Happy Easter, my darlings! I never do celebrate this nor do I have strong reasons why but what the hell!

And what is better than remembering one of the very first Judy Garland films I saw, Easter Parade? I used to play this song over and over again and now I have an opportunity to do so again. FIFTH AVENUEEEEEEEEEE…..

My mother has her day off today so my brother and I are spending the day with her……sort of. My brother has been watching a television program I was quite obsessed with as a child, The Powerpuff Girls, my mother is chatting away with her friends and I am here in my bed just thinking of Pola Negri and her life.

Back in my Peru days, Easter was a much celebratory holiday and still is, in that country. Everything was Jesus-oriented and we all had to remember his crucifixion. It used to sadden me so terribly but now I realize the movies over-exaggerate the torture he endured on that day. It still sucks that he got crucified though. Well, anyway, since Peru is mostly a Catholic country, we all had to devote our thoughts to God and Jesus and all that stuff. My teacher even assigned us to watch a movie about the life of Jesus as a school assignment back in the third grade. I had to watch The Passion of the Christ by myself because I thought it would help me get admission to Heaven after death. Um, see, this is the main reason why I was faithfully religious as a child. I was frightened of Hell and still am, but later discovered that my elders had forced me to believe in these things by scaring me. I am no longer Catholic because some people will do anything, such as denouncing homosexuality, to make one believe in their crap. They’re just too fucking pushy and I can’t stand it. They live their lives being ruled by something they don’t even know if it truly exists. Oh well.

I do believe there is someone up there who knows all our thoughts, perversions and sins. But I mostly believe in the afterlife. I think Touko Laaksonen will welcome me after death and will take to me to a party where all my idols will be. They will run up to me as we then all embrace. We will dance the foxtrot and drink Pepsi and eat Peruvian food and just relish the fact that I don’t have to worry about money any longer. Things just appear by snapping your fingers or by nodding your head, putting your hands on your arms and blinking.

Better than any economy.

Then I will spend my eternity in my countryside with pink skies and roses with no mental anguish…or any further troubles. I am to visit Earth now and then to check up on any current terrors…I still believe in Jesus but I consider my idols deities, too. It never hurts to dream, does it?

Well, this year we gave religion barely any importance so we just ate the delicious Peruvian food my mother made (she was depressed because I had been depressed but still got out of bed for our sake) and talked of all the things we were thankful for. Oh, yes. I also went to the backyard and placed some plastic Easter eggs with some sweets inside on some random places of the backyard for my brother to find. I don’t know. It’s some American custom. My brother ate all the sweets because I am repulsed with chocolate.

My damned depression hasn’t been at its nadir today, as it was yesterday and probably all week. Yesterday was just terrible. I couldn’t keep going. Saw no point on being alive; myself, anyway. Same old story. The day before I had slept over at my best friend’s and we laughed like hell while watching Ninotchka and coming back home I was thinking negatively again. My father tried to even take me to the record store but I couldn’t think of anything enjoyable to buy. If I bought a movie, I was just gonna put it on the shelf and wouldn’t touch it in months. And there was no music interesting enough. Christ, I didn’t like anything anymore. I couldn’t enjoy anything. No bands. Absolutely nothing. Then I despaired. There was nothing to be done. No one could help me. I couldn’t even help myself. I felt crazy. My thoughts were intense and, to my mind, Death was the only outcome; for everything was too impossible to bear. My thoughts were obsessive again. I could not think of any goddamn reason to keep on breathing. I did not give a care for studies, successes; ei mitään. It all came back. The worthlessness, the self-loathing, and the hopelessness obviously. All I kept thinking about was of slitting my wrists. I was silently letting the familiar tears slide down as slowly as they usually do. They are probably unmotivated. I cry so much and they must be exhausted. My mind kept telling me that I must take my life no matter what. “You must die.” it said. “You are a poor excuse and a waste to the human race. You are wasting your time and others’ by still being here. Go on and scram now so you can be out of our thoughts and we can all stop feeling sorry for you.

