viernes, 23 de diciembre de 2016

My Christmas request.

So, here's the thing. Normally, when I write an entry, I have this previous image of how it may turn out and I usually have gone back and forth about the topic and the way I want to portray it. As for this piece, I have no idea how it will result because I don't know if it's an honest reflexion or the consequence of a high fever and lots of medications. Let me explain.
For the past 5 days I've been home to a wonderful bacteria that has taken my larynx and joints as hostages, swelling and infesting them up and giving me what is best known as laryngitis and reactive arthritis. That, plus the flu-like symptoms which have woken up the best assets of fibromyalgia and asthma, have really made of the past week a very difficult one health-wise. For that, I haven't been able to get out of bed which has really brighten up my holiday spirit, that was previously non existent. As part of this crappy week, there has been a lot of sleepless nights: It wasn't just courtesy of depression and anxiety who've been absolutely present, but it was mostly thanks to the sore muscles, painful joints and adorable symptoms of the fibromyalgia and arthritis.
As I lay in bed in the quiet darkness of the night, I listened to something that surprised me: My own heartbeat. I had my hand placed right under my ear and there it was. My heart beating in a way I've never listened before. The following sleepless nights the same phenomenon happened. As my mind and my body felt sick and tired of being sick and tired, as I recalled all of those things that haunt me at night, as I counted all the tender points in which I felt absolutely painful, I could listen to my heart beating and everything was fine. I came to this realization that no matter how screwed you can feel, physically or psychologically, there's always a part of you that will fight to keep you alive, to be better, to feel fine. In my case, my heartbeat showed me that: I felt miserable, I usually tend to get more depressed and anxious when I feel physically sick or weak so... These past days, my best description is that I'm a 160 cms pile of tears, panic attacks, mucus, fever, bacteria, coughs and swollen extremities and joints (Graphic much). BUT even when I felt nothing in my body was working properly and every single cell and organ and neuron were on vacation, I listened to my heart beat. And there it was, my heart and a couple of cells and tiny workers inside my body were trying to keep me alive, and were trying their hardest to fight this freaking bacteria and to, somehow, restore my health.
And as I'm as cheesy as I can be, I found there the perfect metaphor that I needed to make it through Christmas, which is that as bad, miserable, grinchy you might be feeling, there's always a tiny part of your being in which light and love still shines through. As small as it may seem, it exists. And that keeps you going. And my challenge, for all of you who've had a miserable year and who aren't in a festive mood is to embrace that love that exist in your being. Not for the whole day, if you don't feel like it, not even for a whole hour, but spread a little of that which keeps you going. Even for a tiny second.
Because the truth is that there is someone out there, whose got it worse than you. I know you don't imagine it, specially if you have a poisoned brain which convinces you that in all of the scenarios you are THE ABSOLUTE worst of all. The saddest, the sickest, the most miserable of all the miserable miserables on every universe. And with this, I'm not trying in any way to give less importance to your pain: Is valid and real, and it matters, and only, only you know the extend of your suffering truly and it deserves all the empathy, attention, respect and love available. But I swear, as huge as your suffering is, you have something that someone doesn't: Call it family, food, treatment, meds, faith in God, clothes, hobbies, resilience, health insurance, etc... And those things are the ones that give you the love and light I previously talked about. Because even though others have what you are missing, the same things happen with you and others. So this is my challenge for you this Christmas.
If you aren't in the mood for being festive, don't be. Don't pretend that your mental health issues aren't there or that you are healthy and happy. You are who you are, and your story is what it is, no matter if the date in the calendar is 24th-25th of December or September the 3rd.  But if you've had a terrible year, like myself, you know how terrible it is to lack certain things, how melancholic this time of the year can be and how absolutely horrible it is to be heartbroken, depressed, lonely, sick, discriminated, judged, etc. So let's help each other. As miserable as you feel, you still have some light and love to give, and something you have and take for granted, is what others' are missing. So give them that, Even if it's for the tinniest second. Give someone a smile, a hug. Pay attention to someone's story, maybe no one has ever done that. Be there for those who don't have many friends or family, be with them. If you have talent for telling jokes, make people laugh. If you are poetic, tell someone something nice,
What I'm trying to tell you is that you, as terrible as you might feel, can make someones Christmas better. As much as you hate it, and as much as you tried to avoid it, the holidays are just around the corner. And they'll suck, and you'll still be having depression and anxiety and physical illnesses, and everyone around you will be as happy as they can be, so happy they'll even make you sick. So as you can't change that, you can't fast-forward the days to come, make them as good (or as manageable) as they can be. And I promise, that if you try to make others' (who feel as miserable as you, or even worse) day better, even if it's for a second with your smile, the day will be better.
That won't make your depression go away, or your joints to stop hurting, but it'll make you feel useful, like being alive for that second in which you helped other was worth it. You sincerely can't give everyone a material gift, and frankly, things are overrated. We need to share those untangible gifts, because it is what we lack the most. Faith, love, happiness, peace. And as miserable as you might be feeling, you are able to produce and give away those untangible gifts for others. And there, in that moment, you'll be an angel, a miracle, a beautiful unusual event, for someone who (as you) is hurting on this Christmas day.


jueves, 15 de diciembre de 2016

Hasta siempre, 2016

Hoy me despido del que pensé que sería el último año de mi vida. Hoy le digo adiós al 2016, hoy vivo un día que juré, en mil momentos, que no lograría verlo en vida.
2016, fuiste mi Everest. Fuiste mi enemigo número 1. Fuiste una cadena de eventos, que no me atrevo a decir que fueron desafortunados, pero que me cambiaron la vida. Te odie, te detesté, intenté escapar de todas las formas posibles, exceptuando claramente la muerte (Porque soy una gallina o porque Dios es muy grande, o las dos). Internet y las noticias tampoco te ayudaban, fuiste un año extrañísimo y francamente fuiste un año sorprendente en términos de elecciones, de violencia, de maldad, de premios Oscar (tal vez Leonardo DiCaprio fue de las pocas personas que pueden decir que el 2016 fue un gran año).
Y sigo viva...

Creo que la vida, las tradiciones, han puesto mucha cargo en los años y especialmente en los fines de año. Hay como esta carga mística que dice que el 31 de Diciembre, cuando el reloj marque las 12, se inicia de cero. Borrón y cuenta nueva. Millones de rituales, comer las uvas con las 12 campanadas, ropa interior amarilla y nueva, vueltas con maletas, quemar años viejos, baños en champaña, todo para que el año que entra sea absolutamente exitoso y perfecto. Porque todos anhelamos eso, la perfección, la felicidad absoluta, la plenitud total que te puede dar la pareja soñada, posesiones económicas, viajes, físico envidiable, etc. Pero he ahí el truco: Nadie, absolutamente nadie, es perfecto. Y nadie, absolutamente nadie, puede ser feliz 24/7. Y otro dato curioso: El reloj marca las 12:01, es 1 de Enero de 2017 y (Sé que lo siguiente puede doler y romper sueños e ir en contra de fantasías) pero tu vida sigue igual.
Y sigo viva...

Así que dos cosas en esencia para empezar. 2016: No fue tu culpa. Siento haberte culpado por todo lo malo y todo lo doloroso, pero hoy entiendo que no eres tu, soy yo (Cliché). Se juntaron cosas y todo explotó, porque debía explotar en ese momento, no porque seas un año maldito o porque me odies. Mi genética no es tu culpa, las relaciones interpersonales que tengo tampoco y lo que mis papás y amigos deciden hacer con sus vidas va ciertamente más allá de estar o no en un año determinado. Es simplemente que fuiste demasiado, fuiste más de lo que pensé que podía vivir a mis 22 años. En tus 12 meses, perdí todo a pesar de tenerlo todo, y estoy en proceso de reconstrucción después de pasar por una negación tremenda en la que me rehúsaba a que la vida me diera tanto palo. 

Gracias a ti, 2016, entendí que hay ciertas lecciones que solo se aprenden con dolor, de manera dura, con sangre como dirían por ahí. Tengo infinitas bendiciones, tengo una casa, un cupo en una gran universidad, un título de bachiller en un gran colegio, carros, la posibilidad de viajar, acceso a la tecnología, mucha comida, en fin. La vida me ha dado un montón y lo agradezco, créeme que si. Pero en este año, desde mayo, lo perdí todo: Me perdí a mi misma. Perdí mi identidad, perdí mi felicidad, mis ganas de vivir, perdí mi paz, perdí el silencio o la armonía existente en mis pensamientos, perdí mi capacidad de comunicarme verbalmente y perdí mi voz anterior, perdí mi movilidad temporalmente, perdí mi paz, perdí la energía que tenía (no era mucho, pero ajá, servía), perdí mis trabajos y mis ocupaciones universitarias, perdí amistades, perdí mi autonomía, perdí la autorización de conducir, perdí la posibilidad de salir sola a la calle o estar sin supervisión, perdí la administración de mis propios medicamentos, perdí amores, perdí sueños, perdí momentos. 
Y sigo viva...

