There was a chapter on my life that I used to date a guy that always carried a gun and had like 7-10 different guns on his house. *I was pretty bad mentally to be dating him* We were on a fight and he pointed his gun to me telling me to stop the bullshit… I felt for the first time in my life the coldness of a gun on my head. I don’t know shit about personal defense. But i was pretty bad mentally by that time. So my reaction was to break the bottle of wine that was next to me and with a piece of it i started cutting myself on a way i knew i would bleed, but not vertically so i wont kill myself and told him to shoot me or i would cut myself the right way. He took the gun down. I left stains of blood on his white sheets covers. He told me if I keep the madness we would be done, so i took my pants off with a smile on my face, he thought i was asking for sex, and suddenly i just started cutting my tights on his bed. I told him we were done and i was not going to clean the bullshit he started. On my way leaving the bedroom I took a bigger gun on my hands and told him “You are lucky I DONT know how to UNLOCK this shit!”.

Get to know this: mentally ill people are not afraid of death, we are afraid of living!

Fragmentos Thoughts and writings

Gabriela Christina Díaz View All →

Nacida en Puerto Rico, pero soy ciudadana del Mundo. Escribo para vaciar el ruido de mi mente y me llena el corazón que alguien le toque de alguna forma lo que escribo. Pues de nada me sirve escribir si lo que escribo no conmueve un alma. No escribo muchas paradojas porque yo soy la paradoja en sí. Soy un poco controversial en mi manera de expresarme, pero escribo y me expreso de una forma transparente, desde lo más sincero de mis adentros.


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