I am not a perfect person.

Drawing and Picture by Madelaine Bustamante

Maybe the reason why I emphasize so much the fact of me continuing working at the hospital after we stopped talking is because of how hard it was for me to keep on doing it. 

Actually, it was so hard that I stopped caring about having patients or not, even when I used to have patients all the time due to my constant advertisement about a psychologist's labour in the health center; it was so hard that my tutor reprimanded me and asked me what was going on and I was so broken that I just let her know the reason for my current mood status; it was so hard that I would obligate myself to get ready to go to work even when I would barely sleep and spend the most of my day crying at home, but I had to go remembering myself that I wouldn't get my degree if I didn't work for it; it was so hard that I'd cry on my way to the hospital and on my way back, in the public transportation, thinking about you...

You may not understand but I was suppose to heal hearts, because that's my work about, more than healing minds it is about healing hearts; but how could I heal a broken heart when my own was broken in thousands of pieces at the very moment? I can't even explain the difficulty to focus and hold in my tears when any patient would mention things that I may relate to you, it was like a real test to my professionalism! And at the same time a life-test in general.

It may result absurd, me mentioning these things just now; but I wanted to clear this point up because I, foolishly, keep on making it appear like if it was so easy for me... when in reality it was one of the most awful times of my whole life.