MAD WORLD

Los dedos teclean y los párpados pesan... no me hago responsable por lo que suceda en las siguientes líneas...

Remember, son, that a house in shambles may not look good, but it's a starting point. I guess I have a hard time admitting my vulnerability. I dread this sad mourning spells because they weaken me; because they show one of the sides I try most desperately to hide from myself. Weakness scares me. I dislike weakness because I don't know how to react before it; because it forces me to admit that I share that weakness. It drowns me. I am helpless, in a sea in which the tide is too strong and the shore is too far. I can't ask a helping hand to come -I don't dare to-, but then, I remember the proverb: When you need a helping hand, look for the one at the end of your arm.
So I begin paddling weakly.
Sometimes, when I use boards to stop myself from feeling the pounding of the waves, I end up farther from shore than when I first clung to them. You see, there is something about the pounding of the waves: You learn out of every blow. Taking the waves to the chest teaches you the pace of the Tides. This knowledge can be used to move with the waves and get to shore, if not with less effort nor faster, safely and surely, at least and at last.
I am not on shore yet... I am scared of the choppy waves, of the rumors about sharks, of the smell of salt, of the shore itself... And yet, I know I have to get there.
But I have finally made my choice -again- not to hold on to a board for as long as I can endure, so I can get there safely. I will have to face the challenges as they come, with no planning ahead. What I have going for me is that I seem to have lost the fear of the waves themselves, and I will charge through them with all the speed my body can manage... because that is what I came here to do.