LongGone.

I use writing as a method of relaxation and also to reflect on things that happened or need to happen. This week I came upon the realization that my group of real friends has come down to only a couple people. This doesn’t upset me but it made me question myself. I don’t know if I’m doing something wrong, if it’s my black humour, my weird taste in art or music, the way I talk to people or just the way I express my ideas. I overanalyzed my actions to the point I started thinking that it might be a “cultural shock”, the same conclusion Dr. Tucker gave me on our last therapy session when she had to name the mental illness I suffered during summer. Her conclusion was that I lost sense of security and identity, that coming to Canada was too much for me and that just now (after 5 years), my brain decided to shut off and isolate itself in an unknown place. I would re-consider her “conclusion” as a lazy statement of her ignorance, but I would highlight that there was a small amount of truth in her final decision to label me as an insecure teenager that suffered from a psychotic episode after a university party. The small truth is that I was lost, insecure and rejected. I can barely remember what got me into this whole mental breakdown, but as scary as it sounds, I do remember that I wasn’t able to make a complete rational sentence in Spanish. I remember telling my dad that it was hard for me to express myself and I was loosing my language. I remember how scared he was when he herd that, and how much him and my mom tried to help. I really dislike coming back to this, because I would rather leave all these memories in the past. As I said before I find myself overanalysing some situations to the point there is no end. I want to forget about my problems but I cant, everything relates to everything and I have to be more careful than ever not to drown in my own sorrows. My last meeting with my occupational therapist was great, I showed her my new art work and I told her things I needed to tell her, but she advised me to be careful, because in a month it will be my one year anniversary since the illness I had in summer, and subconsciously I can start facing the same symptoms I felt before. Not only she scared the shit out of me, she also warmed me to be careful and that if I need her help she is there for me. The point is, people keep getting pissed at me and I can’t really deal with their attitudes, I don’t care or I might care too much to consider dealing with them (as paradoxically as it may sound). People are more complex that they seem, and once they show they don’t want to hear what you need to say then why waist your time? As I said before, it might be a cultural separation that doesn’t allow me to express myself better, my manners or my words. I actually have no fucking idea and I would love to talk to everyone personally (except my ex because I’m done with him forever), and try to help myself to become a better person.