Boys games

It can be clinical.
It´s really not a question of thinking good and happy toughts .
And by the way, spare me the part about all the people who are suffering more than me.
I´ve worked with indigeneous communities where women hide the bruises their husbands gave them while they come for a consult for yet another pregnancy. I spent months working with children from the street, who are high all the time because the "mona" keeps them from being hungry. I´ve actually slept in the street in order to gain their trust. I´ve gone to jails and sat side by side with a murderer who offers me shrimp quesadillas. I met once a beatiful great man who likes leaving in the comanche territory. Beirut. He writes to me when he gets hold of a computer and has time to spare some lines from his regular job at the Guardian. I´ve worked with the people from the garbage, cities ann mountains of junk until the only way you can see the sun is looking up, because you are surrounded with garbage. My other dear great friend is from Israel. He is jewish. And he is a documentarian who is trying to explain why his country is destroying beirut. He is a tough big guy. But I can read in his last mail the desesperation growing in his heart.

When I was 11 years old, just a kid, i still had the child´s spark in my eyes. Since my parents where working all the time (I could just copy paste this last phrase) my summer holidays i spent them at school. But not at the cool british colleges, full of country side and berries and classmates and books. Sigh. noup. Summer classes where the kind where they would treat you like you where showing off when you finished the ridiculous stuff they put to do in like, five minutes.
One day I was alone at one classroom, all the teachers polishing their nails and drinking coffe and this fellow classmate came in. I wasn´t really paying attention to him until he grab me, hit me and knocked me over one of the school benches and stuck a blade in my throat.
He push it hard in my neck, his whole body on top of me, his face against mine.
He asked me "who you like better, me or the other one?" At first I didn´t understand and was unable to provide an answer, to which he grew angry and stuck the blade deeper in my throat.
Finally I react it and gave what seem the right answer. He finally let me go. He put the blade close to my eyes and told me to remember.
And I have.
I know how to break a guy´s nose and I´ve done it. I´ve never ever being caught again off my guard without the right thing to say to a man.
The teachers at the school said it was my fault. For being alone.
That day I learn a lot about male behaviour.

And my depression keeps growing and growing.