#podtherapy

Welcome back, Therapals,

Today I have to fully embrace anecdotal experience and take some pride in being able to share a part of my story with all of you. Please be kind as I indulge in this task.

It felt to me like episode 184 had an unintentional theme of life-long diagnosis from both the perspective of the patient and those who surround them. Through very specific and personal experiences we were invited to think about how living in sickness can affect one's behavior. It so happens that I am well versed in existing inside a defective body, I just have reached the point where I can wear a healthy disguise.

When I was 13 years old I realized that regular classes would cause me pain. At first, it seemed temporary, maybe I needed glasses or something. Maybe I was tired. At 16 I started avoiding going to the movies because two hours of enjoyment would bring another twelve of agony. By the time I was in college - the first time - I would schedule my day around how many times I was in pain. My backpack always had a supply of medication that needed to be refilled every week. I wouldn't go out much and all my close friends were somewhat accustomed to seeing me in pain. I even developed some signs to be able to communicate when I couldn’t speak - it's rare now, but extremely intense episodes will trap me inside, making me fully aware but unable to speak and/or move.

I went to several doctors, had years of exams done, got close to an addiction to painkillers, thought I was going blind. I also thought I was going to die, accidentally almost caused a fatal injury on myself, and very much wished I was dead.

It took me a few years to figure out I have chronic migraine, even though it runs in the family. It took me more than a decade to manage it successfully.

Looking back, I don't know how I did it, I just knew I had to do it. Daily life was miserable, limited and exhausting. The only way to adapt to it at first was to accept everything. I wasn't ashamed of my condition anymore, and that was who I had to be at that point. But that would not be what would define me for the rest of my life.

Years of treatment later, I say it is an everyday struggle. Today, for example, I woke up and there she was, weighing heavy over my right eye. But I won, I feel fine now. One day at a time, another lesson learnt on how to be the most comfortable me.

Chronic pain will often force you to learn how to live around it, and this is the only specific reality I have some familiarity with. It is an intrusive condition that will sit right in the middle of your existence, refusing to be ignored. And if you ever try to do so, it will just take more space until there is nothing left for you. More than half of my life has been defined by this battle of how to make myself exist around and larger than the pain I can feel at any moment. The triumph I seek is not absolute victory, but a peaceful cohabitation. On one side, my genetic blueprint lays down all the traps; on the other, my unshakable willpower finds its ways to navigate the treacherous terrain. There is no escaping how we were built, but humans are notoriously talented at adaption, the ultimate advantage that hardly ever fails us.

So, please, if you find yourself in similar conditions and your body seems to be actively working against you, be defiant, be courageous. Be stubborn for yourself. Use the survivor's bias to your own benefit. Think about how much you’ve done so far by being exactly who you have always been, how much you have overcome. I won't lie and say the journey is easy. You might not be able to do everything you dream of, sure - I can't wear anything on my head and face, for example. But it will be okay. You can adapt and find other ways of being fulfilled doing what you love. And you will do it your own way, which makes it unique. Perhaps you can pave the way for other people who also exist in a more challenging body.

This is how I like to see my unescapable neurological condition: a challenge that I am able to conquer. I do need a different set of tools, which I craft for myself with the help of those who understand my uncommon requirements.

Don't think you need to make yourself smaller to make others comfortable, no. Ask for what you need because that is what you deserve. There are no rules, you do things the way you need to do them. Somedays, I would wear sunglasses inside the office. Or take naps at a sitting position. Brush my hair for half an hour, brush my teeth for ten minutes, take a shower with a chair.

It is also important to note that it was never anyone's fault that I was suffering constantly, not even mine. The fact that I was in pain made me very irritable, of course, but that was not carte blanche to lash out at my family, for example. The migraine still affects my mood, my tolerance, my energy levels. However, my migraine cannot be used as a shield from criticism, as an excuse to hide from responsibility, or as a justification for recklessness. It is never acceptable to act like you are beyond reproach just because you are in pain. Everyone has their issues and should be held accountable for their shitty behavior.

After so many years of experience, if given the opportunity to tell my younger self anything, I would say it will get better. So that is what I would like to tell anyone facing a lifelong diagnosis. We mature, we adapt. The secret is to never stop, and never let yourself be stopped.

In the beginning, it feels overwhelming, but at some point, you will forget how bad it used to be. Finding balance won't feel so daunting. You will find the best possible version of yourself and feel proud.

Take good care of yourselves. You are worthy.

Triple hug,

Dear Therapals,

The problem with passion projects is that sometimes they are forced into a hiatus while I take care of… other passion projects.

