Category: Stop the stigma

TÚ NO LO SABES, PERO ESTÁS AQUÍ

Tu ropa limpia lleva doblada desde las cuatro de la tarde, pero no he querido entrar en tu cuarto a guardarla en su sitio. 

He cenado con el volumen de la televisión al mínimo, lo justo para enterarme de qué estaba viendo exactamente.

Casi a la misma hora, he cerrado la puerta de la cocina a cal y canto para que no se oyera el centrifugado de la lavadora.

He ido al baño y he hecho pis a oscuras, sin tirar de la cadena. 

Me he venido a la cama y he estado esperando un rato antes de ponerme a escribir, por si mi tecleo, a veces un poco compulsivo, era demasiado fuerte. 

Acabo de pasar por la cocina, para asegurarme de que había galletas suficientes y terminar de fregar las tazas favoritas de desayuno. Con la puerta cerrada, por supuesto, porque el centrifugado estaba en su clímax.

Y al volver a mi cuarto, he visto que la luz de tu lamparita estaba apagada. Qué despiste… La he encendido; en naranja, como a ti te gusta. Pero cuando he ido a tu cama a darte ese beso que tanto necesito para conciliar el sueño, no estabas. 

No has estado en todo el día. No has estado aquí en días. Y no me hago a la idea. No quiero hacerme a la idea. La gente lo supera y sigue con su vida. Yo me niego.

Quiero mi beso, tu olor y tu presencia. Quiero que me saques de quicio y me des los mejores abrazos del mundo mundial. Solo tú puedes curarme. Solo tú puedes salvarme. Pero TÚ, mi vida, no estás. 

PEPE

I love Pepe. And I think he loves me too. We do not argue. He does not judge me or tell me all the things I do wrong. He does not tell me, though, what he likes about me or if I even do something right. He does not wish me a good day. Nor he does annoy me about how boring his day was. I feed him and he looks me back with what I think is some kind of gratitude.

Pepe is my only company now. Pepe is a turtle. Pepe is my friend. Pepe is, right now, the best relationship I have by far. 


PS: I am not lending Pepe under any circumstances.

Carta al buen samaritano que arruinó mi verano

O puede que toda mi vida…

Estimado/a lector/a anónimo/a:

Le escribo unas breves líneas para informarle de que me encuentro bien. Al parecer, estaba muy preocupado/a por mi estado de salud. Tanto que decidió informar directamente a la inspección sanitaria oficial para que averiguasen qué me ocurría y ayudarme lo mejor y más rápidamente posible.

Es una lástima que no me hubiese preguntado antes. A mí, a mis compañeros/as o a mis superiores. Se habría ahorrado unas cuantas llamadas y trámites burocráticos, tan incómodos para todo el mundo.

Es, igualmente, una lástima no saber sus verdaderas intenciones ni su identidad, puesto que no puedo explicarle personalmente las gravísimas repercusiones que su preocupación ha originado. Y, por supuesto, tanquilizarle o preocuparle aún más, en función de su criterio.

Espero que se haya quedado más tranquilo/a, en cuerpo y conciencia. Pero, para futuras ocasiones, le agradecería enormemente que confiase y acudiese, en primer lugar, a mí misma o a mis allegados/as. Especialmente en este tipo de atenciones.

Muchas gracias por su interés. Saludos cordiales.

He dudado tanto al escribir esto… Sobre si publicarlo o no. Supongo que hoy es uno de esos días en los que termina por darte igual y dejas que tus sentimientos guíen tus manos.

FOTOS

Nunca había visto cómo soy en realidad. Nunca me había reconocido en las descripciones ajenas. Me he burlado y sentido ridícula en incontables ocasiones por no ser capaz de creer las características que me asignaban.

Años y años de negación ante cualquier sonido de clic, de destrozar retratos y guardar decenas de álbumes en el rincón más recóndito que pudiera haber. De obviar opiniones de cualquier tipo y evitar conversaciones sobre el yo.

Pero el día menos pensado, un simple móvil de gama media recoge, sin filtros, retoques, efectos, ni pretensiones, un sincero abanico de grises: curvas, arrugas, poses, miradas, sonrisas. Por supuesto, vuelve la negativa a ver cualquier resultado, hasta que, tras mucha insistencia, accedo a mirar. Como si de una sanación milagrosa se tratase, los ojos se abren ante una belleza sencilla y pura. Una mujer en blanco y negro que me parece bella. Necesito observar todo otro par de veces para darme cuenta de que esa mujer soy YO.

Me recreo un buen rato. Primero, incrédula. Después, avergonzada y, finalmente, tremendamente feliz y satisfecha. Agradecida, ilusionada y orgullosa. Continúo recreándome durante días; aún sigo haciéndolo.