Quedé en ceros, en ruinas. Y podía reconstruirme o quedarme así. La segunda opción era, y a veces es, tremendamente tentadora. Es más sencillo, es menos extenuante, es conformarte con lo que quedas: Destierro por la depresión o muerte por depresión. Simple. Sencillo. Pero de tanto, tanto que perdí, 2016, me diste momentos que de hecho me obligaron, sí o sí (no se cómo o cuando pasó), a reconstruirme. A no quedarme ahí. A ser una mujer feliz y plena con depresión y ansiedad (eso suena cómico e irónico) y en esas estoy, luchando y descifrando cómo se logra, como se equilibra, como se acepta, como se ama a uno mismo teniendo una cabeza demoníaca que te susurra maldades y negativismos a cada segundo. Y en ti, 2016, he encontrado infinidades de momentos que han prendido pequeñas chispitas en mi alma, oscurecida y rota por el dolor, que me han dado vida. En estos 12 meses he visto a mi ahijado de dos años convertirse en una personita, que ama a los animales, la coca cola, las papas, que sabe decir su nombre y que me imita en todas mis poses de nuestras infinitas selfies. He visto a mi otra ahijada, no de bautizo sino de corazón, cumplir 44 años y superar por 32 años su expectativa de vida. La he visto aprender palabras, se ha abierto conmigo para contarme con sus señas y caritas el dolor de su infancia, y se ha vuelto un miembro esencial de mi familia, llenandonos de risa con sus picardías. Pude experimentar lo que es abrirse frente a extraños y que te llenen de amor infinito, de comprensión, sin juzgarte ni un segundo. Logré sacar coraje para mostrarme como soy, para quitarme máscaras, para romper barreras, para intentar luchar contra el estigma. Eso me trajo amores, rechazos, cuestionamientos y apoyo. De todo un poco. Pero no me quiero enfocar en aquellos que por no salir de su zona de confort niegan la crudeza de las problemáticas de salud mental. Me quiero enfocar en todo el amor que recibí, de todos aquellos que me mostraron que no era más ni menos valiosa por tener depresión o ansiedad, o por tomar medicamentos o por aceptar que iba a terapia.
Y sigo viva...

Quiero agradecerte, 2016, por permitirme a través del dolor, entender la lucha de tantas personas que no solamente tienen que pelear con sus mentes, con sus demonios (llamese depresion, ansiedad, bipolaridad, esquizofrenia, obsesion, anorexia, bulimia), sino que además se enfrentan a una sociedad que los juzga, que se les burla en la cara, que no los toma en serio. Gracias 2016, porque sin haber estado en riesgo suicida, tal vez nunca hubiera entendido el dolor que abarca éste mismo, y nunca me hubiera propuesto (como plan de vida) luchar contra el estigma que pasan las personas que se auto lesionan, o las familias de aquellos que se quitan la vida. 2016, me mostraste que mi vocación está en luchar por los derechos de todos los que batallamos con una enfermedad mental, especialmente por todas esas personas que están en situación de discapacidad. Fue hermoso ver cómo alguien que tiene deficiencia cognitiva severa y que es visto como "inutil", te puede llenar tanto el corazon e inspirarte con su ejemplo para luchar por tu propia historia. Sin ti, 2016, nunca hubiera entendido que mi mamá es absolutamente fuerte y comprensiva, la mujer más entregada y cariñosa que conozco, que mi hermano por más distinto que sea a mi es mi mejor amigo y mi mayor fan, y que no tengo que ver a mi papá a diario para tener un vínculo que es irrompible. 
Y sigo viva...

Gracias, meses de porquería, porque sin pasar por eso nunca hubiese tenido un vínculo tan fuerte con mi psiquiatra y mi psicóloga: Meto las manos al fuego por ellos, porque son ellos quienes se llevan el mérito de que yo luche por mi vida a cada segundo a pesar de que el panorama me agote a veces. Aprendí, crisis tras crisis, que hay amigos que se convierten en familia, y que desconocidos se pueden volver apoyo simplemente al identificarse con una causa común. Todos aquellos, cercanos o no tanto, que me leen, que intentan entenderme, que no me juzgan: Son claves en mi proceso y todo el amor que me demuestran simplemente me fortalece. Termino el año, entendiendo con quienes cuento y con quienes no, y sorprendiéndome gratamente de que mi tía abuela de 72 años intente entenderme más y sea más empática y comprensiva que gente de mi edad. Este año, entendí que mis padrinos realmente si son como segundos padres, y a pesar de la seriedad, ha hecho que mi madrina se vuelva uno de mis lugares seguros. Termino el año aprendiendo que es el amor de verdad, es que tu mamá te consienta hasta las 4 de la mañana porque las lágrimas y el dolor no te dejan dormir. Es ver a tu papá, con lágrimas en los ojos, oyendo tus relatos de pensamientos suicidas y que te diga "Yo te necesito aquí, viva. Porque te amo". Es que tu hermano, en su seriedad, te diga en cada oportunidad cuánto te admira y que sin ti no puede vivir. Es tener amigos que no se molestan porque, una vez más cancelaste los planes, sino que te mandan frases y canciones para motivarte. Es, que conociendo tu riesgo, tu psicóloga te mire a los ojos y te diga "Yo confío en ti.". Es cuando tu psiquiatra, al verte destrozada, te dice "Vamos a salir adelante. Poco a poco pero vamos siempre mejorando". Es que tu ex pareja haya entendido el verdadero significado de "Estar ahí para siempre" y te oiga siempre que lo necesites, y sea el quien te dé el impulso final para publicar tu blog y tu historia. Es la hermandad inquebrantable de tu mejor amiga desde el 2001. 
Y sigo viva...

2016: Me enseñaste que debía aceptarme, amarme y no simplemente curarme y ya. Me diste claves de mi condición, y a pesar de que fue difícil aceptarlo, hoy entiendo que la depresión, la ansiedad y yo seremos un trío dinámico de larga data. Y está bien. Soy perfectamente imperfecta. Termino el año de manera que no imaginé: Hay muchas cosas que siguen perdidas, mi acento sigue en proceso, mis planes del próximo año son algo confusos y estoy lejos de ser quien era hace un año. Pero estoy más cerca que ayer, y mucho más que lo que estaba en mayo de este año. Sigo, como una pequeña tortuguita, para adelante. Lento, pero muy, muy seguro, y con una gratitud que no me cabe en el pecho. 
Y sigo viva...

La segunda cosa, que ya sé, es que la ida de depresión no es cuestión de un deseo que pides en un ritual de año nuevo. Ella no se queda en el 2016, y por mas que suene extraño, está bien que venga conmigo al 2017. Porque sí, es detestable, es impensablemente doloroso, es algo que sinceramente no se lo desearía ni a mi peor enemigo. Pero es una maestra, de esas que te enseñan cosas que si no fuese así, nunca aprenderías. Y es parte de mi. Desear que el 1 de enero despierte sin ella sería como desear que despierte con ojos azules, pelo rojo y 1.80 cms de estatura. No pasará. Porque esos dos mounstritos de la ansiedad y la depresión, desgraciados mounstritos, son como mis expresivos ojos cafés y mis cachetes rojos que siempre están calientitos. Estuvieron, están, estarán, por explicaciones más allá de las que yo puedo dar. Genética, Dios, destino. 
Y sigo viva... Y gracias a Dios por eso. Porque hoy, a las 11:59 p.m daré un respiro y exhalaré en un año que sinceramente no pensé vivir. Estoy viva para seguir luchando, así sea como una tortuga, así eso implique perder gente en el camino, así eso cambie (una vez más) mis planes, así sea inexplicable para muchos.

2016, gracias por ser el año que más he odiado, gracias por el mierdero, gracias por el dolor, porque solo así pude entender todo lo que querías enseñarme. Perdón por todas las veces que te nombré la madre :). Me diste duro, me diste palo, me la pusiste densa. Pero salí viva. El ánimo ahí va, pero me hiciste una luchadora que está respaldada por un corazón tremendamente sano y fuerte, unos pulmones asmáticos que hacen lo mejor que pueden, unos músculos que duelen como un mal matrimonio pero que al menos sirven para tenerme de pie, para que camine, para que escriba, para que baile!, una piel que es exagerada e hiperreacciona entonces está cubiertita en heridas no muy lindas de la dermatitis, y una voz... Que me hace pasar por una extranjera y que confunde (y conquista) a más de uno. Ya de a pocos me acostumbro a que la r en mi pronunciación se fue de viaje y a explicar con mímica a los que, a pesar de su mayor esfuerzo, no me entienden cuando abro la boca. Gracias a todas esas personas (especialmente mis papás, mi hermano, mi equipo terapéutico y mis ahijados) por prestarme su vida un ratito, cuando yo no podía lidiar con la mía. Por confiar en mi, por tenerme fe, por luchar por mi vida y guardarla como su mejor tesoro. Por ser el mejor motivo para intentarlo cada día, por más de que a veces duela demasiado estar viva. Ustedes hacen que todo lo valga.

