He woke up and realized that it was still dark, it was night. He barely remembered that, apparently, a while ago he was asking who knows who, to get him out of that state of despair in which he found himself. He knew that, although he had not seen the time, he had only slept for a while; as always.
He was able to get up with a great effort even though he did not feel any physical pain, his pain was of a different kind, although he did not know which one. The sound that embraced the night was unmistakable, it was raining. At another time that sound was not only pleasant to him, but it even caused him a sense of peace that was essential for him. But now it only caused him sadness, or not, it considerably increased the sadness that had already, to his regret, turned into a depression that practically paralyzed him a few months ago, and he did not know why.
At the onset of these symptoms of depression he was taken by his mother to a doctor who immediately referred him to a psychiatrist. "He is very well physically" the doctor told him, "His problem is emotional, take him to this psychiatrist friend who is very competent and treats especially young people of Raul's age".
The first session was more biographical in nature and only a couple of questions about how he felt, what he ate, how he slept, what he read and what TV programs he watched. He immediately prescribed her some sleeping pills and an antidepressant.
That night his mother gave him the number of pills he should take and a glass of water on a tray and, trusting that he would take them, left him alone in his room.
For a long time, he looked at the pills and then at the glass of water, again at the pills and again at the glass of water. So, he spent what seemed to him an eternity of time, and although it seemed that everything that happened to him passed in an eternity, finally his mother, who had entered without knocking believing that he was already asleep, pulled him out of his reverie telling him that she had brought him the pills half an hour ago and he had not taken them.
Although something made him reject the idea of taking the pills, he thought that maybe they could help him, he was really tired of what he was living and what really distressed him was not being able to answer the question of why this was happening to him.
He did not know when he fell asleep after taking the pills, he only knew, after waking up after more than eight hours of sleep, that he had woken up, now not only with anguish, but really terrified. Thinking that, as usual, he would not remember what he had dreamed, he began to visualize a set of images that were a faithful repetition of his dreams of the night before. He could see people disfiguring themselves at his feet, like wax dolls bathed in a blazing fire that not only destroyed people, but he also saw everything around those figures crumbling in utter devastation. As the images were projected, in his mind the terror increased. He felt he had to move, to get out, to run, to do something, but he was paralyzed. He tried to move, but not even a finger responded to his need to get out of the immobilization in which he was immersed. Make the effort, try, he told himself, but it was absolutely impossible. He felt the tears begin to run down his cheeks, but there was no crying; it was perhaps the desperation that was driving him to a state in which, either he expressed himself in some way, or his being, his whole being, was going to explode and become nothing.
The changes were happening, in his mind, in a way that he not only could not control, he could not even foresee, and that was how the explosion occurred in his mind and a watery, dark-colored form in long stripes took hold of him. He promised himself that if he could get out of this situation, he would never take the pills again. He believed that what he was experiencing was a product of this medication which, after all, as the psychiatrist had told him, was drugs that he had been given to take.
He did not know how, as in other similar situations and equally out of his control, a momentary calm came over him, which served to make the tears disappear and he began to move, very reluctantly and with great effort. He went to the bathroom, not with the intention of brushing or bathing or simply washing his face; what he needed was to rinse his mouth and get rid of that rancid and acid taste and that rotten smell that made him want to vomit. Walking meant a great effort, not only physically, but also mentally; he ordered his lower and upper limbs to move, the first to move forward, the second to support himself and defend himself from the idea that he was going to fall and that this fall was going to cause his death.
His mother came in at a moment that could not have been more appropriate; hugging him around the waist she helped him reach the sink after a great effort on her part; Raul was heavier than he should have been compared to the day he fell to the floor after a fainting spell, he weighed too much. She could not avoid tears that she tried to hide so that her son would not notice; it was too much what he was going through for her to give him any more reason to suffer.
Despertó y se dio cuenta que todavía estaba oscuro, era de noche. Apenas recordó que, por lo visto, hace un rato estaba pidiéndole a no sabe quién, que lo sacara de ese estado de desesperación en el cual se encontraba. Por lo visto algo que no sabe explicarse logro que pudiera dormir un rato, sabía que, aunque no había visto la hora, solo había dormido un rato; como siempre.
Pudo levantarse con un gran esfuerzo a pesar de que no le dolía absolutamente nada físicamente, su dolor era de otra clase, aunque no supiera cual. El sonido que abarcaba la noche era inconfundible, estaba lloviendo. En otra época ese sonido no solamente le era agradable, sino que, inclusive, le causaba una sensación de paz que le era imprescindible. Pero ahora solo le causaba tristeza, o no, le aumentaba considerablemente la tristeza que ya, a su pesar, se había convertido desde hace unos meses en una depresión que prácticamente lo paralizaba, y no sabía por qué.
