Sunday, March 31, 2013

Midnight Confessional

I got ready for this moment, I sensed it would come. 

I opened this blog in November of last year (2012), not really being myself, because I couldn't. If you've ever been in a relationship where you have felt trapped, like you can't be yourself, because being yourself is wrong, you can relate. 

If you're a long reader of mine, you already know about my depression. I don't like talking about it very much because I don't want to sound mopey - that isn't my intention. To label it as an excuse, like a big box of candy for children. I read a lot, I enjoy doing so, and I've learned that our misery and our pain is lessened when compared to others'. There are people dying in the world every single second. I'm alive, I'm breathing, I'm typing on my own laptop with glasses that allow me to read what I type, with a pillow behind my back for support, with a sweater to keep me warm. I dimmed the lights on purpose and I am listening to one of my favorite bands, Gregor Samsa, because it inspires me. I have the ability to swallow and to be conscious of the fact that I am truly grateful for everything tangible around me, but lately, I have felt more blessed than ever thanks to you. Yes, you, the one who is reading this. 

I grew up feeling worthless most of the times. I've written since I was seven. I remember asking my dad for a journal - it was decorated with penguins. I like penguins. In fact, getting to see them is on my bucket list. As I grew up, my collection of journals grew as well. 

When I began going to therapy in 2007, I wanted to know who I was. I wanted to look behind myself and I wanted to see what was running under my skin. I went through my old closet and found many dusty diaries. Tears ran down my face as I read my own words - words that belonged to a child. And aren't children supposed to be happy all the time? 

Watching my parents constantly fight and have my dad leave the place that I called "home", watching friends come and go because they couldn't stand my low stages of depression, lovers kiss me and walk away because they didn't want anything else, being the "different" one at school because I was excellent at writing poetry, therefore, "something was wrong with me" - all of that marked me. 

When you know depression, when you live it, you develop the ability to sense it in others. 

There was a close friend of mine. Her name was Nathalia Finol. She was thirteen when I met her. I was fourteen. She was full of spirit, she made everyone laugh, she misbehaved and would always say the most inappropriate things in the most inappropriate times. No one would have ever thought she suffered from depression, but she opened up to me about it and I had sensed her sadness long before she verbalized it. Her big sparkly eyes not only inhaled a desire to live, but they also exhaled the guilt of wanting to die. 

Nathalia committed suicide on November 14, 2004. I was at a beach trip with my girlfriends from school and a couple of moms. A week before she hung herself, she told me that she loved me. 

If anyone has had friends or loved ones who have committed suicide, you know the feeling of "impotence" - as if you could have done something to prevent such thing from happening. I wasn't in my city when it happened. Maybe she would have called me? Maybe not. I couldn't speak to anyone for days. I just asked my mom to please go to the viewing for me. 

I think about her every single day. I see her everywhere, and I know she's my little angel. I went to her 8th year mass anniversary last year, and her mom gave me a little silver rose with blue petals, which I keep next to me when I sleep. 

I used to contemplate death myself, and here I am exposing myself like I never thought I would be. But were are human. We all suffer, and we all have our low moments. 

A history teacher once told me in 8th grade: You should thank God you have a pretty face, otherwise, no one would ever want to be with you. 

I know, he was an asshole, but as sensitive as I was, I believed him. And that sentence still marks me today. What if I'm not good enough for anyone?

But then I think about this blog, and the people that I have met. The people around the world that take minutes of their own personal time to read what I write. People that have busy lives, kids, people that are quietly struggling. But you are here with me. 

My eyes are watering as I write this, but thank you for giving me the opportunity to express myself. Thank you for letting me be me and for not thinking I am a mistake. Thank you for letting me help you, and thank you for helping me. 

Knowing that I have helped women and men around the world is something I would have never imagined I would have been capable of, and it is happening. So thank you. Thank you for reading me, thank you for commenting, and thank you for being part of a new stage in my life. 

God bless you all. 

Patricia Montenegro


  1. What can I say Pat... thank you for opening to us like you did!
    Please don't ever feel like you are worthless! We all have something to bring to others...
    Your story is very touching... I'm truly sorry for what happened to your friend. You are absolutely right, kids should be happy and carefree...
    I hope one day you see what I see in your eyes, a beautiful woman with a beautiful mind, nice to her followers and always trying to help!
    We appreciate you for who you are, not just because you have a pretty face!
    I wish you all the best... Take care and have a fun time visiting your family!
    Lots of love...

  2. Thank you so much for your kind words. I don't feel like that all the time, but it comes and goes. I am confident enough to speak about my problems and struggles - I've always thought that shows strength, as opposed to someone who pretends to be happy all the time or someone who is histrionic, but in reality, they are hurting inside.

    We are all human and we are not made of stone. This blog has really helped learn more about myself and it has enhanced my true self. Thank you for your unconditional support. You have a heart of gold, Anne. Much love.

  3. dear patricia, do you know that montenegro is a country (former a republik in jugoslawia)?! my grand-grand-father comes from there and do you know what else? my right name is natalija! life is sometimes funny! kisses natasa ( my calling name that my parents gave me, because its shorter than natalija)

    1. Hi dear Natascha! I know Montenegro is a country :) I've never been there, but I've heard it is absolutely stunning and I hope I can someday visit. Thank you for reading me. Have a great day!