2017: Acá me tienes, esto es lo que hay. Trátame con cariño en lo posible, y si sigues con sorpresas y cosas feas como el 2016, pues estaré más fuerte cada día para poder enfrentarlo. Muéstrame lo mejor que tienes, que yo (así esté un poquito rota y apaleada) te daré la mejor pelea. Contigo se vienen muchísimos retos que no se cómo enfrentaré, lo que si se es que seguiré rodeada de tantas personas que me han amado tanto durante este año, que es gracias a todos ellos que puedo decir que termino el 2016 viva y mucho mejor. 

Thoughts in the middle of the storm.

It's harder than you think it'll ever be. It's more exhausting than you ever felt before. But you keep on going.
Why? How? Who? You wonder and wonder. Why you? Who chose you? How will you deal with it? For how long? With what purpose?
Will those answers matter? Probably the only one that truly would make an impact is if someone could help you finding out a meaning, and a way for all of this. The rest... Would it be better if someone gave you a time limit of the symptoms? An expiration date? Or if they told you it'll be as long as your life.
Would it be better if you could blame it on someone? On your parents for the genetics? On God for placing this cross on your path? On destiny for choosing you? On every single person that has ever hurt you in a way or another, even if it wasn't in purpose?
Would it be easier if you knew why all this suffering? How about because it was the only way you could truly be empathic with others? Or because you needed to be ripped apart to build a better you? Or for destiny's fun? Or how about, it doesn't have any particular reason, just because?

Is it all worth it? I don't know. I want to believe it is. I refuse to live with this conditions just because I have to, just because the book of my life says so, just to make it through the day. Personally, if you won't kill yourself just to make it through the day, it's a little pointless. I refuse to be o.k.  with being just a sad story.  There's gotta be more, more to this experience than it just being a sad story.  Once a priest told me that I had to be stigmatized, had to struggle with mental and physical health issues so I could relate to others' stories, and transform my own pain into strength to help and fight for people with mental health issues and physical disabilities. I don't know if that's true or not, at least it made sense to me and there, I found meaning. And I dare to say that it's terribly difficult to make it out alive from a hard situation if you haven't found a meaning, a reason for it. As Viktor Frankl says in Man's Search for Meaning "Those who have a 'why' to live, can bear with almost any 'how'.". (Amazing book, amazing man. Long live Viktor Frankl). It doesn't have to make sense for everyone, it doesn't come out of a book, there isn't a correct answer. As long as the meaning is correct for you and it inspires you to give painful experiences another look, it's worth it.

I think, frankly, that's the only question worth a shot. Why is it all worth it? Why is this pain worth it? Why should you stay alive? Why, why, why. Not because it would change your diagnosis, but it at least will give you hope, because you'll feel your hell is worth something. Call it however you want: Self-growth, salvation of your soul, cleansing your karma, improving your relationship with yourself, giving life a new meaning, realizing your strength, etc. And having even a tiny bit of hope will get you out of the darkness, slowly, painfully, but you'll be better.


 Still as I said, it's harder than you think.

Because you'll die a few times in the process. Your identity will come and go. Your dreams and future will come and go, like foggy illusions that light up your soul on good days. You'll loose people in the process, and more often that it should happen, you'll be in a place where you have to justify your mental health crisis to others (Which is frankly unfair). People will let you down, when you realize they didn't act as you would act for them, and you will feel alone and betrayed. You will then realize you depend too much on others approval which is slowly killing you as it is a horrible habit. You will feel defeated more than once a day, and your mind will play games with words such as "better, worse, relapse, recovery", because we all love to be judges. You will feel that no one will ever love you, because you are damaged goods. People will tell you to get over it, to be stronger, to move on, because it's amazing how easy we can judge what we don't experience with our own skin. Places that used to be safe will become strange, and vice versa, and you inevitably will grow; even if it means growing apart from people you loved, or from comfort zones, or from old dreams.

You'll see who truly loves you. Those will stand with you even when you are miserable and will never, ever judge you. People will surprise you with their kindness, as my best friend from high school told me once "It's nice to finally understand you (through the blog) but I never had to understand your mind to love you". You will find how little joy relays in the small stuff. You will be thankful for your medications, and for the first time, accept that taking them doesn't make you weak. Your safe space will be your therapist office, and you'll see that even though they were strangers a few years ago, you can't picture your life without your team (therapists). You'll find that your speech impairment (or funny, kind of french accent you've acquired as a somatization) is a great excuse to make small talk with people, to create fairy tales to curious kids, and that some people even find it sexy. You'll find freedom, like one you've never felt before, when you are able to go to a place in which you can be yourself in a bad day. You'll surprise yourself with family members, that weren't that close to you or that are decades older, that try to get you, or that will inspire you with their stories. You'll realize the amount of what you owe to your caregiver (my mom in my case): It's thanks to their love, patience and trust in you that you haven't been stuck in a mental health institution. You'll defy rational minds trying to explain them the mental health world, and you guys will end up in the middle: They will never completely get it, but they love you anyhow, and they'll try their best to understand it.

And for the first time in decades, you'll love yourself. Truly. You have to, because as much as anyone tries to get you or as much as you blog about it, only you know your struggle. And only you decide how the battle goes, and how the war will end. You can be your best ally or your worst enemy: choose wisely. 

And I'm still struggling. I've had a shitty week. My mind, as twisted as it is, has been telling me I'm worse, even if I have proofs that I'm better every day, even if it's a tiny difference, every little step counts. But I'm still alive, because this battle means something to me. And it's worth it, even if there are days that are a living hell. I'm hopeful and I hope you are too.

