In a grey morning of my forties the idea, I am my mom’s own portrait, imposed itself. After, it seemed easier to start appreciating my accomplishments. Nevertheless, my family history had though me grand satisfaction. With all efforts, from managing earth shattering details. Being understanding, compelled, attentive, also means an awareness of every minute. Then I decided to redeem the responsibility of this small household. Staying up at night to watch over my loved sleeping. For years now, I prepared lunch between 4am and 5am. I still do, has if my own pride depended on this guilty pleasure of attending to chores. 

It all started with symptoms of Agoraphobia. At the end of adolescence, it became evident it was more comfortable for me to act has a recluse. What came later, are a basket of trauma, due to my agitated passage in the psychiatric system. Crazy nurses have chocked me, I have been sedated, put in isolation, tied to a bed repeatedly, other patients would beat me up. My distrust in psychiatric care is growing as much as the intensity of my bad dreams about the hospital. The strong fear of the outdoors surged at the same time with a serious anxiety problem. So, I tucked in. Years later, even with treatment, I make a trip to the supermarket twice a month. And I visit my nurse once every three weeks, that is it. In the Summertime, I might take a walk around the block in the middle of the night. When the whole city is sleeping, I usually stay awake. Because even from the inside of my home, I can ultimately feel safe.  

They’re just a few roads that lead to psychiatry. The police may take you there, sometimes the ambulance or a relative. To most of us it feels like being swallowed by a big machine. The health system takes charge very efficiently, of those who suffered too much to remain sane. For the patient, it’s all about an unexpected life adjustment. The first few years will be about learning the lingo. Whether the newly mentally ill are reluctant or not, it is a difficult turn of event. Most often, the resistance originates from the outside. Before, addressing the path to recovery, a lot is happening. We could point out, the need for the families to be more accepting or the care takers within the system a lot more welcoming. Only then will it be possible to get over the prejudices. To me, it felt my number had come up, to be the next guinea pig. Countdown to my future Haz begun.  

• It would be easier, if I did not love my mom.