(still have something)

relativamente tranquilo.
sin pensar mucho.
leyendo.
sobándome la panza un poco.
pero bien.

Where is this heading?

Enjoy the ride please.

Stop the noise.

Stop the thoughts.

There is a reason for this.

But you won't know it until

the sun rises.

Or maybe not even then.

This is me right now,

On the bed.

Naked.

My eyes irritated.

My small cock, limp.

Curtains drawn.

Not tired, but lazy.

Ayer estuve hablando con una amiga sobre este blog. Le dije que nadie lo lee. Y ella me dijo, que ese no era el punto. Que el blog es para mi, no para otros. Y me gustó eso. A ratos cuando escribo o posteo pienso en lo que un lector pensaría. Pero, carajo, esto es anónimo, excepto para par de personas. Pero ese par de personas me conocen muy bien y no le importa ver mi lado oscuro. Saben de mi lios, nada que escribanomponga de foto le va a causar shock.

Así que que libèrate. Haz lo que quieras.