Me reconozco bella, me reconozco como yo.

Ahí permanecerán los blancos, negros y grises, para recordarme cómo soy en realidad. Cuando no quiera reconocer que soy ella, cuando pase de largo ante cualquier reflejo, cuando sienta vergüenza de cada uno de mis 169 centímetros. Y cuando nadie entienda nada de esto.

Miraré y podré ver, de nuevo, cómo soy en realidad. Porque es bien sabido que a las personas de poca fe nos vale más una imagen que mil palabras (o pensamientos). La mente es capaz de distorsionar la realidad, pero con tiempo, ciencia y cuidados, podemos, al menos, ser conscientes de esa distorsión; un paso enorme que permite deshacernos del autoengaño y disfrutar de la belleza.

Intentado huir de clichés de autoayuda, juro solemnemente que no hay nada más pasional y emotivo que disfrutar de la belleza propia. El ego y la vanidad, en su justa medida, son necesarios; nos enseñan y nos permiten avanzar, madurar.

Lo maravilloso de la realidad es que está ahí siempre. Lo maravilloso de haber vivido fuera de ella y encontrarla es saber que nunca se irá.

Ahora solo falta pasar al color.

THE PERKS OF HAVING A BOYFRIEND

I love English. It is one of my innest passions. And although it is also the main widespread language and the easiest way to communicate in any field or area in the world, nothing is perfect! One of the few things I find “incomplete” and confusing within English vocabulary is both the meaning and the use of the words boyfriend / girlfriend. 

Maybe it is something only non-native speakers have difficulty with, yet it is something not well taught when learning the language. And it is a huge problem, honestly. Let me show you why.

I do have this friend. He used to be one of the nicest students I’d ever had; he was (and still is) so insecure and shy, but he always tried and pushed himself a bit further. He never had brilliant grades (sorry, mate), but I’ll always remember his effort and motivation. 

He attended English lessons because he wanted to travel, to be able to apply for a better job, to better communicate with foreign people. To learn and become wiser, while enjoying doing so! Trust me, it’s not easy to find students like him…

Once I quitted my job as a teacher, I had the opportunity to know him better. We kept in touch, got on pretty well, gave advice to each other… and, eventually, we became friends. 

He is a real warrior, who has lost many friends, surviving a battle he didn’t choose to fight in. He suffers, a lot. Both mentally and physically, every single day, since the day he was born. He must confront a rare disease, no profitable enough to be studied and alleviated as we wished. Of course, this has carried him tons of problems we could ever imagine: (probably) his pains are more excruciating than yours; his life conditions are harder than yours; his abilities to work or interact with people are more difficult than yours; his health is obviously worse than yours; his life expectancy is lower than yours. His life sucks, by far, more than yours.

Nevertheless, and never without great effort and constancy, he is happy! As happy as any human being can be, with our ups and downs. He’s got friends, a job, hobbies when he’s excellent at. He exercises a lot and has travelled all around the world, no matter his “limitations”. He has overcome all kind of fears, problems, diseases and life-shit. He has learnt to live day by day, to enjoy each moment and to surround himself with people and things that make him feel joyful and alright. He’s still looking for that person, but never stopping his single life. 

And in all this process and growth, he has been by my side. Always. He is an important part of my life: all my family and friends know and love him, and do care about him. We both have suffered in different ways, we have shared some of the most important moments in our lives. He has listened to me, read me, talked to me, hugged me and pampered me every time I have needed it. No matter the problem or the time. He has always thought the best of me, and has let me know it too. I think he is the only person who would follow my advice -a couple of times at least. We have made mutual confessions and trusted each other throughout all these years. 

But I have been mean to him lately. I have devoted so much time to healing myself that I have put aside many people, many things. And despite his incredible friendship, I have left him apart as well. We have barely seen each other -or nothing at all. I didn’t tell him what was happening when I should. I didn’t let him see me or help me in any way. I wanted to be alone. I felt so embarrassed, such a failure. I thought my problems were clearly minor than his. I thought he would think the worst of me. 

Of course, I was completely wrong. During all this time, he has gifted me nothing but understanding, encouragement and distant support. He has placed himself on a second line, from where he could care about me while respecting the time and space I’ve been needing. Not a word of complaint or distrust. Not a thought of neglect or exclusion. Just loads of love and positivity, respect and esteem. 

I could not be more grateful and honoured. I love the way he has always treated me. I love his brains, his heart and his soul. I love his loyalty, kindness and sense of justice. I love our view of this shitty world, both our agreements and disagreements. I love this man. Whether I have any romantic feelings or appeal for him or not, I love him. And I think I will do so for many years. So yes, he is my boyfriend. 