“You are not great, my dear, and please stop trying to convince yourself that you are. You’re a fucking joke. You live in your vacuous little world with your silly dead movie stars and singers. Truth is that you aren’t going to amount to anything. Let’s get this straight, other people will probably do much better in the profession you seek to pursue, while you will sulk over your failures and make the stubborn decision to still try. I hope we’re on the same boat here. I’m not a pessimist. I’m just an optimist who is well-informed.”


I didn’t want to go home so my father agreed to drive me to the cinema that I go to on Saturdays to watch silent films. I felt I had manipulated him with my tears. Did it even matter at all anymore? Did I even like movies anymore? I didn’t know but still went.

My father had to go with me because he assumed I would experience great discomfort by being in the verge of tears among people. A Felix the Cat short film was playing when we came in and I still had thoughts as of why I should take my own life. I couldn’t concentrate on the storyline of what I was watching. I just ate my chips and frowned while others chuckled. The following short was about some lad who idolized Rembrandt (Vincent Price’s favorite painter) and fell in love with Mary Astor. It didn’t exactly catch my fancy and I didn’t bother to concentrate that much. But I do like Rembrandt.

But I only went to the cinema because of the feature film, which starred Max Linder. The first ever comedian in the movies. This was before Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton or Harold Lloyd. I had made my research about him some days before and was a bit skeptical on attending the screening, for I feared I was to be bored. I learned from the film historian introducing the film on Saturday that he was the highest paid movie star on the planet by 1912. Nice!

But some days before in my short research, I read the tragic fact that Max dealt with severe depression, which led him to commit suicide with his wife on the Halloween night of 1925. That quieted my mind and hardened my heart for some minutes. I can’t believe he did that now having watched one of his films.

When the film historian told us of his suicide in the introduction, I once again looked down and fell silent. I decided to give him a chance. I wanted to see his Art; what he excelled at in the years that he lived. I wanted to see him smile. To see some happiness in his eyes. All before the sadness took over.

The film I watched was called Seven Years Bad Luck. It was about a young rich man who was about to be married and all was going right for him. But one morning his servants were playing around his room and happened to break his mirror. When Max went to use the mirror to shave, one of his servants had to mimic his every move and that left me speechless with a smile.


The mirror is soon replaced, but Max starts thinking that someone else was the reflection of the other “mirror”, so he throws an object at it and it shatters. And he stars believing that he is to suffer seven years of bad luck and events do happen….HA!

Max throughout the film was comedic but in an elegant fashion. He had an immaculate air he exuded. That neat mustache and that smile…Oh my lord, I think I fell for Max Linder.


I giggled my way through the film. Max didn’t let misfortune get to him! He got his way in a graceful manner. Especially in that scene where he was caressing the tigress in the cage….Ahh….

This definitely cheered me up. Again a silent film distracted me from thinking of suicide. I think that’s excellent.

I believe the reason why my mental malady has worsened is because maybe my 100mg of Zoloft are taking effect after a month really. I feel the way I felt with Wellbutrin. I felt that my world was coming to its end. Maybe these pills aren’t for me. They increase what I dread thinking of most: suicide. My mind races with all sorts of thoughts about it. I know I will be fine. I had the opportunity to take all my sleeping pills last night but I had still some common sense and respect to myself left. I just have to find the right treatment, even if it has taken years with multiple diagnoses and pills.

Meanwhile, I’ve been listening to my favorite band’s albums much more and they make my cardiovascular system wiggle as there is a frenzy of adoration in my mind.

Oh yes! My sister in a message told me that she told Nergal from Behemoth about Pola Negri, as I had asked her to. He told her his parents used to watch her movies and that he had grown up seeing them. You could imagine how wide my smile was when I read that in her message. He also told her to tell me to give myself a chance in life, as he did when he was battling with cancer. What a darling.

Here’s to life!
and fuck depression.
and fuck depression.