And so my journey continued. I saw a psychiatrist, a psychoanalyst and took my medication, but never really believed that any of them would help to cure me. I was starting my life over step by step. I went back to school for my master’s degree, soon realizing that I was fully capable of dealing with the academic life and socialization at FAFICH, UFMG’s College of Philosophy and Human Sciences. I went back to speaking with ...

There I was, still feeling all that aphasia, that detachment from the real world where everything seemed meaningless and shallow. I felt the lack of love. Love, which I projected on only two women in my life, unaware of how love is spread all over the world, in all beings imaginable and unimaginable. But then one day I made the decision. Yes, to put an end to that useless existence of a being who lived on watching TV with his ...

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Going out was a way for me to socialize. But at the same time it reflected in me my greatest fears and anxieties; the fear of loneliness, the results of the medication, and their terrible side effects. Going to the bathroom was a challenging ordeal. My genital organ and I having to confront that urinal. It was as if my ghosts were all standing there watching me. Nothing… I grew tense, and the liquid with the excrements o...

So here I am once again, expunging my post-Pinel pains. Yes, it happened again. But wait, before I tell you everything that happened in this new crisis, or outbreak as the men in white would say, I should tell you the previous details. The in-between, everything that happened between these two hospitalizations. Between opening that gate, my eyes tearing at the sight of freedom, and today, where I find myself “imprisoned” a...

  It’s amazing what pretenders madmen and poets can be. Fernando Pessoa was right. While pretending to tell of their pains they pretend to purge them, to adequate themselves, to succumb to mediocrity. And everyone, even they, eventually come to believe in their pretending, a mere artifice of the rhetoric, mere creation. But in pretending their pains don’t just draw off. In the catharsis of telling, although pretended,...

There is nothing more to say about the dull monotony of my jail days in this mental health clinic. Not the guitar, not even having met Fernanda, not anything appeases the pain of being… Because the pain is not of being or existing, but from being unable to fully exist, of living like a bird with clipped wings and chains round its feet. Not to mention the barred cage preventing even the slightest attempt of taking flight....

I open my eyes and the same scene repeats itself once again: Valerie lying on the bed beside me, I on the floor, the same room, same TV, same doors. The days were always the same, dragging on endlessly inside that prison clinic. I couldn’t stand the monotony anymore, the sameness of it all. Especially since I had been let out before, breathed the airs of freedom for a short time before being locked back up again. I had strol...