Goodbye Winter days

 I can't get out of this hole where mum buried me on July 19th 2015, when she kicked me out of my house and left me on the street, in her state of alcohol and pills. I picked up my things in a bag, San Cristóbal was silent. I screamed, like if someone was going to help me, to listen to me, to give me a hand. I screamed because that day I colapsed, my life colapsed. That day, that winter, I died. I was lost and alone.
 Last winter I turned 20 and that feeling comes back to me frequently.
 Sometimes I look around and I'm scared. I want to cry, I want to scream, I want to jump from really high and crash against the floor. I can't understand my place in this world, if there's one for me, or why my mum didn't abort me when she could, if she was going to throw me away like a thrash bag, like a dog that isn't cute anymore, like a piece of shit. "There's no manual for parents" my father used to repeat to soothe his conscious.
 My life is about climbing on shit steps. One day you work in an office and they hide you when AFIP comes, the next time you are working ilegally 10 hours a day for an old mysoginist man, then you work cleaning the bathrooms at Mc Donald's. Shit steps, dragging myself in shit steps, trying to climb, looking for somewhere to get to when you don't belong anywhere, without actually knowing what do you want or where do you want to get, climbing because maybe you will fiend a clean surface, something equilibrated, an stable place, something stable after all this shit, climbing because they tell you you can't give up, that is not worth it, that you're running away from your problems. "That's for pussies". I want you to shut up. Stop giving me stupid advice and get in my shoes for a minute. Stop minimizing my pain, stop telling me that "there are worse things", stop making me feel worse than how I already feel, less understood and more marginal than how I already feel.
 I see myself climbing, step by step, and shit has more shit in it, and I drag myself on it, and I can't do this anymore. The days I feel like this I drown in my own issues, in $67 pesos per hour, in my parent's abandonment, in Martin's rejection towards me and how he broke my heart in a thousand pieces, and how stupid I feel saying this corny stuff, how stupid I feel for falling in love, how I remember him everytime I masturbate or lit a cigarette, or in every fucking station of "A" Subway. Suddenly everything colapses and I feel I'm going to explode, I want to run, I feel like when I do this there won't be turning back. I squirm in pain and sadness in my bed, that's not my bed, it's a bed in somebody else's house, I don't have a place on my own, I don't have a place to die, I could die on Mc Donald's floor, or jumping from the balcony at a friend's house, but I don't have my own place, my own place to die.
 Sometimes I look at myself and I want to give me a hug, because with all these things hanging in my back, feeling a load for me and for everyone else, feeling like this baby that wasn't loved and now is an unloved adult, I go out, I work, I come back, sometimes I laugh, I make people laugh. I love myself for my strenght, for my determination, I love myself despite wanting to kill myself, I love myself because I know I'm the only thing I have, my own motor.