I may not know how to call those men I may sleep with or the ones I’ll fall in love with. They may be lovers, crushes, partners, husbands… And then, they may be my boyfriends as well; or they may be not. All in all, the one I have and the one I name for sure is him.

I hope I did a good job getting him to love English as much as me. His reading this and understanding how much I love him will be one of the reasons why I love English too.

JUST THE TWO OF ME

I have been in touch with different people since yesterday’s post. Most of them are friends and acquaintances that had no idea about my separation. Few of them were actually worried about me having such a bad time remembering my anniversary.

I guess it’s not something you happily announce on your social networks. I guess it’s not something you talk about with your neighbour in the elevator. I guess it’s not something you specifically call your bestie to talk about -not in my case, at least. And I guess that’s what happens when you make your diary a public blog. Sometimes it’s scary, but all this feedback I am getting is priceless to me too. Pure food for thought.

A psychological healing process is hard for anyone, especially when mixed with trauma. You need to rebuild yourself and find a new place or role at your different scenarios. However, when any piece of a system is moved (thay piece is YOU) -and all of us belong to hundreds of them-, all the system and the rest of its members move as well. Some pieces disappear while new ones enter. Many others take a different role. Few of them remain the same. What’s clear is that there’s movement. A lot of movements indeed. 

Of course I can only talk from my own experience, but as I am reaching my healing climax, I feel more and more divided. I’ve just discuss on this with one the most important persons in my life right now, which clarified my feelings and helped me picture them better. 

Two versions of myself are now cohabitating: the past me, who still cannot accept a reality where loss and hurt will accompany her forever; and the current me, who is little by little getting to know her innest self better, surrounding herself by things and people that truly complete her. A person who is following a path that suits her better, instead of the one she thought was expected of her.

Please trust me: t it is both physically and mentally exhausting. I’ve been living -or surviving- like this for many months. And as I make progress and start to see things and life more clearly, the surest I am it will be like this forever. As sure as that current me will lead my life sooner than later, although memories, loss, hurt and trauma from my past will also walk by my side forever. How not losing the past me? What a meaningful life would it be if we erased all those things we do not like, and only filled our backpack with what make us feel good, happy or safe?

We all need to learn how to manage suffering, healing and changing. It’s what makes us grow, what gives us true perspective, what defines ourselves. I have been lucky enough to keep my family close -not easy, though-, to rethink the role of many people and friends around me, and to bump into a little bunch of angels who remind me, everyday, what true love and friendship are. All these extraordinary human beings are healing me, teaching me, rescuing me… while helping to create that current me who is getting used to being happy and authentic. 

My deepest gratitude and love to you all. 

GONE BABY GONE

Today was the day. The punch on my face has been so hard I do not know when I’ll be able to recover.

I am sure this may sound so typical, but it is freaking true. My heart is actually and truly broken; somebody (a Mr one) has taken a piece of it. Can someone live with an incomplete heart? Can someone be happy, go on with her routine and acting like a normal person with an incomplete heart? Honestly, I don’t think so.

At least, I can’t for now. Tears still come down my cheeks, I don’t want to speak, to eat, to think, to hear. All I want is having her by my side, trying to make her sleep while fighting like fiddler crabs, laughing and hugging and kissing, with that non-stop energy of hers that makes me love my girl more and more everyday.

I know it is not a forever goodbye, I know I’ll be seeing her “soon”. So what? Please, do not try to help people that way. It is their (our) pain. We are not stupid; of course we can try to not overreact, to think rationally. It is just that we don’t want to, or we cannot do it. It is just pain…

Seventeen days look like a decade to me right now. I have been preparing myself, I have my plans made, I have been close to my people throughout the day. But still… I will be feeling miserable for no one knows how long. And it is alright.

Please do not try to make me think positive, to try to find the good side from all this. I want my tears, my pain, my missing her every single day. I want to get used to this, as it is how it is going to be for the rest of my life.

And, above all, please do not ask me for understanding. I don’t want her to like them more than me (and mines). I don’t want her to feel like a family more with them than with us. I want her to want me, to be anxiously awaiting the day we meet together again. I don’t want her to love them as much as she loves me, us. 

In any case, and as it is inevitable, take care, my Queen of the Seas. Enjoy your holidays, your sleeping late, your eating all the ice cream you want. And please enjoy the thought of us together again. I’ll be brave, as you wisely told me this afternoon. Or, at least, I’ll try to be as brave as you.

SHITTY DAYS… WELCOME.

