I I suffer from anxiety. As you may have realized the nature of the blog, I I take things too seriously, and to top it all exaggerating. While in Venezuela there are people on the beach, thrown into the sea, relaxed as the country goes to shit, I'm in France where I should not be complaining about anything, tearing the hair of the head.
For starters, the Masters of shit is unattainable levels of demand. Mother pisses me off so much studying to be never a day to reading. In the middle of everything I keep wondering, what this shit will fuck me? In the classifieds nobody is looking someone with my profile. Thinking about my options, I realize I can not return to my country because the pod is getting worse. And now, if Manuel Rosales runs for office again, I most likely have to Chavez until he dies.
The ment of anxiety is that it is hopeless. Need something that relaxes you, takes away the feeling that you're in a high-speed train that goes against a wall. For a moment I suddenly if he did not do everything alone all the time, I feel better. At least I thought if I were in love, life I seem so stressful. I got the perfect candidate and what I did, screwing up. Then I got to the conqueror and what I did, screwing up even worse.
With all this now I have even more anxiety. What I liked balls English? I am so fucked up! Really. My parents should use the next time you see me and go back to intern at Clinica Santa Maria. My problem is that whenever I choose the wrong candidate: best friend from college who only sees me as a friend , who lives in another country, and now that he has a girlfriend. Bravo! While there are women who are invested only in certain games, I pathological and self-destructive I invest in dead ends where there is a woolly shit waiting to return. When you realize that you are psychologically predisposed to ruin any chance to experience something romantic, you can not help thinking FUCK LOVE, I'd rather fall on DRUGS.
Obviously, when I think of drugs, gives me more anxiety. So what had started by anxiety level 3 now goes by 7 " I have to study too, my career does not work for half a shit, I have to stay in France because my country is in the pit, the jevo that I like has a girlfriend and Napa I get high I can not. " Just as the spirit of William Burroughs [1] appears to me, I remember the year working with my therapist rehabilitation.
Basically what I did in therapy was to discuss rehabilitation drugs, how I liked, how they helped me in my daily life and made me see my therapist instead drove me fucking drugs. Today I'm programmed so that when I think of cocaine, all I remember are the nosebleeds, so rods tachycardias you feel you're going to die and the vacuum so dark you feel the next morning. When I think of sleeping pills, remember the three washes the stomach. They are the best memories of the world, but yet, I was much laughter when he went to consultation with and he said "want to get a pea, to fall to pass and then send me some seeds to sleep" and she asked me "Why do you want to intoxicate? What substances give you? ". She never called pods by name, I said "parakeet, Kurdish and Tafila" she called them "substances" as if it were a metaphysical entity. I said "the huelengue" and she said "intoxication."
Obviously I will not relapse into drugs, but what then? What I can begin service to remove this feeling that my life is going to hell? A cigarette! A cigarette would help me relax. Just when I'm grabbing the wallet to buy a box of Marlboro, I remember it took me half a ball and quit. Turnoff which violent, the only decent part of me convinces me that cigarettes do not resolve anything.
For some reason, even though I know that cigarettes do not help me at all, but instead, joderían me even more, I still feel like turn one. Almost tremble thinking how rich he would light a panga, and would be even more rico prenderla con un vodka. “Déjame tomarme un trago”, salto. En vez de fumar y tomar, podría solamente tomar. Si me sirvo una copita de vino, un traguito de vodka, capaz pueda aliviarme. Pero apenas voy a la cocina y me sirvo el trago, una vocecita me dice “ Adriana pilas, recuerda que tienes una predisposición genética al alcoholismo”. ¡¡COÑO!!
¡Estoy en la puta mierda! ¿Cuál maldito vicio de mierda puedo empezar sin cagarme la vida? WHAT THE FUCK?! Y ni se les ocurra decirme, "Go to the gym" because I answer a "go to hell." I want to start a bloody ritual where every night after studying, and suck all my existential pean exaggerated light a fucking cigarette and I drink a damn glass of wine. But I can not, because vicious as I am, I could not control myself.
Damn it, can true, eleven junky, always a junky. Light a candle for me, gentlemen, and if the smoke of the candle they note, let me know.
PS: I went to therapy.
[1] American novelist known for his novel "Junky" and "Junkie" which chronicles the lives of heroin addicts .
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