Buscando la luz

How to say that you die? How to escape from that mental, depressive prison? How to testify to that dark and uncontrollable trance towards suicide? How to shape that amazing tunnel? Can this be isolated, condensed into an image? Does the suicide have a defined face, an archetypal behavior?

That afternoon I was dying. I felt that I was slowly entering into vulgar hysteria. There was no one by my side or outside. Asturias had frozen in my head, it was shaped like a cemetery. And I told myself that I could at least photograph myself in those moments, and do it in a random, compulsive, delusional way. The camera started shooting at me.

Any other suicide of jaba a note, but I would leave images, digital memory, on my camera. Yes, I was going to die from loneliness, from terror to silence. Those shots, however, brought me back to reason. I found the window and thought about jumping. But the light, that tender winter light that I will never forget in my life, stopped me. I found the beauty in that window. And I couldn’t jump anymore, I couldn’t cut my veins or fill my stomach with pills. The light was my hold. And these images the reminder of never thinking about killing myself again.