Beyond the diagnosis: Fighting the stigma

I've always loved The Beatles. My parents liked them and my brother became obsessed with them at a very young age so I started listening to them. They were catchy. I remember the first song I loved was “Twist and shout “, when I was like 9. And I used to sing it out loud and dance like no one was watching. It made me happy. I started listening to others, I discovered “Let it be” and how beautiful it was to just leave life take its own course. I heard “Something” and I decided it was the most romantic song ever, and that the day that someone felt that way about me, he would be the one. With “Eleanor Rigby” and “While my guitar gently weeps” I understood the term hauntingly beautiful at the fullest. When illnesses of diverse type approach to my life, I listened to “Blackbird” and as a lullaby, it made me sleep in a way that I could forget my physical pain, my psychological struggle, the captivity I felt in life. I felt free, and I started seeing the beauty in the “broken wing...

Estos días he estado leyendo "El libro de la alegría", que es básicamente una recopilación de las conversaciones del Dalai Lama, con Desmond Tutu y Douglas Abraham acerca de muchas cosas. Asumo, por lo que he leído hasta ahora, que se llegará a la raíz que la alegría, pero en el punto en que voy se habla del sufrimiento. Y es interesante, ver que personas con contextos distintos, religiones diversas, historias particulares pero que comparten este título intangible de ser de las personas más sabias del momento, tienen muchos puntos en común. Uno de estos, que justo estaba ojeando hace unos días es acerca de la inevitabilidad del dolor, de las cosas que hacen que el alma se parta en pedacitos. Pero justo ahí, en lo inevitable, parece estar la clave del asunto. Porque a pesar de esto, todos huímos de lo que nos duele, lo evitamos, nos escondemos. Cambiamos de país, de número de celular, de grupo social, tomamos pastillas, buscamos incesantemente curas y remedios, o al menos pal...

Por distintas cosas, además de mi condición física y mental de salud, me encuentro en un momento complicado de mi vida. Mucho dolor, muchas cosas desconocidas, mucho de lo que no tengo control absoluto. Básicamente, estas últimas semanas de mi vida y las venideras, es sentarme a esperar con qué carta juega Dios cada día, y ahí si reaccionar. Porque estoy haciendo todo lo que está en mis manos, pero hay una inmensa mayoría de cosas que no puedo controlar. Y lo odio. Y me estresa. En uno de estos episodios en que todo se junta (Porque así es la vida, no pasa 1 cosa y luego otra y así, sino que todo se junta) me vi absolutamente absorta en el dolor. No solamente por el hecho de sentirlo, no solamente por lo absolutamente incómodo que es tener dolor de algún tipo y más emocional, sino porque no sabía que hacer con él. Es como tener una picadura en el alma que no sabes donde rascar, o más bien, como aliviarla. E incomoda, y se agranda, y se siente aquí y allá y en todas las benditas parte...

Have you seen one of those dogs that only have 3 legs? Or bling animals? Or one of those pigeons with a broken wing? They still make a living, right? They still get out there and strive to survive, whatever that means in their environments. Because that’s nature. Because we all have in our biology, that we need to survive no matter how hard are the conditions or if we have something different to the rest of those who surround us. And we do it. That’s why sometimes it’s weird or not deserved to be called “brave” or worth of admiration from others when people know you fight a mental health condition. Not because it isn’t nice, don’t get me wrong. We all need some cheering up and we all need someone to remind us why we need to do what we are doing. We do. We need it. Specially when you have a poisonous mind that talks about your bad things more than anyone. But is it really brave? I can say it’s brave to hold your head up and accept your symptoms and diagnosis in a world that con...

I was searching for a new cover photo for my Facebook, and I stumble upon the following quote:  " I am mentally ill . I can say that.  I am  not ashamed of that. I survived that,  I'm  still surviving it, but bring it on. Better me than you." by no other but the Princess Leia herself, Carrie Fisher. And I started re-reading some of her powerful words, and God, what an advocate she was.  I don't recall her movies quite particularly (Sorry, not a Star Wars fan), but I remember that the moment I started reading this kind of empowering-Life goes on beyond the diagnosis quotes, I saw so many of Carrie's words. And she was absolutely honest, she was funny and real and her words were so absolutely raw but real that... She clearly knew what she was talking about, and she clearly knew how to get to people. Because she didn't gave us the "happy shinny people" speech that you usually get when you admit a mental condition or a suicidal ideation. She told you...

So now I have time, since I'm off school for a month, I've recalled certain experiences that I would like to share about this whole journey. I was thinking on how is this road is simply hard to accept. Because you know, that people always want the best for you. And they'll always want to see you happy, and recovered and stable. But that isn't reality, once you get on the recovery roller coaster, you'll see that what you've got is so much harder than what you expected. The funny thing is, in a matter of time, you enter in this dynamic too, and reality gets harder and harder to deal with every day. I'm not talking about the nice days, or the stable periods. I'm talking about the relapses, the moments when you feel your symptoms rising like a thermometer in the summer, the unexpected nights of endless crying after some good moments.  Case in point: I was in a mall and someone exploded a balloon next to where I was standing, but I didn't real...

Y se acabó el semestre. Ser humano al otro lado de la pantalla, si está leyendo esto es porque lo publiqué, y si es así es porque terminé mi práctica en el énfasis de psicología clínica. Escribo esto unos días antes de que realmente se acabe, pues aprovecho una incapacidad médica para reflexionar y poner en palabras todo aquello que siento. Más lo publico sólo al tener la certeza de que lo aprobé satisfactoriamente, sería vergonzoso ponerlo y luego quitarlo. Hay que ser precavidos. Hace una semana, estaba donde mi psiquiatra, me preguntó cuánto me quedaba de práctica y le dije que unas 3 semanas. Él, sonriendo me dijo "¿Te acuerdas de cuándo estabas en este mismo sofá diciendo que no sabía si ibas a entrar, o si ibas a retirar a la semana, o cuánto ibas a durar?". Yo no pude más que reír y mirar al piso. Todo eso parece tan tremendamente lejano en este momento, pues este último año ha sido eterno, aunque esa conversación fue tan solo en Enero. Este semestre ha sido ...