domingo, 11 de diciembre de 2016

How to survive Christmas if you feel like The Grinch

Pain changes people. It changes how we approach to life, how we live our daily activities, what we want, or what we are afraid about. You can't avoid it, pain demands to be felt with every fiber of your skin, and once this happens, your life or who you are is changed somehow. You can't explain how it changed you, why it happened or how to turn it back. You only know that you aren't the person you used to be before the painful experience.
In the past 2-3 years, I've felt more pain than I had ever felt in a lifetime, and I've changed. I'm not the same person I was 3 years ago, or even, a year ago. Eventhough I was heart-broken last year because of the realization that my parents were no longer together, the crisis haven't struck yet, so I was somehow positive, in love, and the shock of the moment kind of numbs you from the pain. I have always had this habit of, in December, looking back and see how things have changed. And even if last Christmas was hard and painful because of the separation, it had happened just two months ago so I guess we were all still adjusting. Like the moment right after an earthquake, when people go out on the street and see everything is damaged and broken, but they haven't realized it quite yet. They haven't fully dimension how their lives were fully turned around, or how their daily activities are going to change, or what/who they've lost, or how they are going to go back (eventually) to normal life.
2016 hasn't been my year. I might say, it has been the hardest year I've lived (I should've imagined it was going to suck when my heart got broken on the first days of January). So I'm not, not at all, in a festive mood. I admit I wished, with my entire heart, that Decemeber would never arrive, and I started to panic about it coming somwhere around October. The whole idea of a month in which people are ridiculously happy, singing, loving, getting together with friends and family just made me sick. Yes, I know it sound like The Grinch itself is typing this, and to be honest, I just wanted to escape to his mountain and talk with him about how we both hate Christmas and happiness. 
Jokes aside, it's hard people. Because it like everyone has its ups and downs and regular mood swings, and BAM, December 1st and they all become as happy as "Santa, on Prozac, in Disneyland, getting laid" (thank you Phoebe Buffay from Friends for the reference). And there you are, with your mood that clearly didn't get the memo that it should change to "happy", trying your best to get through the holiday season.
It's hard, because you are impredictable, so you may be on a good day but also can be on an depressive crisis or on the route to an anxiety episode. As always, as every single day battling these mental conditions. The problem is that the whole world is festive, therefore the tolerance for your mood swings is lower. Because you have to be festive, cheerful, attending to every event with a smile. And it's neither theirs or your problem,the fact is just that if mental health issues aren't adressed in the other 11 months, it seems to be a topic that is not suitable for the holiday season. 
As magical as it may be for some, for people who are going through a rough patch, is a very nostalgic time. You are constantly melancholic thinking about how things were a year ago, or how they could be better or the traditions that are gone, or simply your mind (the dearest bitch) goes around and around of all of those things that you've lost and make you sad. So it's hard to stay in the present to enjoy what's going on because simply your mind won't let you. You have to make a conscious effort to be here, on THIS day.
It's physically exhausting. Because you are tired, more than tired, exhausted. You have really low energy some days, in which every single cell of your body feels like it's covered in a thick, iron layer. Even your hair weights life having a cement helmet. So going out daily to sing Christmas carrolls and to laugh and socialize IS HARD. As well as staying up until late on Christmas eve. And the socializing part... To make small talk requires effort, because your mind is going 100 miles per hour with the previously mentioned thoughts, so your concentration and short term memory go to hell. Therefore, you seem like gone, and people missinterpret that as you being rude. And there comes the question "How are you doing?" which you don't know if you should answer honestly and freak out your 70 year old great aunt with words like "suicide" or "crisis" or "relapse" or "medications", or to just ommit the truth, avoid being judged, but being dishonest with your purpose of creating mental health awareness and staying true to your whole being (demons included). Of course, other questions come by "when are you going back to school? Do you have a boyfriend? How is your health? What are you doing? When will you talk "normally" again? ARE YOU BETTER?" And you just freak out. Because the honest answer is "I love that you worry about me, but please don't ask me about my future because I'm living one second at a time. I'm making my best effort to be better, and I have good moments, but recovery is a bitch and I'm trying my best, every day, every second, to be alive in the best way I can be. I'll be fine at its time, and I'll have a boyfriend and a degree eventually, but please understand that I barely have energy to take care of my mental health right now.".
Here's my advice. I decided that this Christmas, if I can't have the whole holiday spirit thing going on, I'll be as grateful as I can be. Grateful for being alive even if it feels like a curse sometimes. Grateful for having parents and a sibling that do absolutely their best effort to understand me, and to take care for my life, my health, my future and my present. Grateful for being surrounded by people who, eventhough may never get what's going on in my mind, truly love me and support me. Grateful for my therapist whose the wisest woman I've known. Grateful for my psychiatrist and his infinite patience. Grateful for being able to afford the medications I need in order to be better. Grateful for my godson because his laugh is enough to give me strength. Grateful for the people I volunteer with, that have showed me that happiness relies solely on the smallest things. Grateful for small, cliche things like butterflies and the colorful flowers I find daily in places I walk by. Grateful for Mexican food and chocolate ice cream.
As my mom, my main caregiver says, there's always something to be grateful for. So if you can't be as happy as the season requires, at least make a constant effort to find and really be aware of the blessings you have in your life. And be grateful for those things, even the tiniest of them. Maybe you won't be as cheerful as everyone and you will still struggle, but I can promise this exercise is worth it.
As for how to make it through this season, surround yourself with those who know how you truly feel, and therefore will treat you with love and understanding. Be with those who will get if you are too tired, or that you start crying out of the blue, or that wouldn't judge you if you don't want to sing "It's the most wonderful time of the year" out loud.
Make your best effort in order to be there, with those who love you and who you love, but be patient and loving with your own being. You aren't a failure if you feel tired or if you just feel you can't smile for one last picture or if you can't make small talk with distant relatives. You are battling with your own mind, you are doing your best to keep yourself alive and healthy, you deserve to be treated with respect, compassion, empathy and love. So treat yourself that way and always, always remember: You are doing your best.
Finally, take advantage of the shopping and eating madness that surround this season. Be self-indulgent for once.Buy yourself cute presents, and eat things that make your soul happy. Go for it, with no regrets. As you try to give others great gifts and make them happy, remember: The most important relationships you'll have is with yourself. So make spoil you! Pamper you! Love you! And last, but not least, it would be nice if you could take this time as a spiritual gift and get in touch with your soul, with your religion, work on that. It may amaze you how a healthy spirituality can work in your favor and become a powerful tool while battling mental conditions. After all, it's the birth of Christ we are celebrating, so you might as well just give it a try.

martes, 6 de diciembre de 2016

Anxiety: I feel like I'm going crazy.

"I feel like I'm going crazy"

I've talked a lot about depression, I think it's easier to identify what it is because I remember the time in which I had no depressive symptoms. When it came along in my journey it changed who I was, how I felt and my notion of life was turned around. But with anxiety it's different. I've always been anxious and frankly I can't think about a time in which I didn't had that type of thoughts or in which my mind worked in any other way. I was the little girl whose mind was way too negative and way too extreme, who worried about everything waaaay too much, that was constantly nervous and scared and bit her nails. I remember when little being absolutely terrified about my parents going to an event without me because I immediately thought something bad was going to happen to them, they might die or something like that. Or being absolutely afraid of the dark because I thought someone will appear at my room at night. Or feeling people were constantly judging me or talking about me behind my back (with no logical reason or proof whatsoever to conclude that). And the fear was absolutely real, I started sweating and crying and (I swear I cannot emphasize this enough ) I felt like my thoughts were absolutely real.

So, as we are creatures that get used to everything, I got used to thinking like that. I thought it was normal to imagine the worst scenario possible every time or to replay your mistakes over and over at night when you couldn't sleep or to be absolutely afraid, terrified by the movies that your mind plays even though you know they make no sense. I'm used to work like that, to anticipate the worst scenario and to play your mistakes on repeat in your mind. I thought it was normal to freak out and think "oh my, they hate me and never want to speak to me ever again" when people won't reply to you in a few minutes. Or to think every boyfriend is going to cheat on you because why wouldn't they if you are just a regular girl. Or to assume every plane you get in is going to fall down in the ocean and you'll die. But it turns out, it's a mental condition which makes you think like that. Turns out, life isn't normally like that.

Let me tell you, there's no movie director that compares to an anxious mind. No Hitchcock, Tarantino, Scorsese, Spielberg or Woody Allen can compare to the ability of your freaking mind to create amazingly tragic, gorgeously chaotic and perfectly organized movies. It's terrifying (when you are living it) and fascinating  (when you understand it's just your own creation) at the same time. These movies, are so perfect. They have everything, scripts that will blow your mind, and the plot is perfectly planned and justified in order for you to believe it. Most of them would be unbelievable to someone who just listens the story from a friend or family that tells them what just went on in their heads, and they would think "that's stupid and makes no sense, why would you believe it?". One way to explain it is this: Have you ever gone to Disneyland or Disney world or to an amusement park of that kind? If so, you may have entered in one of those virtual realities or simulators things in which the attraction is literally to have a real life experience of an alternative scenario. The technology is absolutely amazing and in one second you feel you are on a battlefield or in a galaxy far, far away, or in Springfield with Homer. Every single one of your senses are there, so you transport your corporal experience to a psychological one in which you really, for some seconds, feel that you are there living THAT experience (eventhough you rationally know you are in Orlando or California or wherever the park is). You submerge to that experience and feel the emotions and act upon the reactions that the situation demands. If your spaceship is out of gas and  rapidly approaching to the land, you feel fear and anxiety, eventhough yoy rationally know you are in a freaking attraction in a Disneyland park and it's not real. But you feel it's real, so your body reacts as if.
That's my best effort to compare what anxiety is for those who have never experience it. The tiny difference is that you have no idea in which moment you got in the simulator. So something, no matter how small, triggers the anxiety attack in a matter of seconds and when you finally can come to your senses, some minutes later, you are crying, hyperventilating, sweating, shaking because your brother is dead (when the reality is that he hasn't come home yet, is late, and he's not answering his phone). And when This happens, you try your best to convince yourself with the rational arguments. But your brain is playing an amazing movie and is like all the workers in your body are watching it, believing that IT'S A REFLECTION OF REALITY and acting upon it. And then your brother walks in your room, explaining his soccer game got a bit longer and that he talked to some friends on the way out, and that his phone battery died. So you sit there. Someone turned the movie in your brain off because duh, he's alive, ergo the movie wasn't true and your brain says "false alarm again people, get back to your normal activities".
And you start wondering... I'm I going crazy? I feel I'm going crazy. Because I felt something was very real. I swore it was real. But it turns out it was another anxiety trick and it was false... So what? Which of my thoughts are real and which aren't? And you wonder and wonder and wonder until you reach the answer: they are all real to me because I feel them as real, but they aren't all real. It's extremely difficult to process, so you just take your Xanax and try some meditations in order to bring your body to calm again. And this is the cycle for every anxiety fantasy, for every panic attack that happens to you. This, daily. And sometimes, several times in a day.

Anxiety is very, very hard to live with. Because it's your own job to learn to identify which of your thoughts (that you feel all are equally real) are real and which are fantasies of your brain that will develop a panic attack. Another of the tricks it likes to play is the one of having all of those horrible moments of your life play in repeat, over and over. Anxiety has a collection of your top ten moments, to play them when you are feeling miserable or just when you are bored or pretty much, every night before you go to sleep. Top 10 most embarrassing things Mariana has ever said, Top 10 moments in which Mariana felt her heart was being broken, Top 10 moments in which Mariana felt she was being left out, Top 10 most awful family feuds, Top 10 things Mariana hates about herself, Top 10 things Mariana feels guilty about, Top 10 worst fantasies about your future, Top 10 ways Mariana or a loved one can tragically and unexpectedly died, Top 10 accidents Mariana might be involved, Top 10 scenarios in which Mariana can end up forever alone and infertile, Top 10 worst natural catastrophies that Mariana will be exposed (eventhough I live nowhere near the beach, a tsunami is on the list), Top 10 deadly diseases Mariana is having without her even knowing, Top 10 moments in which Mariana has felt stupid, Top 10 worst world tragedies through history and how will everyone of them might happen to Mariana somehow... And the marvelous thing about when your mind plays this moments is that YOU have the anxiety and sadness as if they were taking place right there. You live again those moments that once happened and caused you pain, and those that are fake and just fantasies, you feel them as if they were the most real thing ever.