I swear my day started nicely. I got up a bit later than usual and took my kid to school with no rush. However, as soon as I got back home I started to feel horrible.

To be honest, I had not slept properly and my stomach was not feeling very well. But I had to hurry up and start moving, as I had an appointment to renew my passport. I took my mom with me, so that she can get out of the house for a little while. I had some pics taken and went to the Police Office.

My mind is so full of a hurtful and oppressive mass that I did not remember the appointment was actually for tomorrow. So after a more than seven-kilometer walk, I left my mom at her place and went back home to sit down and cry. I felt exahusted, stupid and completely sad. My mood had changed so quickly I could not have even been able to process it.

The day went like crap. My humour was shitty, I argued with more than one, I didn’t have enough energy to enjoy with my daughter. And now, here I am. Telling you all this to let the world know some days just suck. And they do so for a reason.

We all know about positivism, good vibes and just do it kind of stuff. I have read and been told about the importance of focusing on your actions rather than on others’. We have been taught not to blame others for our situation, but to learn and find a solution to solve our problems, whatever they are. I have learnt, violently, that I only have control over my own choices, behaviours and reactions.

Well, should that have to be like that, I consciously choose to have shitty days. I desperately need them! Everyone needs them! It is the way human beings are capable of expressing anger, sadness, unease, and all the bad feelings you are allowed to feel. This is what healing is about for me. Give yourself the time to feel it all: both the good and the bad. We cannot be happy if we don’t know what feeling unhappy is. We cannot heal ourselves if we do not feel hurt sometimes.

So please, respect different people’s times and manners. We may need to blame all our inner garbage on somebody else (even if we know it is not true or fair). We may need to cry and stay in bed for a whole day, miserable, hopeless and gloomy. This is what getting through depression is about for me. Don’t let it get out of control: try to surround yourself with good people who understand this necessity, respecting your space while taking care.

Please educate our children to recognize, accept and deal with all human feelings spectrum. Please stop this always-happy wave that is making us all feeling guilty for feeling bad. Please repeat yourself the most famous mantra for people like me: it is OK not be OK.

Today was a shitty day. I am going to bed feeling terrible and lonely. Tomorrow… we’ll see. Once you decide to live, just live the life you encounter everyday.

Photo by @lebroudy.

MY OWN “B-DAY”

Today  it was my D Day. Or, better said, it was my B Day. No, not my birthday, but the first time, this year, I wore a bikini in public.

Some of you will probably think what’s going on with such a silly thing: OK, enjoy the beach and the sun, don’t forget your SPF protection… But I am quite sure that most of you will understand, that you will know what I’m talking about. And you will be probably right.

For anyone who suffered and suffers from any of the thousands of different eating disorders and body image distortions -and, trust me, that’s quite a lot of people-, this day is very, very important. Like one of the most freaking days of the year.

There’s the preparation. You have to choose the bikini you will be wearing, which means you will have to try it on and face the mirror. That mirror will reflect your actual body, almost nude. And whether you like what you see or not, that’s the real you: the person people will see in a beach or a swimming pool. You will probably try not to look for long, but once you get it, go for the next step.

And there’s the real action. You’ll get out and reach the beach. You’ll spread out your towel on the sand and put your staff on it. And now (drum roll…), you’ll get your clothes off and expose your bikini body to the public. The worst 30 seconds in your life. Every year. Unavoidable.

But that’s all, folks: 30 shitty seconds of panic. There are around seven billion people in the world. I swear everyone will not be looking at you; neither at your body. The people you are sourrounded by will actually and probably be feeling the same! That’s how stupid we human beings are.

Instead of reading a good book, playing freely with our kids or jogging a little bit on the seashore, we double up, put on some big sunglasses and pretend our body is not there with us. But it is; it is not going to disappear or miraculously become a Victoria’s Angels’ one. I am not going to tell you that you are not only much more than a body, but also further much more than a simple piece of clothing.

I do not want to talk about tips or deeper feelings. This is my way of asking you to please charge and inspire yourself with all the incredible, beautiful and truly helpful body positivity influencers out there. Do not stare at your tummy; do not pinch your thighs; do not stay at home; do not keep your T-shirt on when it’s burning out there. Please, do not. You, me, everyone: we deserve better! We are rational beings!

And after all this, I just wanted to share with you that I actually did it! I put on my bikini, walked to the beach with a summery dress, sat on my towel and voilà… my bikini and I sunbathed for like 15 minutes. Yes, that was all… Galerna (stormy northwest wind, very common in the Basque coast) invaded our area and everyone dissppeared.

But effort made (a huge one) and mission accomplished! If I could, so can you.

Pic by @lebroudy