Sertraline I wrote, sertraline I traced, believing that with repetition, with determination, I would make the little pill appear.
HAVANA, Cuba. – Many, many times I repeated that name in recent days. Sertraline, sertraline, that’s what I said and wrote a lot of times and without getting tired, or maybe very tired, but persisting. sertraline I said and also wrote with my best handwriting. I wrote sertraline on the networks using a white background, using a red background, any color. Sertraline I have written many times in recent days. I traced Sertraline, taking care of the writing, repeating the lines that the psychiatrist had left very well fixed.
Sertraline I wrote, sertraline I traced, believing that with repetition, with determination, I would make the little pill appear. I traced Sertraline repeating the spelling that the psychiatrist who treats me used before, the one that indicates each pill that I must swallow in the mornings, and then in the afternoons, and also in the deepest nights. Sertraline, I agreed to that, when a friend who spends his days overseas wanted to know the details to correctly spell the pill.
Sertraline I said, and wrote, to friends who asked, showing the most tender solidarity. Sertraline, I said to Juan and also to Pedro. Sertralina I responded to the one who asked from Spain, to the one who inquired from the rainiest English night. I have repeated Sertraline ad nauseam, sometimes in a hurry and other times spelling, making the most correct spelling clear.
And there were not a few who offered their generous help from multiple corners, there were not a few who used the networks, there were no fewer who used love and solidarity towards their neighbors. And yesterday there was a knock at the door; First they were light touches, very slow, and later with the insistence of what has the overtones of urgency, of what could be very pressing.
Yesterday I opened the door and on the other side was Jorge Fernandez Erathe writer, the comedian. Yesterday I opened the door and Jorge Fernández Era was standing there, and also his wife. There was Jorge Fernández Era, the comedian, the patriot. From my door I looked at Jorge, the same one who goes to Central Park, the one who carries the flag and also makes demands in Matanzas spaces. Yesterday I opened the door of my house to Jorge Fernández Era, the same one who hangs out with Alina Bárbara López Hernández to make their dissents known.
I opened the door to Jorge Fernández. He was already his wife. They brought sertraline that I couldn’t find in any pharmacy, much less in a hospital. I opened the door and there they were, with the pills that could restore my sanity a little, that sertraline that friends who live in very distant geographic spaces did not find the best way to bring them closer.
I woke up today with my pills, and that is comforting. It is encouraging to know that we are not so isolated, that after a brief complaint those sertraline tablets appeared that I have been needing for months without getting them. The Government, its structures, cannot provide those medications that are in short supply, those that the sick need, and then the solidarity of the most deprived, the most helpless, those who have little, and sometimes nothing, appears.
The structures of power do nothing but mistreat us, the structures of that abject power, and its health system, do not guarantee simple treatment for a sick man, but there are those others who have nothing to do with the structures of power, those who manage to put in the pillbox those tablets that I needed, and also those that need the most forgotten, the most forgotten, those who do not agree with that communist government that cannot even guarantee a brief sertraline pill to the one who, thanks to communism, has already become a sick person, a psychiatric patient, who also does not agree with the communist government.
