Beyond the diagnosis: Fighting the stigma

“I’m nostalgic, I don’t want to let it go. Of course, I’m afraid, but it goes beyond. I feel like after a break up.” I said while getting red as a consequence of my increasing  anxiety  and the shame it produced me to admit this out loud. “I understand, but remember that we made a genetic study and we are letting go a medication that isn’t useful for your chronic  depression . You remember the study results right? I gotta say I’ve never met a patient who was so reluctant to change that even the change of her psychiatric meds, that we’ve been waiting for almost a year, has you feeling unwell… It’ll be okay!” My psychiatrist told me with care, looking me with those patient eyes full of concern that had been guiding me like a father for the past 3 and a half, almost four, years. And that’s it people. I’m having a hard time letting go the antidepressant I’ve been using for 3 years now. I dare to say, I’m feeling like breaking up with it. I know how horrible ...

Some months ago, when I told someone out loud for one of the first times that I wished to spend my life writing about mental and physical issues, creating awareness and educating, he answered me "Won't you run out of topic?". I laughed right there but it got me thinking. What differences my literary efforts to all of those all ready existing writings about depression, anxiety, fibromyalgia, arthritis or asthma? And it has been an unanswered question, revolving around my head, until few weeks ago. I was on the Instagram page I created for this blog (@beyonddiagnosis) and I got a message. From a beautiful follower, who was going through a psychiatric medication change, and had learned that I was going through an adjustment because I posted a video talking about the side effects. She told me her story, and when I answered she was surprised, because she never thought I would reply, as most of the advocates have a busy life and don't do so. She told me she felt I was...

Hay gente de gente. Hay gente que nos hunde, gente que nos eleva, gente de gente. Solemos acordarnos mas de aquellas personas que nos hirieron, que nos dejaron huella con dolor, que sentimos nos quitaron el aire o la vida. Porque parece increíble que alguien, especialmente si lo queríamos o si era cercano a nosotros y por ende haya tenido acceso a lo más profundo de nuestro ser, hiciera algo. Para rompernos, para marcarnos, para dejarnos. Y es muy usual que nos blindemos, porque no seamos pendejos, a nadie le gusta sufrir. Entonces si el amor ha sido complejo, decidimos no volver a amar. Si alguna amistad nos traicionó o nos dejó, nos volvemos tremendamente selectivo con aquellos que llamamos amigos. Si la familia nos decepciona, simplemente nos alejamos. Y nos convencemos que podemos solos, que no necesitamos a nadie, que la vida es más sencilla sin tener que cargar con otros. Podría llegar a ser hasta cierto esto... Pero carajo, cómo es de rica la vida si es compartida. Y lo digo...

These past days, I've been really in touch with the topic of death, thanks to health issues of people I love fondly. Just this Thursday I sat on a E.R. cubicle, watching over my grandpa and I couldn't help but reflect. I saw and heard so much pain, on him, on his next door neighbours, on the people in the waiting room. As my grandfather was asleep, I could listen to someone besides him moaning and crying from the pain. His wife was telling the doctor that he was over 90, had fallen down on his face and since then, he had speech impairment. I had saw him outside, when they've got to the hospital. He had half of his face swollen up, with cuts and bruises, and he couldn't open his eye or close his mouth. And I heard him, trying to speak, babbling words, crying out loud. He was constantly expressing how much pain he had. Without seeing him in that moment, I could tell he felt miserable. After that, I laid my eyes on my grandfather. He's physically half of the person ...

Para mi octubre es un mes de muchas emociones, hay celebraciones, aniversarios de momentos difíciles, fiestas para dar gracias por la vida, en fin... Muchas emociones. Y la verdad no sabía si hablar de parte de las celebraciones, porque involucran a otras personas, pero en una conversación hace poco salió el tema de la familia en relación con la salud mental, así que intentaré articular esas dos cosas. Estaba justo ahora oyendo una canción de La Oreja de Van Gogh, que dejaré acá  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7TFaez67p1A , que se llama "Cuando menos lo merezca". Y pensé en mis papás. En cómo se las dedicaría, en cómo su amor es básicamente de lo más importante en mi vida. Y en la dificultad de eso. No estoy diciendo que yo sea difícil de querer como tal, pero sí. Soy difícil de aceptar. Recordé, y he venido recordando todo su proceso de aceptación, paralelo al mío. Como lo he dicho en distintas ocasiones, desde que estaba en la panza de mi madre siempre fui la niña cosit...

Hace un año, precisamente hoy, me quedé sin palabras. Hace un año, precisamente hoy, se me olvidó hablar. Hace un año, precisamente hoy, me quedé muda. Y tengo que escribir sobre eso, porque los aniversarios son importantes, porque todo fue tan denso que merece un reconocimiento, porque los buenos se merecen el agradecimiento y los no tan buenos, la reflexión. Hace un año tuve un ataque de pánico distinto a los demás. Fue paralizante, fue terrorífico. Caminé hasta el carro, donde mi mamá me esperaba y cuando fui a abrir la boca fue simple: No me salían las palabras. Era como un bebé, que se le abren los ojos y la boca como si tuviera el mundo entero por recitar pero solo le sale una sílaba. Abría la boca y sólo salía un sonido mínimo. Y no era que no se me ocurriera que decir: En mi cabeza tenía el discurso perfecto de lo que iba a decir, cómo este ataque de pánico había sido distinto a todos los demás, cómo sentía que el cable que lleva las palabras de mi cerebro a mi boca se ha...

If I have learned one thing, and only one thing, in this journey is the relevance of a quote I heard once a while ago, and that had a huge impact on me and still does. "You can't save people. You can only love them" . And when you read this, or at least when I did, I got chills. Because at first, you can really feel impotent and incapable of doing so much more, which is what you want for others. We don't want, or at least most of us, don't want the people we love to suffer. So we try our best, and we give and give, searching to fix them and to help them from a spiral we are capable of living ourselves, but we hate the idea of others doing so.  That's the thing. So when people often get the courage of telling us what they are going through, the most common reaction is to try to help them. And most of those times, we believe helping them involves telling them how they should or shouldn't live their realities. Which is, apart from exhausting ...