Depression is Witchcraft.
“Brujeria, that’s what it is,” mom whispered.
Witchcraft? How could she believe in such a thing? Just because my sister laid there in darkness for days at a time without eating, sleeping, or even speaking to us did not mean some witch had cursed her, or whatever it is witches do to people. I don’t understand what is going on with my sister either, but I know for a fact it can’t be witchcraft, there has to be some logical explanation for this, something real.
Days passed and she remained unresponsive. My sister was not well, and she was not going to be cured by some spiritual cleanse or some herbal mixture, she needed professional help.
“She needs to see a doctor, a medical professional. She needs to go to the hospital, mom!” I pleaded.
“No, mija, they can’t do anything for her. It’s her soul, we need to get it back”
WHAT?!
What is my mom talking about? First, it’s witchcraft, then she needs herbs and weird prayers and chants and some type of cleanse, and now she needs her soul back? This makes no sense, it’s actually quite ridiculous — my sister needs help — real, professional medical help.
It wasn’t until that weekend, when we walked in to find drops of blood at her bedside, and her lying there, almost lifeless, that my mom gave in, “Call an ambulance! She needs to go to the hospital now!”
The fact that it took my sister attempting suicide for my mom to actually seek medical attention for her, astonishes me. But, I know in our culture, my sister is not the first, nor is she the last to suffer this way.
After countless tests and explanations we didn’t understand, we were finally told that she was clinically depressed and she needed to be placed on a hold immediately because she could not only be of harm to herself, but to others as well. I could not contain myself — I cried.
I cried because I could not understand. I cried because I knew even if I understood, my mom would never understand. But I also cried because I knew my sister was finally getting the help she needed.
That is the moment when I decided to learn — about my sister’s condition, about others with the same condition, about treatments, and really anything that could help me understand.
The question, “what is depression?” is the first I addressed. So, I found out, it is a real illness that actually affects your brain — one that cannot necessarily be controlled and has symptoms varying from physical to behavioral changes. The good news is that it is treatable!
If it wasn’t for a doctor telling me that this was a condition, I would have never known; us Latinos like to deal with problems ourselves — without medical help. In my culture, we were taught to deal even with a broken bone on our own; something was bound to fix it.
So with this, I fear for our culture. I fear for those who are caught in witchcraft and herbal medicine. I’m not saying they’re bad things per se, I’m just saying our culture needs to learn to reach out to medical help sometimes, and then make the decision of how to approach the problem. Maybe it’s money that’s the problem, or maybe the mistrust of the gringo doctors. Whatever it is, we need to let it go. Problems like my sister’s, those that affect our mental health, are the silent killers of our culture because it’s those problems that we are least aware of and avoid most. As a Latino community, we must unite and get educated about our mental health — depression is only one of the problems that can affect us; there are countless others that could continue to hurt our population, especially if they do not seek help.
