I looked up at the ceiling and begged for help, it's creeping up again, my chest is tight. It's the Big Week of San Sebastian, but this only emphasizes how small I feel, in the crowds, fireworks for 7 nights in a row, for me: noise pollution, money that could have been spent on a better cause; bands playing on the beach till late, I'm not in the mood, so I miss out; theatre, the same; many many tourists, way too many; hot nights, melancholy; mini skirts, too mini; white shirts on sweaty tanned chests of males, repulsion; alcohol, repulsion, but I want; people singing, who should be shot; men pissing in the dark, that should be shot twice, a full moon, how I wish she could suck me up there and never bring me back. But I'm here with my friends the other humans, I'm one of them, my body runs through the crowd, I must get home, there are stalls of jewel makers, comedians, teenagers drinking mixed beverages with huge pink loops in their ears, and a man with a belly checks her out, and his wife, clasping his arm, hasn't even noticed, and there is a begger, from Bosnia I heard. I'm running, and the my brain buzzing, nearly home, then I run upstairs, I'm alone tonight, my brain is yelling can someone help me, can any one out there hear me? The crowd has a face, they are all one, to live through what we all do, all the same, with their wants, their hopes, their bodies, egos, pains, losses, mothers, big bums, teeth, beautiful eyes, curly hair, buddies, with underwear, been to Thailand, or New York, saving to get out, or send daughter to study, or leaving this country, hopping to reunite, or get higher, or be loved, or get back at someone, or fighting for justice, or growing, or learning, or shooting up, or saying "fuck it", or waking up, or putting the slippers on... millions like that, and they are here for a short time, but they all want the best, and most don't care about anything, and they are all the same, and they are all together, and they are happy, or nearly happy, or sad, or very very sad, and they are all out there right know, with that thundery noise of the fireworks, now making my flat shiver for a few seconds, and my windows are closed and it's happening again, I feel my mind thick, my body weak, and I'm falling a bit, on the border of it. Is it that l'm born to get depressed once a year?, Or is it something else, do I have a reason to be unhappy? And why are there so many out there, and why do they still breed even more? And why this hate in me? What is the meaning of me here? I look at my little Elvis, his eyes, he is beautiful, his fury paws, and it's all going down, and when will we ever stop eating animals, putting them through torture in jails, and then murdering them in line after they've been through the cue? And why doesn't any one care? And why can't we kill all the rapists of the world? And if I could paint, if I could write... but I try, and try, but my mind is slow, my mind is foggy again, and cold, but then hot and, why do I get such haze? It heats up and the buzzing turns into a factory alarm, the workers are out, it's about to explode, and my hands are bracing my head, and I am scared. I slow down, thank you thank you, then I see my little Elvis, those round eyes, he looks straight into mine, and I want to cry, depression? I've been pretending it's not happening, I tell my brain I'm Ok, life is good, I't will get better, just a bad day, then another, and too many in a row, then tears.

Is it really coming? please not now... no more please.