Misguided Ghosts

I'm going away for a while, but I'll be back, don't try and follow me... 'cause I'll return as soon as possible. See, I'm trying to find my place, but it might not be here where I feel safe. We all learn to make mistakes... And run from them, from them, with no direction. We'll run from them, from them... with no conviction.

'Cause I'm just one of those ghosts, traveling endlessly... Don't need no roads, in fact they follow me. And we just go in circles... But now I'm told that this is life, and pain is just a simple compromise, so we can get what we want out of it.

Someone care to classify, a broken heart, some twisted minds... so I can find someone to rely on.

And run to them, to them, full speed ahead. Oh, you are not useless...We are just misguided ghosts, traveling endlessly... The ones we trusted the most, pushed us far away.

And there's no one road. We should not be the same... but I'm just a ghost, and still they echo me... They echo me in circles.

Building thick and high walls so you won't come in.

Hay días en que me da igual el echo de estar viva. No me importaría morir. Pero hoy no, algo me pasa hoy que me hace sentir que todo va a estar bien...

With you...

I can't help feeling dumb, not femenin and pretty at all, fat and unattractive while having sex.

Cuando estoy sola de noche, partiendo mis pastillas para la semana... me las doy de profunda y me pregunto si de esto se va a tratar toda mi vida. "Me imagino que para fin de año te van a bajar la dosis, no?". No. Me queda al menos un año más de tratamiento para lograr estabilizarme bien. Me subieron la dosis, no te lo voy a contar, y tampoco lo quiero hacer. Me da pena vivir en base a pastillas, pero hasta hoy es la única forma en que he podido hacerlo, y es inevitable volverse adicta y esclava. No he vivido nada hasta hoy. 21 años de vida, pronto 22... ocho de estos años con depresión clínica, cinco de tratamiento psiquiátrico. Y no es gran cosa, trastornos del ánimo y bullshit. Pero de todas formas, me cuesta vivir sin pastillas. Y bueno, ahí están.  175mg de lamotrigina, 25mg de quetiapina, 20mg de paroxetina. Respira, duerme, sonríe.
Nada comparado con antes. 150mg de quetiapina, duerme y quédate así. Y el delicioso ravotril.
Ya no sé que pensar de esto. Son como remedios de resfriado. No me considero enferma, ni en una condición delicada. Solamente soy demasiado débil para afrontar la vida sin caer. .

Better off alone

Addicted

I'm addicted to self pity. Self hate. Self destruction. Pills. Pain. Anger. Anguish. Sadness. Seeking attention. Getting obsessed with destructive thoughs. Flesh. Blood. Company. Kindness. Affection. Caring. Protection.

I need to get rid of all this shit.

Heal my own wounds. Not needing anybody. Save me from myself. Getting away from people and things I need and carry on alone.

I'm tired of needing you.

So damn happy.

Madness

How crazy am I?

When I get frustrated, the little voice in my head suggests to commit suicide. May be is laziness talking, not wanting to stand up and fight my own battles.

When something doesn't work out, I'm like "hum si, necesito este número de cajas de este fármaco para que sea efectivo, pero tengo que buscar un lugar apropiado para que no alcancen a hacer un lavado de estómago". Thinking different ways and scenarios to kill myself.

When I hear some people's problems I don't get why they haven't killed themselves yet.

When I think about future, all I can see is misery. I know I won't get enough money to buy meds to keep on going; to "live", work to get money, to get meds.

Give me just one fucking reason to live.