Escrito el 20 de abril de 2016.
So this is gonna be a challenge. Not only because I’m gonna try to think and write in another language but because what I’m about to tell is difficult to me to even pronounce it. I’ll start by saying that this is the first day since the incident that I listen to music, and to be honest I find it very helpful, kind of therapeutic. I am amazed of how much can we change in so little time. But mostly I am amazed and disappointed of how easily can a person be manipulated, at the point of stop being themselves. Saying that, I’ll confess that I am no longer myself, the fear has taken every part of me letting me empty of what I used to be. I no longer dance nor sing. I don’t wanna go out my house and when I have to do it, I become a total paranoid: my heart pounds very fast and the anxiety takes over me. I look over my shoulder and ask constantly why people stares at me. What do they know? Are they watching me? But I think this is normal under the circumstances, I guess this is what happens when you have been threaten to be skinned off, to be sexually abused by ten guys, to be beheaded. And even in that scenario, I feel very disappointed of me. Because I believed everything that this men were saying to me by the phone. That's right: BY THE PHONE. I let them control me for almost twenty hours, twenty hours of torture, psychological and (obviously) emotional torture, while I did not eat, I did not sleep, I did not drink water, I did not think. I was not me (I still am not). Now I am a very frightened person (maybe I already was before that, and that's why I was an easy target). And, besides crying all day, the only thing I do now is go back to every minute of that twenty hours of surrealness. And punish myself for being so stupid. I listen to their voices repeating me awful things, talking about my body and my tattoos and my genitals. Talking about my family, about my brother particularly and how they'd kill him. I was not me. 'Cause I believe (at least before that terrible episode) that I can distinguish what's real from what isn't. But I didn’t. So that's why I feel so guilty: because going directly into that trap just confirm that I am not as smart as I thought I was. That I am stupid and weak and a coward. That I believe every fictional thing that comes in front of me. That fear is the only legit feeling on which we can count on. Not love, or compassion, or hope, or peacefulness. Fear. Because this is the reality we live on: a world of threats, harassment, intimidation, violence, captivity. A world where if somebody tells you that is gonna tear-off your tattoos from your body, you must believe it. I don't only feel fear and guilt, I feel very responsible of the concerns and anguish I caused to the ones I love. And I feel ashamed. Because now they know how incredibly stupid I am. Now we all know I am a fraud. A child who needs to be taking care. Not a woman. Not an adult. A child, and a very stupid one. The music keeps playing. I write this while I look through the window time to time, just to check no one is coming. Because my stupidity is so big that even knowing that event was not quite real I still believe I am in danger. So when I say that I am not me anymore, I am really saying that maybe this is the real me. My brain drained everything I thought was, and the only thing that has let me in is this sense of emptiness. This is what happens when you are forced to abandon yourself and say goodbye to everything you knew. The fiction becomes real because the feeling that it produce is real. So you start knowing yourself, questioning unstoppably what is real, because the only certainty you have is that you were not.