On overcoming anxiety, I have no words as I have never lived in any other way. I don't know what a "normal" (anxiety free) mind is like, so I don't have an specific feeling or goal. I've learned a couple of things that make it better and help you in daily activities, after 5 years of intense battling (since it was only 5 years ago when I realized thanks to my therapist that my anxiety wasn't normal and just because I had lived my whole life with it didn't meant it shouldn't be treated or that I shouldn't learn how to cope with it in order to have a better life). For me humour has been a great tool to manage the anxiety attacks. You have to make fun of your own hell or it'll eat you alive. So sometimes, I'm able to identify it's an anxiety crisis and the movie in my head is fake, so I laugh about it, tell it with irony and laughs to my closest circle and say to my own brain "Good job guys, but it wasn't so believable this time. Maybe you should re evaluate your methods and better luck next time, let's see if I fall for it!" Or "well, that's a new "top 10". Inspired in Grey's anatomy much? I will very much like you to be original. Anything similar to Grey's and I won't buy it.". Sometimes I fall for it, and after the Anxiety attack I'll tell to myself "I had no idea we were terrified of fireworks. The way you guys connected the sound of them to the idea of a gun shot. Bravo, I didn't saw that one coming. Very creative, it was as real as my panic attack showed.". I have to give credit to my incredibly creative mind. And the memory! I swear it remembers stuff that no one else does (it remembers them to make me feel miserable but hey, at least I can say I have impeccable long term memory sometimes). My family, therapists and closest friends already know me, and when I come with a super anxious and catastrophic comment we'll just laugh and say "My brain... You know". I'm not saying with humour your crisis and panic attacks will disappear. No. But anxiety will be easier to deal with. It's like when someone with a prostatic leg names it, paints it and makes jokes about it. That won't bring their original leg back, but they are normalizing a condition that is usually terrifying and that can easily tear your life apart.

When you have anxiety or a panic attack, your body reacts as it feels in danger. So your heart pumps blood faster in order for your extremities to be able to flight-fight-remain petrified towards the dangerous situation. You hyperventilate,  hands sweat, start shaking, feel nauseated, etc. You may not be able to stop the movie in your head that's generating the panic but you can ease the physical reaction. First, breathe. Breathing exercises are absolutely powerful. Meditate, make your body feel at peace. Also, freeze your hands and feet. Touch cold things, step on cold water or ice. That will help the blood movement go back to normal. Sing something out loud, that will make your mind focus on the lyrics. Or feel textures. I mean, do any type of exercises that will focus your senses into being right here right now: name things you are seeing right now, say what you are smelling, pass something in your hands and feel the sensation it brings, focus and enunciate the sounds you are listening to. Do anything in order to gently bring your mind to the present and make it stay there, so the fantasies and movies will just turn off because no one is paying attention to them. And take it one minute at a time. I cannot emphasise how key is this. When you have anxiety you are absolutely catastrophic about the future. And guilty about the past. SO JUST STAY HERE. Right where you are. With the people that are in your life now, with what's going on now. The future will resolve itself and when it comes, you'll face it one minute at a time. And as for the past, you aren't getting anywhere by staying there. So just let everything and everyone go. And be right here, right now.

sábado, 3 de diciembre de 2016

To all of those who've told me Fibromyalgia doesn't exist

Dear people who've told me fibromyalgia doesn't exist for the past 4 years:

Hello there. First of all, merry christmas and a happy new year. I hope your life is doing fine, and I wish that you are enjoying the seasons' celebrations. As for me, I'm writing this after a very tough episode of fibromyalgia, and I'm in a rush to type this letter as I don't want to forget any detail of what I felt the past days. I know I'm no doctor, I'm just a simple psychology student who was her life ahead and still got a lot to learn. Still, I'm trying to talk about those topics in which I have experience, and therefore, I feel my experience is valid and true. As for that, I may not be able to explain to you what is fibromyalgia. It's new and unknown in the medical world (as far as I've heard) and there is still A LOT of research needed to be done. I've heard it's a muscular thing, a nervous system thing, a psicosomatic thing, a genetic thing... For me: It's a real thing. I've been dealing with it for the past 4 years, and the symptoms started some months after my first depressive episode. For all of those who really know me, you know I've always been lazy. But all of the sudden, at 18, I was EXHAUSTED. I had no energy, I found myself sleeping all way more than before, and even with that, keeping up with life and daily activities were way too much for me. If I went out one night, I had to spend the rest of the weekend recovering from the exhaustion that it caused. I sleep 12 hours, and a 2 1/2 hour nap. And I feel like I've been sleep deprived for 3 months. And the fatigue... Oh the fatigue! Have you ever felt tired after taking a shower? I have! You cannot imagine how much energy you need to stand up on the shower, while using your arms to apply shampoo, and wash it all of. It's an inmense effort. So when it's finally over... You have to decide what to wear and stand up and pick clothes and put them on. But you are sincerely exhausted, like you just runned 50 marathons. So you just sit on your bed, on your towel, watching at your closet and wishing you could have some tiny fairies that would pick up your clothes and dress you while you just rest there.
Clear? Okay, let's continue because we are FAR from being over.
The pain. Oh, the pain. Imagine having your skin covered in bruises. Those dark, purple bruses that come out when you trip over a desk and that hurt by just watching them? Yup, those. Now imagine you have one little kid per bruse, touching it, poking it, pressing it with a tiny but strong little finger. All day long. All over your body. In addition, imagine your body covered in needles, which randomly, are pressed into your skin, which makes you feel like you have a non existing thorn in your muscle. As every part of your body is in pain, but you cannot locate the pain, you aren't comfortable in any position. Your legs can't stand being up for a long time, but when you sit down your back hurts and when you lay down your arms hurt. Oh! I forgot, the stiffness... You wake up like if your muscles were replaced by concrete over night, and you can barely move. And it hurts. SO you have to use your magic gadgets, a cane in my case, a wheelchair in others.
Amazing, I know.
Let's continue. The cognitive part. In addition to ALL of that, you start forgetting things. You forget where you are or what you are going to do or what you just said. You have trouble concentrating and as I stated before, your memory sucks. And how could I forget to mention fibromyalgia's BFFs: Depression and anxiety. This inseparable threesome is so compenetrated, that you not only depression and anxiety come along with fibromyalgia (or vice-versa, I haven't understood that yet) but, get this, depression and anxiety MAKE fibromyalgia's symptoms worse. That's what best friends are for, right? So your body feels terrible and your mood goes to hell. It's the complete package.
And this article cannot end without mention the dry mouth, the swelling of legs and feet, the migranes, the oversensitivity to light and sound, the coo-coo body temperature, the horrible menstrual pains, restless legs syndrome, digestive problems, and that's it for now (That's all I can remember now).
Here's the fun part: Sometimes, most times to be honest, you get all of the symptoms TOGETHER! And to keep the humour going, there's no cure for it. None. You can treat it with antidepressants (which ease the pain but don't get rid of it), or simply use palliative care in order for you to be able to live your life in the most "normal" and "functional" way.
So this is it for now, dear person who told me fibromyalgia doesn't exist. Next time you judge a condition you have no idea about, try talking to the people who live with it daily. It may not be known or there might be a lot of research needed in this matter, but it does exist. I live with it, in the best way I can, and while I have awesome days in which I forget most of the symptoms, there are days in which getting out of bed is physically impossible. I'm lucky enough to be able to live my life in the most functional way I can, having to walk with a cane every now and then and cancelling plans a few times, but I know people whose life was been taken away from fibromyalgia. So please, next time you're going to say it doesn't exist, think about having all of these symptoms for ONLY one day. And then, you can express yourself.
Thank you!

martes, 29 de noviembre de 2016

The word that no one talks about.

This is, by far, the most important piece I've written. As the matter requires, I'll try my best not to cross that thin line that divides testimonial information from a sensationalist piece. It hurts, as it comes from the darkest of all places, from that place where we all keep those taboo topics safe from public display. It hurts to accept it, to face the fact that you've dreamt of never waking up again. I know, fellow reader, it will hurt your heart to face the fact that I've gone through that. But we've gotta talk about that, about the things that hurt.

About suicide.

This is, by far, the most important piece I've written. Because once you've experienced suicide as a close reality (not necessarily because you've had an attempt, just wanting it is enough) you've acquired a responsibility, which is to talk about it, to create awareness. Not only for you, for the ones that struggle daily, but for those who are gone but never forgotten. You need to speak up, for their memories to stay alive, for their legacy not to be lost, for them to rest in peace. Speak for those who are for some just statistics now, which show that suicide increases in a rhythm that is simply alarming, but that for me are fellow warriors, soldiers who died in the battlefield.