There is a bit of time travel involved in this one considering my first draft is many weeks old. For the sake of story-telling and good personal anecdotes, I will ignore date accuracy. In fairness, I reckon none of you cares about this.

Episode 187 reminded me of the ambivalence of our resilience. We are strong because surrender is never an option for those who count themselves lucky to get this far.

“I would think about how I would kill myself if I could…”

I cried ugly with this episode twice now. When our friend from Zimbabwe talked about having a better life than most people from their country just because they have food, shelter, enough money, and access to higher education I broke down hard. They look around themselves and see other people in dire situations and they feel like they should be more grateful, they feel like those few “luxuries” suffice to a happy life.

When we consider the vast majority of PodTherapy’s listeners, I’m confident to say that I am a type of diversity just from being not American. Yet, I am completely aware that I’m still a white, middle-class person. Behind my many complaints about the country I live in, there is a very conscious appreciation for the level of privilege I have within this particular reality. So, hearing from someone who I would consider less privileged than me that they sometimes think they should just be grateful because other people around them have even less was heartbreaking. I can relate, and I know how much it hurts.

The idea that you are ungrateful for wanting more than the bare minimum is something that I battle with sometimes too. We have these voices in our minds judging us at every display of dissatisfaction, badgering us for daring to be so spoiled as to want more. We tell ourselves that we could be in a worse situation and we think about that all the time because the worse situation is not far away in another “third world country”, it’s right there outside the window. For people who care about others, there’s almost shame of being ambitious. Or being different. Or wanting something else. It’s survivor’s guilt, but an entire lifetime of it.

One of my usual criticisms about the show is the general American-centrist approach, but I don’t exactly expect this to change because it would be silly of me to do so. Not that I don’t believe people can change their perspective, I just can’t expect this from three American guys who never had to deal with anything other than average white America. Their entire reality is fundamentally different from mine and will probably always be since we grew up in vastly different situations. It’s okay, and it is why I decided to write to them and to eventually create this space where I can speak freely on how I see things. By now I have learnt to appreciate those disparities and communicate them as much as I can. The bottom line is, Americans will hardly ever really understand how we Brazilians - or you Zimbabweans - think about community and how we position ourselves as individuals. The same goes the other way around - I don’t get at all the constant need for competition. We can recognize those contrasts and share our experiences to broaden everyone’s perspectives. Seeing things from multiple angles can be a powerful tool to better solve the problems we are faced with. For the record, I am not comparing Brazil and Zimbabwe, I can perfectly recognize that Brazil has a lot of advantages in comparison, and I also know very little about Zimbabwe to make any further judgment. My point here is to clearly put these two countries in a separated group from the US.

Nick said that the listener seemed to have developed healthy coping mechanisms. Speaking from this part of the world that gets described as “third world” I feel like I need to point to the cruelty involved in that process. Living through historic events is exhausting and we have to do it with a grace that is rarely shown to us.

What our beloved American friends seem to fundamentally miss is that we just don’t have the time and the resources to even consider mental illnesses as part of the conversation.

What I mean is that we don’t recognize the impact of our mental health when we are too busy surviving. Throughout this entire pandemic, Brazil is putting its grief on an imaginary credit card that will probably never be charged, or it will snowball into a bigger catastrophe. We simply don’t have the time to cry for every single person that we lose to a preventable disease while we are already burdened with other worries about our own survival. I don’t have time to be depressed and not go to work because I have to feed my family. I don’t have time to contemplate the death of another thousand because I would just be doing that every day. Maybe as a defense mechanism, we become very numb to otherwise tragic situations. Death, loss and suffering are not an anomaly in our reality, they are somewhat the expectation. Considering this, emotional resources are rationed wisely. I cried when one of my favorite comedians died, but nothing changed for me after the passing of the neighbor who almost destroyed my family. To be honest, we will catch ourselves smiling when we hear some famous person died from old age, at least they expired at their terms.

During the days leading to my first shot of the Covid-19 vaccine, my sister and my partner warned me about the pain that would follow the desired jab. They told me to expect a lot of soreness, a sick feeling, real exhaustion. I was prepared to take the rest of the week off to enjoy the beating of immunization.

The issue is this: none of that happened. My arm was hurting for less than 24 hours. In fact, two days after the shot I gave myself two hard slaps in the arm just to show dominance. Pain is not a stranger to me, it’s a character trait. You can’t be soft in a battle.

That said, it’s not cute that we are survivors. Only a few of us are privileged enough to contemplate what it actually means to live, to have the ability to desire for more than the bare minimum. And it hurts us to know that the majority is just surviving.

