Editor’s note: Today’s offering contains references to depression and self-harm.
My history with depression has been long, but I have managed to remain strong. I have gone through extremely dark moments where I thought I would lose the battle, and for a long time I wondered if there really was a way out at the end of the tunnel. I lost count of the times when I went to bed crying, thinking about things that fortunately I do not remember. But I do have a photo that I took when I was in tears, a photo that immortalized my feelings, as the feelings of Princess Carú were immortalized.
The Legend
The indigenous legends of the Mérida state tell us that centuries ago there lived a princess named Carú, daughter of the chief of the bailadores (dancers) tribe, who was deeply in love with her fiancé, the son of the chief of the mocotíes. Both tribes longed for the union and a great celebration was being prepared in honor of the young ones.
On the day of the ceremony, however, the watchman’s horn was heard. It heralded the arrival of enemies, a legion of metal clad white men rushing by. The indigenous warriors took up their weapons on the spot with no thought of anything other than the protection of their families and the honor of their tribes. As I have read, these Spaniards could have been led by Juan Rodríguez Suárez, an explorer who founded the city of Mérida, capital of the eponymous state, on October 9, 1558.
It is said that the confrontation was very uneven, to the misfortune of the natives, and that after the Spaniards withdrew, they recovered the bodies of their fallen in battle. Among them was Carú’s fiancé, who burst into tears when she saw the corpse of her love, took him in her arms and took the path up the mountain, on whose top it was said the mountain god lived, waiting for him to pity them and bring her fiancé back to life.
La Cascada de La India, Carú Park, Mérida, Venezuela [Morphve, Wikimedia Commons, CC 3.0]
They were three days of tortuous travel that caused the death of Carú. The princess, exhausted and without any strength, fell next to her lover, still crying, and she closed her eyes forever embracing his body. Moved by the tragic story of these two young ones, the mountain god decided to immortalize their love by creating a waterfall with the tears of the indigenous princess. Today, many people visit the Cascada de Bailadores, in Parque La Cascada de La India Carú (Waterfall of the India Carú Park).
The Photography
In June 2016, I left a toxic relationship that would take me three years to overcome, and since the beginning of that year, various situations and conflicts led me to secretly cut myself. I had self-harmed myself during my senior year of high school, between 2011 and 2012, and I promised I would never do it again, but job stress, family problems, my own insecurities, and heated arguments that emotionally hit me brought me to the brink of collapse.
The depression returned with all the same or more force than in my high school years, it made me lose interest in many things, and only books kept me coherent, both reading and writing them. Insomnia, stress, anxiety, disinterest, suicidal thoughts, and finally self-harm returned. I don’t quite remember how often I did it, but I did hope I could hide the scars for as long as it took. If I had to say a number, it would be that at least once a week I would lock myself in the bathroom to cry blood.
It was the only thing that allowed me to breathe easy for a moment before guilt and remorse tore my head apart. I always told myself that I would stop doing it, that it would be the last time, that I would become strong… And then I would go back to the bathroom to get the razor, sinking in my own swamp.
Depression feels like sinking into a swamp. [Pixabay]
On the night of May 25, 2017, I felt bad. Very, very bad, enough to cut myself again. I remember I was sitting on the floor, right next to the door, it was hot, I was sweating, I had my head leaning against the wall, staring at the ceiling. I saw the cuts, I felt the burning of the wounds, the tears that were just beginning to dry on my cheeks, and in a moment of impulsiveness I took a photo of myself before taking a shower.
The Aftermaths
I vowed that I would never hurt myself again, that I would never despise myself like that again, and that I would somehow get on with my life. That was the last night I cut myself. Just as Carú asked for healing with tears in her eyes, so I did. Just as the god of the mountain immortalized Carú’s pain and love for her fiancé, so I did with my pain and my desire to stay alive.
When I was in high school, I drained my emotions through art. I drew, wrote, sang in secret, and due to various situations that (I think) traumatized me about them, I stopped doing them. When I needed an escape route again, more than before, I did not know where to find it, so I became my own worst enemy.
Until today, only one person knows the details, and it’s something I don’t talk about. However, so much has happened since then, so many achievements, so many falls, so many changes of all kinds, that I feel like I can finally feel at peace with that part of my past without being ashamed of it or feeling like I failed.
I heard a long time ago that the only battle that is lost is the one that is not fought, and I have been fighting for years. I have lost and won several fights, but I am far from finished with my demons. We still have several accounts to settle, and each time I needed to gather strength, I saw that photo to remind myself that I would not fall again, not like that, not again. Today, I have not seen or remembered it for months, and I plan to leave it alone as that, a reminder, maybe an image that trapped them all, while the date will become part of my personal celebrations. I have had a page for it for years in my Book of Shadows, but now that I am 25, almost 26 years old, I can say that I’m ready to remember and honor that 21 boy who decided not to give up.
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