This is, by far, the most important piece I've written. Because I refuse to live in a world in which the first response people have towards someone who died by suicide is "what a selfish act". I'm not defending suicide, it's painful and absolutely tragic, but thanks to education now I know it's part of several mental and physical diseases. It's not, as ignorance made us think, what people do when they aren't strong enough or when they are selfish. I believe, and I'm learning every day, that there are so many different ways to cope with your emotional pain. I've been lucky enough to realize that death isn't the only way out. But I've been sad enough to feel empathy, to understand, to feel the stigma that the word itself carries. I've been frowned uponed enough to realize we need to speak up about suicide, to educate ourselves and others. Because talking means we could be saving lives, creating awareness, teaching people.

This is, by far, the most important piece I've written. Because I've never wished for my own death as I have wished for it in the past year. One thing is wanting to disappear for a while or "dig a hole in the face of earth and go on it", and another thing is wanting to kill yourself. Fantasize about it. Imagine it. Having it become a recurrent thought on your head. Feeling the danger you are in and being aware of it. Accepting that your head has way too much power and fearing that one day, when you are impulsive enough, you pay attention to the things you shouldn't be thinking about... You know it's wrong to feel that way, to think that way, to want something so twisted and painful. You are the first to judge yourself, the first to feel ashamed. I'm talking about those who've died by suicide while struggling a mental illness, because that's the case I can relate to. I know many, many won't get it.  But imagine a pain so deep, so hard, so overwhelming that blocks your brain from seeing any way out other than dying. Imagine having feelings so strong and so profound that make you wanna crawl out of your own skin, cutting it off. I know many, many won't get it. But self harming is not a joke, neither is wanting to kill yourself. Also believe me, it's not a selfish act. This may sound weird, but it takes courage to be alive, and it does take courage to take away your own life. Because you are aware that is a point less bet. You are choosing the unknown (in my case as I'm religious I believe in an afterlife, but let's face it: we have no certainty of what to expect once you die), choosing to stop seeing your friends and family forever, choosing to never see your dreams coming true. You are giving up all of that and you are aware of that, which makes it even MORE painful... And that's why I'm saying it takes courage. To consciously give all that up in exchange of saying goodbye to your emotional tsunamis. Next time you're going to judge someone who died by suicide, think that for a minute. What kind of pain would make you give up on everything we know? It has to be one hell of a pain. One that can't be described with words. And that person, who died, passed away trying to battle that pain away. They just couldn't take it anymore. They were sick, their disease just wasn't visible.

This is, by far, the most important piece I've written. For the simple reason that our society is so messed up that suicide is hidden, is denied, and that teaches people they can't speak. They can't warn  about the thoughts appearing in their minds. They are terrified of being judged because people make fun of the marks on their arms, so they keep quiet. They believe what their heads tell them: that there isn't a way out other than suicide, so they just speak in their suicide note. So many lives that could be saved. So many people that we could help. Just by speaking up.

This is, by far, the most important piece I've written. Because I'm learning to shut up my mind as I've seen there are so many ways out other that death. Therapy, medication, friends, family, volunteering, trying out new recipes, Gilmore Girls revival, late night conversations, taking pictures with my 2 year old godson, sleeping until late on a rainy day, and more. I've found the joy of life in so, so, so many things. Your mind will still suggest death as the way out in times of intense pain and deep emotions and it will still sound convincing sometimes. Because there relies the magic, as you find more and more simple, tiny reasons to be alive, your mind becomes less and less powerful. Until someday it'll be just noise in the backround.  You show your mind that there are other ways, and just keep living by living. There's no other way. By living you'll meet new people, bond with family, create new memories, laugh until you cry for the first time in forever, you will enjoy life again. To any of those who have felt like that or are currently there, please, please find help. Speak up. You'll see that your therapist might save your life, and that with him/her you will find a judge-free zone. Your family and friends might as well save your life, loving you just the way you are and guarding your life as if it was their most precious treasure. And life will get better, I can guarantee. But you have to ask for help, to raise your voice, to speak up. All of the good in you, as tiny as it seem , deserve to decide how your story ends.

This is, by far, the most important piece I've written. Because I intend to ask you, dear reader, three things. First, talk about all of those topics that are taboo, get information, make them come alive so if someone comes to you with a mental condition they feel you will listen. That brings me to the second thing. We all know stories of people who've died by suicide or will know someone in our entire lifetime. Please, oh please, don't judge them or their families. Don't say it was selfish. Don't say they were weak. If you still can't find empathy, at least don't say anything. I can assure they tried their best. Battling mental conditions is just more than some can take sometimes, but that doesn't make them weak. They fought and a disease, that poisons their minds, took them away. Third and last, let's all remember those who passed away for SO MUCH MORE than the way they died and the stigma that surrounds it. They were so much more than the way their story on this earth ended .  They were so much more than their disease. And they deserve to be remembered like that.

miércoles, 23 de noviembre de 2016

When you try your best...

Once you open your mind and soul to the world, you struggle with several thoughts. One of them, that's been in my mind lately is how to be a voice that represents the struggle with mental conditions and fights for the end of stigmatization and discrimination while still battling depression and anxiety. How to encourage others in days in which you can't even encourage yourself. How to show that you are more than depression in a depressive episode. So meditating and talking to friends have made me realize that this is exactly what this whole experience is about. Showing that you can overcome a disease and that you are so much more than a diagnosis, but that doesn't mean you deny your reality. It's about accepting that depression and anxiety are guests in your world and sometimes like to make a scene and take over your body, but that they aren't your entire being. So I decided to speak about the bad days, because is as real as the positive experiences and it's part of who I am right now.
I don't want to talk about specific symptoms, as this isn't a clinical psychology class, but I want to speak about my experience going through them and how it has evolved over the years. I would love to tell you it gets less frustrating as the years go by or that you are less scared but, unfortunately, I can't. In my experience, it has worked on the opposite, becoming more frustrating as the years go by. Because one simple reason, you believe that a psychological suffering is equivalent to a physical injury, so once you've took your meds, you'll be healed for life. That's not how the mind works. When recovering, all you've got is your experience, your journey. There aren't x-rays that show if the injury is getting better or labs that confirm that your levels are up and normal for someone your age. Nope. So you have to deal with a little voice in your head that'll judge you harder than anyone for your bad moments and that somehow knows all your biggest fears and it's willing to shout them to you at night before you go to sleep: "WHY ARE YOU SAD AGAIN? ARE YOU SO MISERABLE THAT THE TREATMENT ISN'T WORKING FOR YOU? ARE YOU THAT DAMAGED? DEFINITELY, YOU ARE HOPELESS... YOU MIGHT AS WELL DIE (plays suicide fantasies in the backround)" and so on. That, plus the symptoms of the depressive episode. So it sucks, yes it does.
The bad news: It'll keep happening Sometimes out of the blue, when you least expect it, when you are feeling on top of the world, when you feel finally free. Depression has a way of biting you in the ass just when you are feeling as happy as a kid, just to remind you that it still exists. Because as hard as you try, as good as you feel, you are still in recovery. Which means these episodes can and will happen. 
The good news: You aren't a weirdo-damaged-failure specimen for that. It's normal. Relapses are part of the process and healing takes time. Just because someone felt fine in a week and magically cured from depression, doesn't mean it'll work that way with you. This is your story, and you are battling a custom-made monster (that even though shares common characteristics with other monsters from other people). One of a kind. So your battle will be unique, and so your recovery and your healing process. You will get better, I promise. At your own time, in your own terms. And even though frustration exist and you'll hate feeling symptoms after having a good day, you are tougher now. Braver. Stronger. More empathic. More loving. So you have all of these amazing tools to say "Ok, it sucks, but I know It'll pass and I'll be fine". Please, please, don't feel like a failure. You are trying your best, and that is a huge deal, it's just a very complex road. 
And stop comparing yourself to others. I really can't emphasize how important this is. People will come, with awesome intentions, telling you all kinds of magical ways in which they healed themselves faster, or will question your therapist, or will tell you your medication sucks, or will demand you to heal faster (that's my favourite: Hey, you've been in this process for four months already. Shouldn't you be better by now?). To all of those people, I can assure you that no one goes to the pain of fighting a mental illness just for the fun of it. I assure you that we all loveeeeee to heal faster, to be better, to stop fighting. But it's deeper and far more complex than that. If we have good therapists and the medication works most of the day, let us be happy with that. We know that you love us, but it is OUR process so please, gently back off. Only good vibes, positive things and TONS of love are accepted. Thank you!
People tend to think that you only get better or that your process is only working if you are symptoms-free. If you are constantly happy and cheerful. Well, let me tell you that's impossible for any human being. That is pathological. It's normal to have ups and downs and more if you are in a recovery process. When you struggle with a mental condition you just gotta hold on to the little things and celebrate them, those are positive indicators and they may seem very small and insignificant for the world (screw them): They are your own personal victories. You managed to get out of bed, yay! You managed to take a bath, yay! You had social interaction, yay! You had a night of good sleep and could wake up feeling refreshed, yay! You didn't cried today, yay! You had only few or no suicidal thoughts, hooorrayyy! Those things others take for granted, are your little trophies. Embrace them. And take it easy, we all have bad days, bad weeks, bad months... Love and thank yourself because you are trying your best, it's just recovery is a pain in the ass.