Al inicio de estos síntomas de depresión fue llevado por su mamá a un médico que lo remitió de inmediato a un siquiatra. “Él está muy bien físicamente” le dijo el médico, “su problema es emocional, llévelo a este siquiatra amigo que es muy competente y trata especialmente a jóvenes en la edad de Raúl”
La primera sesión se fue en preguntas más bien de carácter biográfico y solamente un par sobre cómo se sentía, que comía, como dormía, que leía y que programas veía de televisión. De inmediato le receto unas pastillas para dormir y un antidepresivo.
Esa noche su mamá le dio en una bandeja la cantidad de pastillas que debía tomar y un vaso de agua y confiando en que las tomaría lo dejo solo en su cuarto.
Largo rato estuvo viendo las pastillas y luego el vaso de agua, nuevamente veía las pastillas y nuevamente el vaso de agua. Así paso lo que le pareció una eternidad de tiempo, y aunque ya parecía que todo lo que le sucedía pasaba en una eternidad, al final su mamá, que había entrado sin tocar creyendo que ya estaba dormido, le saco de su ensimismamiento diciéndole que tenía media hora que le había traído las pastillas y él no se las había tomado.
A pesar de que algo le hacía rechazar la idea de tomarse las pastillas, pensó que a lo mejor estas podrían ayudarlo, ya estaba realmente cansado de lo que estaba viviendo y lo que realmente lo angustiaba era no poder contestarse la pregunta de porque le estaba pasando esto.
No supo cuando fue que se durmió después de tomarse las pastillas, solo supo, después de despertarse tras más de ocho horas de sueño, que se había despertado, ahora no solo con angustia, realmente aterrorizado. Pensando que, como siempre, no recordaría lo que había soñado, empezó a visualizar un conjunto de imágenes que eran una fiel repetición de sus sueños de la noche anterior. Pudo ver a personas desfigurándose a sus pies, cual muñecos de cera bañados en un fuego abrasador que no solo destruía personas, sino que también vio cómo se desmoronaba todo alrededor de esas figuras en una devastación absoluta. A medida que las imágenes se proyectaban, en su mente aumentaba el terror. Sentía que debía moverse, salir, correr, hacer algo, pero estaba paralizado. Intentaba moverse, pero ni siquiera un dedo respondía a su necesidad de salir de la inmovilización en la que estaba sumido. Haz el esfuerzo, inténtalo, se decía, pero era absolutamente imposible. Sintió como las lágrimas empezaron a correr por sus mejillas, pero no había llanto; era quizás la desesperación que lo estaba llevando a un estado en el cual, o se expresaba de alguna manera, o su ser, todo el, iba a estallar y convertirse en nada.
Los cambios se sucedían, en su mente, de alguna manera que el no solo no podía controlar, es que ni siquiera podía prever y así fue como ocurrió en su mente la explosión y una forma acuosa, de colores oscuros en franjas largas se apodero de él. Se prometió a si mismo que si lograba salir de esta situación, no volvería a tomar las pastillas. Creía que lo que estaba experimentando era producto de ese medicamento que, al fin y al cabo, como se lo comento el Siquiatra, eran drogas lo que le habían dado a tomar.
No supo de qué manera, como en otras situaciones similares y por igual fuera de su control, le vino una calma momentánea que le sirvió para que desaparecieran las lágrimas y el empezara a moverse, muy a su pesar y con un gran esfuerzo. Fue al baño, no con intenciones de cepillarse o bañarse o simplemente lavarse la cara; lo que necesitaba era enjuagarse la boca y quitarse ese sabor rancio y ácido y ese olor a podrido que le daban ganas de vomitar. El caminar significo un gran esfuerzo, no solo físico, también mental; ordenaba a sus miembros inferiores y superiores a moverse, los primeros para avanzar, los segundos para apoyarse y defenderse de la idea que le venía en repetición de que se iba a caer y que esta caída le iba a causar la muerte.
Su mamá entro en un momento que no pudo ser más adecuado; abrazándolo por la cintura lo ayudo a llegar al lavabo tras un gran esfuerzo de su parte; Raúl pesaba más de lo debido comparado con el día que se cayó al suelo producto de un desmayo, pesaba exageradamente demasiado. No pudo evitar unas lágrimas que trato de disimular para que su hijo no se diera cuenta; era demasiado lo que él estaba pasando para que ella le diera más motivo de sufrimiento.
