My Diagnosis Is Very Simple, The Disease Is Irremediable

As Cortázar wrote: “ my diagnosis is very simple, the disease has no cure ”. I have no cure because I like clear things and hot chocolate. I have no cure because I like to be hugged for no reason.

Certainly you don’t have a cure either, because you like to do things right and sometimes you cry without knowing why. You and I may be fascinated by people who, with their energy, contaminate emotions.

I’m sure you love people who vibrate too, and chances are you enjoy working to bring your reality beyond the dreams you have been cultivating for a long time and those you have been fighting for day in and day out.

You have no cure, and neither do I. Because sometimes you get angry for no reason and the world just falls apart when things don’t go the way you wanted them to. You have no cure because you fail to count to 3 before you burst as experts say.

I have no cure, and neither do you, because I can’t eat 5 meals a day, sleep 8 hours a night, or think of myself before I think of others. I also have no cure because I live with the expectation that “ that person ” will want to spend time with me.

I have no cure (and surely neither do you), because I am not always able to “let go and say goodbye” to what hurts me. It’s not that I like to hold on or that I am unable to, no, but I just keep the hope that “miracles” can happen. I can’t avoid it, I’m like that, irrational, even if I try to change (I’m sure you are the same).

I have no cure because I have a great conviction that the things that are easy for us are the most worthwhile, and I know that I must accumulate reasons to keep moving forward.

I like to wake up every morning smiling, but I also know that it is not always necessary, that sadness also suits me well, that sometimes my body needs to cry, to shut down and to disconnect for a while .

I don’t like people who don’t go forward. I also don’t like being told what to do, how I should be, or whether or not I have the right to be sad and in what way.

I have no cure because I enjoy listening to other people’s arguments, scrutinizing their faces and analyzing their expressions. I have no cure because I can’t stand being lied to, but I understand that sometimes people do.

I have no remedy because I do not like what is or all white, or all black; because I am rather gray, pink, blue and yellow. I don’t have a favorite color because each person told me something that moved me.

I don’t have a cure either because I know I can be moved when I think about my first love, and I’m sure that doesn’t make me incapable of loving madly the one I am with today.

I have no cure because in my life I have PEOPLE and people. In upper and lower case. Yes, in love there is a hierarchy, or at least a type of affection dedicated to each person in the world.

I have no remedy because sometimes I criticize and I am inconsistent. I have no cure because I think love is really worth it in this world, because I know that there are cardinal points and I am able to lose my way north for something stupid.

I’m also not afraid to say that the lack of love distresses me, that sometimes I fear loneliness and tears flow when I think that one day someone will be gone.

We are authentic in diversity

I have no cure because my quirks say everything about me, when I fall in love with the authentic, the infantile and the unexpected. I am told that I shouldn’t, that I am “ too big to… ”.

And I answer that I am not too big for nothing, that I am accumulating youth and that I will live life as I see fit.

Because I know old age is a “state of mind”, not a stage in life. The years that go by are inevitable, but I have decided that I will have no cure and that as long as I can, I will be a beacon that never goes out.

Although I must admit that not having a cure is not easy, even more so because accumulating memories can sometimes hurt. It’s hard to justify the fact that I spent entire calendar months doing the same thing every day and feeling the same things.

Watching the time scroll on my cell phone, setting 20 alarms, always sending the same whatsapps and listening to promises that will never be kept …

So I tell myself that the following week, I will be prepared for the change. But when I think about it, I’m well aware that these 20 alarms and those same whatsapps don’t define me and write my story.

I am the only one who can write my story, with my periods, my commas, my exclamations and my questions, my capital letters and my cardinal points. I have no other remedy than to be ME, still in capital letters, and with determination.

I have no cure, and I’m sure you don’t either for a lot of other reasons. Because each of us has a thousand stories and hundreds of scars. This is what makes us genuine and precious, to have no remedy in the privacy of us while we are, with so much and so little in common.