Life

The other day I was walking down the street with my mom and I looked at her and noticed how she was struggling to keep up with me… I realized I’ll be very lucky if I still have her and my dad around for 20 more years. It was a very scary thought, mostly because 10 years ago often feels like just yesterday.

It all felt so quick. This whole life experience. It’s too quick and I am not ready to let go of people. I want my parents to be around and watch my daughters graduate. I wanna share everything with them. I can’t imagine not being able to do that.

It doesn’t matter what I want, though.

That thought has actually been echoing on the back of my head ever since I was a child. There will come a day that will be the last. Inevitably.

Somewhere along the way I flipped a switch on my brain and what happens is, whenever we are too happy I automatically think “Oh, shit. Is this the last day?” . You know, kind of when you are watching a movie and the characters are having a great time in slow motion with a fading song on the background… you just KNOW that is their last happy memory and that the next scene is at a funeral.

Maybe I have watched too many movies.

So, this morning when I opened facebook and learned that my sort-of-uncle had died I thought of his daughters, who are my age. And I got scared again. Scared, sad, confused, lonely. I felt like I needed God. Because if I believe in God, things won’t feel so quick anymore. God is an invisible solution to all the ghosts in my head. There is nothing to fear anymore… what would we be afraid of if we weren’t afraid of death?  

Dear God, I hope you are not a marketing strategy created to get followers on social media. I really, really hope you are real.

 

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It wasn’t schizophrenia.

“You are depressed”, they said.  The word “schizophrenia” was also mentioned.

So, they ignored everything I had to say. I am not blaming them… I too would ignore a crazy person. Once you are labeled “crazy”, people just stop listening.

Still, I gave them the benefit of the doubt and I was totally fine with accepting that maybe I was depressed and maybe I was a very lucid slightly schizophrenic person. I was not in denial, I just wanted to finally give it a name and get the right pill for it. Try to fix it. Fix me.

I tried what they said, but it didn’t help. And my stomach hurt.

A whole year went by. Different pills, different therapies, different doctors. And my stomach still hurt.

It was my turn to stop listening.

I did not feel depressed. I felt pushed down. Exhausted. But, most of all, I had an urge to live. I wanted to laugh and be happy. I wanted to not care. It couldn’t be depression. Right?

Right. Actually.

I focused on my stomach pain (it was starting to get weird).

I asked the doctor to get tested for what I thought I had – after I googled my f*** fingertips off. She said I didn’t have it. It took her good 3 months to finally let me get tested.

I had worms.

Yes, worms. Microscopic ones (not to gross anyone out…). I had them for so long they – most likely – released a substance to my brain that mimics depression – so, I’ve read.

And the reason I believe that is because after 3 days of worm medication, I had no more panic attacks. 3 days… and I felt like my old self again.

Right now, I’m just happy all the people I see around me are actually real. If I think about it, the most schizophrenic thing I do is writing here as if I as talking to someone even though no one reads this shit.

Something to think about.

Night, guys.

fight club

A year in the life

A lot’s happened last year. Not to me, though. Still, I sat here and observed as my friend’s lives collapsed.

I panicked.

It took me a long time to realize we were ok, because the things I watched happening around me made me terrified of life. It was like a big fire and I could not predict the wind… I couldn’t tell whether the flames would hit my lands or not.

I wanted to protect me and my family and I didn’t know where to start.

I didn’t know what had killed Stella in a week. I didn’t know why my cousin’s baby had been born with microcephaly … I didn’t know why my friend’s baby had cancer.

I researched and researched.

I was so scared of not finding any answers. So afraid of that fire.

Amongst all things that involved science, religion and the unpredictable there was always one common denominator: happiness.

Is that the gratitude thing everyone talks about? – I wondered.

And so, the year went by.

Stella came to me in a dream, which brought peace to my heart.

My cousin is pregnant again and her little boy just turned one. He is responding fine to treatment.

My friend’s baby is cured.

So, last weekend, I set on the floor, watched cartoons with my girls and gave up the medicine I had been taking for 10 days.

I realized I didn’t have an unbalanced brain that could be fixed by a pill. I actually had been through a lot last year and I needed the time to process all that. In fact, I would probably need a pill if those things HADN’T affected me!

But most of all, I realized we were fine. Not threaten by life. Just fine. And, as I walked to the parking lot to grab something from the car, I took a deep breath. At that moment I was transported right back to a day at the beach when I was 12…

No worries, just happiness. Because we are all allowed.