PAIN

With the pain now dead, life becomes a constant torment from every dawn. Death turns into an insignificant laugh.

Loneliness is so overwhelming that life seems like a fulfilled goal, a tribute to the efforts. How can I look at my shattered efforts and tell them that all they did was in vain, that I was broken and dissociated, that I couldn’t defend myself properly? Looking at myself again is confronting an abyss that marks the prelude to the objective. There are no measures for being underwater; the sounds arrive too late. I ask you to understand the glass jar in which I was dissociated after so much pain, from the daily thorns of abuse, from the vanishing situations, and how I was without gills underwater. It all began in a cornered way, with a lack of information, and became progressive, filling the gaps from past times I didn’t even know I had. Emotion, tired of rising and falling without reason, resembled the buttons of a great game machine while you went through each moment. I thought they would destroy me for doing everything wrong, and doubts vanished as if nothing had happened on the steep peak, only to repeat. Emotionally and mentally exhausted, there was a truce, but the cycle occurred again. I ask you to please understand the torment: I wandered between power, choice, custom, lack of reason, ups and downs, shouting, abuse, disorder, dissociation, guilt, and daily death. Everything spun like a devastating whirlwind, the lived abuse.

Losing everything I found in this world is the only thing that remains, as if I had to be reborn. Once, twice, how many more times. You think there are no problems in life. Now it’s too late, and it always will be. If you want to live like this, I will always be your torment. I will follow you wherever you go, and every time you try to pretend that this didn’t happen and forget, the humiliations from your first office and your project will forever return to your mind. You will experience the absence of life that will show you that the path to dignity is nothing more than a gloomy and sad process. You will succumb to the images of your past dreams, and the pain of the absence of your harvests will never go away. Each night, the ghost of dissolution will visit you, reminding you of how they used each of your parts until they were reduced to dust. You will remember how they used your disposition, your desires, your emotions, your strength, and your labor until they were destroyed, until you had to think twice about becoming yourself again because they deceived you using everything at their disposal and you let it go with the best you had. The fear, the pain, the emptiness, the tremor, all that which appears before the void of becoming yourself again will remain. Once used and broken, they labeled you as a worthless, disposable monster and discarded you, taking your best parts. Your integrity is shattered. Nothing will sink you more than remembering how they eliminated you from your dreams, as if you were trash, how you disappeared from your own life. You will remember the dead touches on your back and everything you hoped for, what they would never give you, using your desire for camaraderie to the end to completely break you inside. You are dead; you allowed them to kill you both outside and inside. You are nothing but dead. You will remember how they dominated you so much and how you gave every day while they broke your soul just for fun. That was all in vain because the project you fought for is gone and you can’t do it again. You will remember every small action that took you out of that place called life and you will be dead. He has achieved his goals, and you will live forever in the absence of those who will remember you as a willing, trusting, naive, and good companion, until the arrival of summer began to kill you along with the feelings you let pass for being foolish, naive, lacking knowledge, for abuse, for inexperience, and power. It doesn’t matter. You don’t deserve to live again, even if you could.

No connections, no feelings, power, nor the cage, nor dissociation, manipulation, and labor, emotional mountains, nor reinforcements. Nothing will save you from your dead efforts. It doesn’t matter. Inside and out, you are dying and you are dead. The most dignified thing left for you to do is to nourish trees in a cemetery.