Narrative Inquiry in Bioethics

Colombia

"You should be able to go deeper into what you feel, not into what you think. You have been stagnant for several months because you refuse to feel," Doctor Altea¹ told me. "The boy is my husband and I am the dog," I answered, crying. We were talking about the motivations that led me to comment on the movie Isle of Dogs. "In the bath scene, the boy gives the dog dignity through his selfless love. That is what has happened to me: I have been able to heal because I allowed myself to bond." Being able to cry is a blessing. There was a time when I couldn't feel anything.

Thirteen years ago, I was in a black hole in my hometown, Bogotá, Colombia. A deep depression had settled in me. I had become a dark and cold shadow. My body felt like it was a useless filter between me and the world. I was unable to store experiences anymore, like a camera without a memory card. I can't remember many things from that period. The benzodiazepines also had anesthetized me. Even my senses stopped working. One day, I wanted to discuss the movie Kill Bill with my brother. I told him that I didn't understand the purpose of making it in black and white. "Black and white? That film is in color!" He said. My world had become a gray place.

From a very young age, I began to consult psychiatrists. I was not even four years old when my mother decided to get a consult because I refused to eat. Later, my parents took me to a psychologist because I used to suck my thumb. During my teens, after finishing high school, I consulted again because I was very angry with my classmates and my teachers. I had gone from being a popular and extroverted girl to being an introverted and absorbed person. I felt like living in the absurd. The familiar felt strange, alien, and unreal.

I changed my tastes a lot, so I changed careers and boyfriends many times. Every time a romantic relationship ended, it was as if someone was ripping my skin off. I used to spend long periods not sleeping or eating until a new boyfriend arrived. Then I quickly switched from darkness to euphoria and repetition. Every cycle lasted about a year.

As well as with careers, boyfriends, and therapists, I also frequently changed jobs. Nothing I did was enough despite my best efforts. During my early adulthood, I used to diet because I felt my body didn't fit me. I was so physically tired that I had to gather the strength to change the TV channel. I consulted Doctor Cordelia, a psychiatrist from my health insurance. Every session would last 15 minutes. She diagnosed me with chronic fatigue syndrome. "It's nothing serious," she told me. She prescribed Clonazepam and then Triazolam. In each appointment, she needed to increase the dose and add more medications to my prescription (Fluoxetine, Sertraline, Mirtazapine, Escitalopram). Still, she did not seem to care about my blackouts. She insisted that the medication would be enough. [End Page 157] I began to feel like being caught in a web where black spiders were going to eat me alive.

I tried to read self-help books from authors like Rhonda Byrne or Osho. According to them, to be happy, I only had to ask the universe and all my wishes would come true. I tried homeopathy, acupuncture, and other alternative medicines. I even consulted witches who read tarot or cigarettes (they read your future looking at the shape of the ashes as the cigarette burns) in hopes of hearing that someone was going to save me. Nothing worked. On the contrary, anything "magical" was frustrating. If it was so easy, why couldn't I do it?

I also saw one of my anthropology professors who described himself as an unconventional psychoanalyst. There was no improvement either. I was ashamed because I was living with my parents and I had no job, being no longer able to work. I then...