sábado, 19 de noviembre de 2016

I like to use the term "battling" a mental condition for what it represents. I don't know if it makes much sense of if it's just my very own way of finding magic in a topic that's usually taboo. I'll discuss a very common thing, that's becoming even more common and it's the mind-body relation when it comes to physical illnesses.
I'm no doctor and not a psychologist yet, just a woman who've heard the word "psychosomatic" way too many times. And I don't know about others' experiences but at least in mind, there's something that is really frustrating about that term. Stating the facts: you have a mental condition, depression and anxiety in my case, which comes with marvellous symptoms that you in fact feel and express. You feel the anxiety raising up in daily harmless situations that somehow your mind interprets as dangerous, you've cried one too many times, you go to therapies and talk about all your nightmares and difficulties. And somehow you start feeling something in your body. Tangible. It may be uncontrollable rash in your skin or the sudden lack of air, digestive issues or my all time favorite and latest discovery, the ability of your own body to become mute, blind, paralyzed all of the sudden.
You feel it. It's real. One day you are walking (I've never been very coordinated but I defend myself on the basics) and in an instant, panic rises very high and BAM you can't move your legs. For real. You know you have legs, you see them, you feel them, but they've entered a strike. It goes like this:
Me (looking at my legs): move, now. I demand you to move. MOVE!
Legs:...
12 hours later....
Me: Good morning body, hope we have a calm day today
Legs: Oh hey! It's right leg here. Sorry about last night. That was loco. But... Lefty is still unresponsive.
Me: are you kidding me??!!!
Right leg: nope. Lefty has left the building, I repeat: left leg has left the building.

And here I am. In the E.R because my psychiatrist is "pretty sure it's just a panic episode and a somatic thing, but wants to make sure if fine neurologically". I know I'll go in there and everything will be fine and the tests will be ok and the doctor will bring up again my favourite word "somatization". And I'll be walking again as before in no time and I'll be talking again as a parrot in no time (lately my voice likes to play hide and seek when emotions are too strong and I go mute and then I get this weird french accent but I didn't adressed it in this post directly because hey, one thing at a time).
I've always hated the psychosomatic stuff. Because as far as I get, it's the language of your body speaking for the emotions you've kept hidden. But hello! I exhale emotions, I sweat emotions, for God's sake! I'm aware of my emotions and I cry them and express them and feel them. Body darling, won't you please work with me? Psychologically I'm in pain, and physically too because apparently I've got more to feel than what I already do. Great. I've got to admit that since the whole depression thing started my health has had some changes. I've welcomed in my life asthma, fibromyalgia, dermatitis, restless legs syndrome, alopecia, and now the voice-legs thingy. There are times when I've talk about myself as a self-proclaimed Somatization queen.
But once again, I could keep fighting against my body and it's particular way of expressing itself or I could just accept it and move on. So I go back to the start. Battling, battlefield.  My body is a battlefield. Of myself against my mind. I imagine myself as this tiny warrior in a silver armour with a helmet bigger that my head, a sword and a shield. And my contender is of course the big black monster of depression and anxiety. The territory we are fighting for: my body. Little warrior Mariana is hopeful and joyful and smart, and a little lazy. She's everything I am. And she won't give up until she's able to rule her territory. She knows she might never kill the scary monster, but she hopes for a peace treaty. Like in my country. Some days pass by without confrontation, but others... they fight with all they've got.
I feel them fighting for my lungs, and those days I have to use my inhaler and stay warm, which are troops that get into the fight to help the warrior. Some fights are simpler than others, some are won by Mariana and some, I have to admit are temporarily won by the monster. Those are my bad days in which my physical symptoms are huge and unbearable, like if depression and anxiety said "now that your vocal cords are mine, I'll leave you voiceless forever", while exploiting the psychological symptoms too. But then backups come from outside, a good therapy, a nice message from a love one, a picture from my godson, a joke from my brother, a hug from my mom, comfort words from my father, a piece of chocolate, a nap. I don't know what, but it wakes up the little warrior. And she's back, dusts herself off and goes on the quest to conquer what belongs to her. And she does! And I start talking again... slowly. Recovery is way to slow for my taste. So I figure out after these huge fights my body remains like those villages in movie scenes after the troops came and tried to conquer it. Some stuff is burnt, some is broken, some strong structures stand still. And you have to rebuild from there.
All this tale is the only way I've found I can deal with the physical symptoms. So now, everytime I wake up and my body hurts or I have trouble breathing,  I just think it's part of my battle. And I know the warrior inside me will win the war even though some battles may seem impossible. And I've given a new meaning to the somatization stuff, they are just proofs that I'm alive, and that I'm battling daily to be the best I can be.

jueves, 17 de noviembre de 2016

Coming out.

 Today I made this blog public by sharing it on my Facebook page. I can't point out the exact moment in which I decided to make it public and share my intimacy with strangers, friends and family, I just felt that I had to do it. They say it takes 20 seconds of insane courage and something good will come out of it, and that's sort of what happened.

Through the day, I've had tons of feelings. I was out there. All of the sudden I realized, I was exposed. I felt like I was naked, I've just opened the door to my intimacy, to my private little heaven/hell, and to whoever wanted to come in. For the first time, I was out in the open, no sugar-coated, no rehearsed lines. Just me. In the most private and raw way. As I realized this, I felt sick, I just wanted to crawl up in my bed and delete everything and just move on without ever mention my experience or the blog or anything. It's scary, frightening actually, to let the world see your complete humanity. I was taught (as many) that I couldn't let myself be fragile in front of others. And all of the sudden I was giving others all they needed to judge me, to call me fragile, to call me weak, to call me sick, to reject me. I was showing the world my struggle and telling people "Here you go, welcome and I hope you enjoy your visit". Was that a smart move? Was I being too naive thinking people could relate to my struggle in a non-judgemental way?

I kept feeling unsure until I saw the feedback. It has been more loving than I could ever dreamt of. As people read me, they started telling me about their own struggles, their family stories, about all of those mental issues they've kept under the rug as most do. And with that it was clear. The problem isn't depression, or bipolarity or OCD or any mental struggle. The problem is that our society isn't ready to accept that mental health matters, and matters just as much as physical health. You would never feel ashamed or feel that you will be judged if you accept that you battle cancer or diabetes or migraines. 
Mental issues require people to speak up. Of course, you can't control how everyone will react and as you speak up, you are vulnerable to people judging you or degrading your experience. But it's so worth it. I swear it. If my experience helps even a single soul, all of the sleepless nights, the tears, the suicide thoughts, the fatigue, they'll all be worth it. 

So that's why you speak. To help others, to bring information, to stop stigma, To show that depression doesn't always looks like Eeyore from Winnie The Pooh, that it may come in the form of a smiling, good student with loving family. I speak because I've found so much support in online blogs (The Mighty, TWLOHA). You feel like someone, even if it's through a screen, understands you, feels your pain and shows you it is possible to live your life. You speak up for all of those whose family won't believe in them and just tells them to "man up" or "eat chocolate" or that "we all have moments when we feel tired/sad, it's nothing". You speak up to show and to teach that therapy does change your life, and that not all therapist and psychiatrists are monsters. Mine have changed my life for good, and I think my life won't be long enough to thank them for helping me to believe and love myself. They’ve become family. You speak for those who've lost the battle, those who've had committed suicide, to teach people that they were not selfish, they were not weak. They were warriors, it's just that our mind makes some way too powerful enemies and it's a very difficult battle. You speak up to make others understand you, so you can finally approach to them without a mask or without the pressure of having to be "perfect" every single time. Finally, you speak up for yourself. To heal. To understand. To admire and to finally thank the little light in your heart that never disappeared, that not even depression could blow out. Because is thanks to that, to the little girl in you, to the light in your heart, to the part that loved life (no matter how small it may be) that you can tell your story. Thanks to that, you can take the breath you are taking right now and type this letters, which will set you free