Now, one thing we can always do is look for peers. The internet made it possible for people to create borderless communities, so we should take advantage of that for our benefit. (Please, Darwin, let me not go on a tangent about destructive communities that can only thrive and expand because of the internet. Thank you.) So, if you can’t find a friend in your village to talk about your struggles with mental health, reach out to a friend in Brazil. Or Poland. Or Australia. We exist, we are here. We are other real people with real problems and a lot of us are open to help those who feel lost and alone. I promise you will find someone who understands your pain, or at least is willing to try.

If you need to hide your care from your family, and can, do it. Just get treated, get help. Worry about yourself first. Nobody needs to know about your health but your doctor or health care team. We love ourselves first, then we ration our energy to help others.

We deserve what we want, friend. We deserve more, we deserve better.

As the official Mayor of Theratopia, fan number #1, and president of the Brazilian Chapter, I hereby dub thee president of the Zimbabwean Chapter. Rejoice!

Triple hug.

Welcome back, Therapals,

Our subject for the week came to my attention while listening to the Patreon exclusive part of episode 183. Even though those who are not subscribed might be missing a little bit of context, I still think it's very important to discuss.

“Why do people say "grow some balls"? Balls are weak and sensitive. If you wanna be tough, grow a vagina. Those things can take a pounding.” - Betty White

Pardon my ignorance, but why the fuck is "pussy" used as a synonym for "coward" in English? I never really understood this concept, and I honestly think we need to start thinking about how the use of language can cause some unintended damage. I mean, the entire field of mental health deals with how words are spoken and interpreted to tackle several issues.

To me, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard when I hear otherwise inclusive and well-mannered men use the slang that happens to be a colloquial term for the vulva as a derogatory term in reference to another man they deemed inferior. The use of the word is objectively false. Correct me if I'm wrong, but no other part of the human body is able to naturally stretch itself up to 10 cm - almost 4 inches for you imperial heathens - to let out a brand new human being. So, please save the jokes about a big pussy being a bad thing because if it weren't, you could have choked on the way out. And speaking of size, we should also bury the stupidity that it is referring to a large pussy as something that got stretch from “a lot of use”, further shaming women for their pearls-clutching audacity of being sexually active or, the horror, becoming a mother. It sure does help a lot the myth of virginity and purity, guys, thanks. Or how a woman's worth is undeniably linked to her sexual history, which should be void. Check your calendars, it’s 2021.

Ignoring blunt reductionism for the sake of the argument, the pussy is actually amazing, very strong, and comes in all shapes, sizes and colors. The pussy has its own ecosystem that protects itself and the whole body, like a proper heroine. Unfortunately, the culture of hatred for everything considered feminine has worked for centuries to convince us that people who have pussies are dirty, impure, not worthy; they are less than human. Pussy, the biggest shame.

The conversation is also tricky because it’s hard not to alienate trans folks when talking about it. We tend to say "women" as a shorthand for people who were born with pussies, so I am sorry if sometimes sounds like I’m falling into the trap of gender conformity. But I guess this is another head of Hydra. Calling a man "pussy" as an insult is a great way to reinforce gender roles whilst making sure you let your internalized misogyny shine through. Ugh.

The pussy also features the ability to experience multiple orgasms as many times as possible. A true hard worker of human pleasure. In theory, the number of orgasms that a pussy can experience is infinite. It's not even that hard, you just need to know what you're doing. What they say about pussies taking longer to climax is but a myth perpetuated by people who didn't do their due diligence. Nerve endings to get stimulated and create massive amounts of pleasure are abundant - twice as many as nerve endings on penises. The pussy even supplies its own lubricant. You don't need an instructions manual, just a healthy measure of curiosity. Perhaps a bit of bravery, like every pussy is born with.

Since we are talking about levels of sensitivity, it is important to talk about pain. The pussy needs maintenance. Actual medical supervision. I could open a side note to discuss Brazilian waxing, but that is a completely optional, personal and merely aesthetic choice. No vaginally endowed person can escape the discomfort of invasive procedures that are needed on a very regular basis. We have no option and there is no effort at all devoted to trying to make them the least bit less distressing. I kid you not, the instrument still used for pussy care dates back to 1300 BC.

All of this to say that we need to let these gender-based insults die. Or at least not make the mistake of passing them on to the younger generation. No pussy owner should feel ashamed of their pussy. And penis equipped people should learn that they are equal, not better, not superior just because their genitals present differently.

To finish it off, the best feature of the word pussy is triggering conservative buffoons, like that guy who shall not be named but for some reason decided to make a fool of himself by shaking his fists at the sky against the gloriousness of a good moist box.

