Categorical Imperative (Water the House Plants)

Argentina has been so lovely, lately.

 Perhaps it is the impending summer season that is wafting through the South American air every day. Or, maybe, it is the intense odor of incense and blooming (purple) flowers everywhere I go.

My time here feels casual. (A special thanks to Kelly Johnson for this word.) At first, the casual nature of my time here made me feel disconnected and uncertain as to whether or not I was doing things right. However, as time has (inevitably) moved forward, I have begun to accept that this so-called “lack of connection” is just another steep learning curve I will have to navigate this year.

(Can you believe I’ve been out in this world for four months?) The connections have come so much easier here in Argentina…almost too easy. Call it tenured traveling. Or, call it Argentine kindness. But, whatever its name is, I think it is yet another lesson in learning how to sit radically with my soul – indeed, I now know that it can be equally as difficult (if not more so) to sit with your soul when you are having an easy go at things.

In part, I  think that I have grown accustomed to difficulty. And, now that things are practically handed to me here in Argentina, I am uncomfortable in my comfort.

What did I do to deserve this love?

What did I do to deserve these opportunities?

Every day I try my hardest to remind myself that, just like this fellowship, life is not transactional. I don’t have to do anything to be deserving of simplicity, joy, and friendship. The only thing I ought to do is return the favor. Thank you Mica, Trevor, Frank, Alejandro, and everyone else who has made my time in Argentina casual thus far.

It’s been a bit since I’ve updated this damn blog – so allow me to catch y’all up.

The World Congress for Mental Health was nothing I expected it to be. But, I did connect with a lot of really incredible people who desire to make the approaches to mental health care more inclusive. Even though I found myself frustrated some days, I want to express the gratitude for the conversations that were especially meaningful. I now know so much more about South Africa and the effects the Apartheid had (and still have) on the stigma toward mental health and illness there. (How many times am I allowed to talk about cultural trauma?) I also had the opportunity to sit down to lunch and speak with the founder of The Artidote, the giant Facebook and Instagram community, about why he stays alive, in conjunction with his experience as an immigrant in Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A.

Overall, the Congress was an excellent opportunity for me to listen to representatives across Latin America talk about their desire to implement a law similar to the Ley de Salud Mental 26657.

What is more, I have had the privilege of seeing inside many of Buenos Aires’ psychiatric hospitals. My comradery with the resident psychiatrists and psychologists and psychiatrists bring me an immense amount of joy and shared curiosity.

We often find ourselves chatting about Foucault and the shared experience of standing atop a high building and having the sudden unwanted desire to jump. I hesitate to group this fascinating experience with suicidality. Indeed, our fair lady, the architect of modern Existentialism, Jean-Paul Sartre speaks to this experience in his Being and Nothingness and coined it “The Vertigo of Possibility.” Upon gazing at the abyss of death, it pulls at us. “The void seems to beckon us down, but really it is our own freedom that beckons us down, the very fact that we can always choose to go down the quick way.”

Aside from these fun philosophical conversations, these residents have also given me the opportunity to talk with their patients who have attempted suicide. One man, addicted to heroin, stabbed himself multiple times in the neck because he was frustrated with the people living in his house. Another woman stepped in front of train for issues concerning her daughter. And, another man attempted to drown himself because his partner had broken up with him.

Suicidality is complex and emotional. But, all these people report that they happy to be alive. (They’re also heavily medicated, but, I won’t open up that can of worms here.) However, I realize that I have yet to share on this blog one of the primary turning points I had during my undergrad that pushed me to pursue a more nuanced understanding of the desire to die…our population for understanding suicide is skewed to those who are still alive. And, the media only ever reports on those people who are glad that they didn’t die. Could you imagine the ethical implications and potential emotional contagion triggered by a newspaper publishing an article with the headline:

“WOMAN UPSET HER SUICIDE ATTEMPT WAS UNSUCCESSFUL, PLANS ON TRYING AGAIN AFTER DISCHARGE FROM WESTSIDE PSYCHIATRIC WARD.”

I mean, you all read the clickbait on the impact of Thirteen Reasons Why.

One of the most surprising parts of my Watson is the amount of history I have been required to learn. On the one hand, it seems obvious that I would learn a lot of history. But, on the other hand, I never considered that the histories of the countries I have chosen would be so integral to my understanding of suicidality and mental healthcare (cultural trauma) (??)

History in Argentina is the lynchpin of their understanding of mental healthcare. Their human rights concerns ultimately acted as a catalyst for the mental health law.

Indeed, Alejandro Brian reminds me that it’s because of the gruesome history and the young democracy of Argentina that the Ley de salud mental has a long time to go before it is implemented correctly across the country’s provinces.

Here are some other life updates:

I am finding a lot of joy and solitude in this city.

Café DUCA and Cuervo Café are my favorite shops in the city; day-in-and-day out they give me the best damn single-O Guatemala’s I’ve ever had. WHOA.  

BE GRACIOUS AND GRATEFUL GODDAMMIT.

Fucking around and applying for a Ph.D. at the University of Edinburgh.

Got to play an incredible game of fútbol with the service users, psychiatrists, and psychologists from Hospital Álverez. I have never experienced such an incredible amalgamation of passion.

Read my poetry, please.

I’m no longer going to farm lavender in the Patagonian countryside – I feel I have a duty/moral obligation to keep the plants alive in my apartment (even though they’re dying anyway). :*-)

I am traveling to Rosario this weekend and think I’ll spend Christmas in Mendoza, drinking wine, thinking of my family, wishing there was snow on the ground.

Page 600 of Infinite Jest.

Buenos Aires Pride was OK.

 I am excited about the budding connections I’m making with the artists and photographers here.

My confidence in my ability to speak Spanish is coming along.

Every day, a few blocks down from my apartment at the Obelisco, demonstrations take place concerning the social unrest and human rights violations in Bolivia, Chile, Columbia, and Venezuela. It is humbling and emotional to be in Latin America during this time. “No es depresión es falta de justicia social.”

King Princess :''- )

Eat the Rich. Todo bien.