This session was the last time someone’s rude words pushed me toward treatment. For a long time, the swirl kept dragging me back—27 extra sessions worth. But when I walked into this one, I’d already been doing linear algebra problems, understanding free variables, and scoring 87% on a quiz for a class I once failed three times. The medicine didn’t show me escape—it reintroduced me to a younger version of myself: Fernando who always loved math, always loved statistics, before he even knew the depth of his trauma.
Yes, the swirl hurt. They threw cheap shots about my age, they contradicted themselves, they revealed the dysfunction of that environment. But here’s the paradox: their chaos became my launchpad. The treatment they pushed me back into is the same treatment that broke my mental blocks, got me back into school, and reminded me who I am.
Now I’m not just a student. I’m scaling an Amazon business under world-class mentorship, I’m helping my mom launch hers, I’m balancing school, work, and healing. The swirl is behind me. The grind is in front of me. And I finally understand: love isn’t in their words, it’s in how I keep showing up.
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