miércoles, 16 de noviembre de 2016

Learning to accept your true colors

One of the hardest issues I've had to deal with is acceptance. I've come to realize it that somehow it's harder to accept your own "demons" because we've been taught to be perfect. Life is a constant separation between opposites: Good-bad, light-darkness, happy-sad, healthy-sick, and so on...We are taught that we should be on the "good" side of those categories, but what happens when you are faced with living with opposites? Is that possible?
Here's my case. I've always been little miss smiles. I'm always smiling, I constantly laugh. I oftenly tell people about my depression with a smile on my face (which makes it weird, I know). I've always been that way, since I was little, joking around and messing up with people with a happy, cheerful face. That's certainly not compatible with having a depression, or at least what people imagine a depressed person looks like. Or so I thought.
When you are battling a mental condition, you are constantly praying and begging life to make you healthy again, to get well, to be able to be yourself again. You don't want to live like this because you somehow feel your identity was stolen by some monster (Depression in my case) and that you need to kill it in order for you to live again. I used to pray to every Saint available so they will remind God to heal me once for all, I blew every birthday candle wishing for a year with 0 depressive symptoms and I swore to myself every New Year that this would be the last one in which I had to take medications. I believed, truly believed, I couldn't be myself with depression because I was sick. I needed to be healed and life pretty much seamed umbearable if I imagined I had to live with depressive symptoms my whole existance.
But after 5 years of ups and downs, medications, therapy, you start wondering... Is the rest of my life going to be like this? And there you hit a decisive point, it's a question that can either make you or break you. You can cry yourself to sleep, torture your mind with amazing fantasies of a 60-year old version of yourself with a huge name tag that says "I STILL have depression" and you can simply let it ruin your life. Of course, your anxious mind will tell you "You shouldn't have kids if you're ging to be depressed for the rest of your life because it would be unfair to them" and stuff like that which all ends up saying: I'll be depressed for the rest of my life therefore I have no future and I can't do anything because life is for those who are healthy and I will never be healthy so I might just as well start crying now and stop when I turn 95 (If I haven't kill myself before). Not so nice, right? Well, there's another way you can go.
Thanks to my therapist, some ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy) books, self-love and a lot of meditation, I realized this: You can live with depression and really live. That means you can still achieve your dreams, fullfil your goals, be yourself WHILE HAVING DEPRESSION. Because it doesn't define you. Yes, it will make the road a little harder and yes you will have to accept yourself with love and gratitude while having nights in which you won't stop crying or days in which getting out of bed seems unthinkable. But you can make it. Depression won't steal your identity because life is about balancing opposites: So you can still be little miss smiley face while having hard days. That doesn't make you a faker or it doesn't make you deny your situation. It just makes you accept it, like one of your many, many, many things: your brown eyes, your big cheeks, your eternal hate for running, your big heart, your intelligence, your depressive moments. This isn't a curse, it's part of your story and it'll give you so much strenght. It'll teach you how to not take anything for granted or how to be more empathic. It's an absolute cliché but sometimes the greatest blessings come in ways we didn't expected. You just have to accept your demons, your shadows, your dark side, and invite them to play with all of the other things that make you who you are.

martes, 15 de noviembre de 2016

Battling a diagnosis regarding a mental condition can be difficult. The stigmatization, lack of information and social rejection are some of the challenges that you come upon living with a mind that works in a different way. In my case, it's depression, anxiety and the physical consequences that come upon the ones that have changed my life. This blogs purpose is solely for all of those who struggle or ever feel hopeless, to find a place where they feel understood and that even though the road may be difficult, it's possible to live a calm, happy existence accepting yourself. The challenge is no the condition itself, but how you choose to fight it and the way you manage to balance your darkness with the other aspects of your life.

When life seems unbearable, take it one second at a time.


This article won't have an ending as it portrays my current situation. I've been struggling depression for 5 years now, and anxiety my whole life. I was always a scary little girl. Everything used to frighten me, darkness, school, social interactions, loneliness, death, plus those amazing anxious fantasies in which everyday situations turn just chaotic and tragic. Foremost, I hated changes, I hated when things just changed out of the blue. Unexpected situations were (and still are) my biggest fear. For that I had my life, my every move, perfectly planned out. I left no room for disaster (or so I thought) in my life: I would graduate from high school at the average age, then I would study psychology for five years, then I would get married young, have 2 babies, and so on. I wanted the movie, Hollywood type of life, while being a happy, perfect, in sync lady. What could go wrong, right?


How did my perfectly planned life got here? I have no idea. I just know that depression has managed to change my life 180 degrees. My reality is basically therapy, meds, art, exercise, and lots of love from family and friends. That's my life now. I was forced to stop my race towards my perfect life and every time I make plans, a relapse reminds me to take it slowly. In 6 months I've come from the perfect student with multiple jobs and an active social life to someone who struggles daily to get to tomorrow. I've changed my social circle, prioritizing those who've loved me unconditionally through this crisis and saying goodbye to those who even question the realness of my mental condition. I can't drive, I can't go out by myself and I've had to leave 3 theatres since the plot of the movies I was watching had to do with dead and suicide and that triggered panic attacks. Before I was a fluent speaker, now I stutter and even literary can't speak when it comes to taking about certain traumatic issues for me. Of course most of my previous plans and ideas of a "perfect life" are trash now. I just want to get healthy, I just want to be happy, I just want to get over this crisis. That's my only goal.

I've learned three things that I would like to share to anyone who somehow relates with my story. First, if depression had never shook my life like this I probably wouldn't have realized how amazing those who support me are, no matter how imperfect I feel I am. You feel miserable, your health goes downhill, your mind won’t shut up, but still people out there believe in you. And that’s amazing. To be able to have friends and family, no matter how few they are, that love you even when they see you in your raw, depressive state, that’s gold. I can't thank enough for my mom's endless patient as she is my main caregiver, or my therapist positive attitude, or my psychiatrist honesty. Even when therapy sucks because I’m having a bad day and I’m feeling worthless and stuck, my psychology and psychiatrist have become my family. They stand by me, they do their best to understand me, they believe in me in times when believing in myself sounds like a joke to me. You have to accept the positive things others are willing to give you, no matter how small they may seem or how hard it is for you, accept the help, love and care that others bring. You’ll nourish from that.

Third, and most importantly: You are not just a diagnosis. You aren't a crisis, or the medications you take or a category in a medicine book. You are so much more, you are alive and life has ups and downs. You are a whole universe, memories, friends, enemies, mistakes and virtues. You suffer, we all do. Maybe your path was paved a little harder and it's a bit more inclined, but that will only make you stronger, braver, wiser. There's so much more out there you can do, and I swear life will get easier once you start loving your demons, your shadows, your darkness. It's part of your life, it's part of your journey: Embrace it.
As I said, I have no answer about how to adapt to the way depression changes your life. It's unpredictable, and so is recovery. I've just learned to take it one day, one hour, one minute at a time, and just be thankful that you've beaten depression until this moment. Celebrate the “small” victories, they are bigger than they seem. Whatever comes ahead, will come. Just be grateful for the breath you are taking right now.

Well, they say God laughs at your plans and He certainly had something different in mind. Depression came along, anxiety got worse, panic attacks and endless physical symptoms that only showed I had huge emotional issues. Still, I managed to graduate and started university, while having a boyfriend and a somehow active social life. I cried myself to sleep and took medications, but I would still go out with a smile in my face. And my plan was still going as I wanted it to. Until 3 years ago.

My perfect family suddenly fell apart when my parents split, my dog died, my grandparents got sick. Pretty normal stuff, but not for me. Mrs. Perfect couldn't take it anymore. Life was throwing at me way too many changes, and as a pressure pot I couldn't take it anymore. I entered a deep crisis in June '16 that made me rethink everything. I couldn't stop crying even with meds and therapy, suicidal thoughts were a daily movie my mind played, I lost my appetite and I would sleep 14 hours each night with 3 naps. My psychiatrist demanded me to have 24-hour company, and all meds and sharp objects hidden. He also said I shouldn't go back to university on August, rather take care of myself and get better. And so I did. Anxiety and depression sure didn’t make it easy, constantly chanting around like Christmas carolers stuff like “If you were good enough you wouldn’t take time off, would you?”, “Why can’t you just be like all of your colleagues who CAN go to school and function in a NORMAL way?”, “Are you alive for this? Really? To see your downfall? You’d be better dead”, and so on… 

 Secondly, this changed my obsessive planning personality. Now, I live for today. For my health today, for my struggle today, for my blessings today. One day at a time. Having a mental illness makes you put everything in perspective, it changes your ideas, your priorities. You just want to be fine, to feel like yourself again, to be able to spend one week without suicide thoughts or without crying yourself to sleep. I don't care about if I'm a perfect student, or if I take more time to get my degree, or at what age I will get married. It's funny how sometimes life makes you miserable in order to realize that you should live for today. Be happy for today. Fight for today. Even though your mind has made your life miserable, here you are, smiling, struggling, fighting, and winning. You are a champion of life as every second passes by, because you chose to be here, to believe in yourself.


El 2020: Caos, incertidumbre y cosas que no hemos perdido.

 En estos tiempos de incertidumbre, hemos podido ver que nuestra salud mental y física han sufrido bastante por distintos motivos. Esta sema...