Triple hugs,

Hi, friends,

How are you doing? Somebody should ask.

I feel like I’m contractually obligated to send at least one question per year, and it’s already June. I started writing this update in April, but you’ll understand why it took me so long to finish this in a few moments.

I have been inside my house for over a year now, since April 2020. To be precise, I went to the doctor once in July, then across the street twice in November to vote, then out once more this month for another doctor’s appointment. Between those, I spent stretches of 4 to 7 months inside my house. Do I feel like I’m losing contact with reality? A little bit. Another reason to reach out and tell you how life is in Groundhog Day-land, and thank you for all the support.

The reason why it’s taking me over a month to write this is twofold: I started a room renovation in late March, and when I got close to the end of it, I got Covid-19 again. “Again?”, you would ask me. Ah, yes, again. Because apparently staying inside for a whole year is not enough. We are not sure what caused the first contamination, but the most recent was caused by a birthday party. The neighbors downstairs invited half of their family to drink and yell during a Saturday afternoon. A few days later all inhabitants of all four houses in our complex begin presenting symptoms. For my sister and me, it was the second episode; first for my parents.

Many times in my life I have dealt with the fear of dying or losing a family member. There is no getting used to it. We were in a constant state of panic for two weeks. Even though I recovered well, I am now dealing with post-Covid syndrome, which is a thing and it’s as fun as it sounds. So, not only I have to kick this disease in the balls twice and tell death “not today”, but I also have to tell the lasting effects to fuck off already.

Oh, and the neighbor who started all this? By my estimations, he contaminated between 14 and 20 people. And then he died. But don’t worry, he was a piece of shit. His family is acting like nothing happened, receiving guests almost daily.

Pandemic? Who’s she?

But please, when does it end?

Vaccination is a desire for the future, but it should be coming sooner rather than later since some mayors have decided to compete which town finishes immunization faster. Thankfully, all my grandparents are fully vaccinated and my immediate family got at least their first shot. In my household, I’m the only one still waiting. Best case scenario, I get the first shot next month and the second one a month later. Or it could be postponed to September, with a three month waiting period for the second shot. Until then, continuous isolation is the safest bet.

So here I am to tell you how have I been surviving inside.

Most of my life during these 14 months has been confined to a desk, a chair, and the lower bunk bed. I don’t even have the entire room for myself. The majority of my day happens within an area of 16 sq. ft. I measured. Don’t get me wrong, I am still able to recognize my privilege of being able to not go out for as long as I have. However, as much as I enjoy staying inside, feeling trapped I do not. I am unable to physically move anywhere, which translates into feeling like I can’t move forward with my life. Barstow is still Barstow, but now smaller and more dangerous.

So, to escape and to exercise my stubbornness of not giving up I had to come up with strategies to grow inwards.

I tell you all this because I know that the PodTherapy community was and is a great source of inspiration to better myself even when everything feels hopeless. This show keeps me grounded and motivated. I started working out of Nick, I have been journaling more because of Jim, I have been trying to keep myself busy with projects around the house because of Jacob. I listen to you every week and I feel less alone. The therapod community and the scoop community are the only reasons why I look at Twitter, which I had to abandon for weeks because I realized it was making me so hopeless that I started to shut down mentally and have physical effects of anxiety. I have been avoiding the news too because it literally raises my blood pressure.

To forge some type of normalcy into my hermetic life, I have been focusing on keeping a schedule that separates the days with different tasks. Time has a bit of meaning again and things get slowly done. I need to move my body and my mind, otherwise, the dread makes me numb.

I have realized how strong I am, which is a weird one. I am also once again grateful to have a supportive and loving family that is still happy to be together after all this. I’m tired, but I’m fine. Oh, and the “focus on the now” advice is not the best one when the present is this. I have to cling to a future. I have to tell myself that whatever I’m doing now is because it will improve tomorrow. And, sometimes, to remind me of how much I have conquered so far, I find refuge in the good memories.

I guess it’s all of this and The Sims, that’s how I’ve been keeping myself sane.

If I could I would write much more because I love to add a bit of a South American, LGBT+, female flavor to this American white dude conversation. I threatened you that I was going to write in every week, so we’ll see how long this bit lasts.

I understand that in the US the pandemic seems to be over and you guys are all happy about it, but that’s just not real. The pandemic is not over. And remember that if your country has an abundance of vaccines to reach the majority of your population it’s because the rest of the world was left with the scarcity.

Now, I have simple questions. Am I doing it right? What else do I do? Is there anything else I can do living this mandatory recluse life?

Miss you all very much,

Triple hug,