I Am Not My Illness
Mauro Prenci - “If I were not yours, my Christ, I would feel like a finished creature.” I had this phrase by St. Gregory Nazianzen inscribed on the tombstone of my mother, who died of cancer in 2021. I did not realize at the time that the words were more for me than for her. They unconsciously became the phrase that would later prevent me from getting caught up in the "bad thoughts" (as psychiatrists call them when asking about self-harming or suicidal intentions) that can accompany depression.
Today, I am even more aware of how important this phrase is to me. I realized this when a friend of ours took her own life, crying out for and searching for meaning in her existence.
When I read about Laura Santi (a woman for whom we at Quadratini prayed), who fought to obtain the freedom to end her life, I thought about my own situation. Without the certainty of being loved and wanted just as I am, in my current condition—without the certainty of not being a "finished creature," a finished man—life would not make sense for me either, because everything seems to conspire against me. I, too, could have considered ending it all, as I have a disease that has been with me for many years (I "celebrated" the 30th anniversary of my illness last year), preventing me from living a normal life.
So, I understand that the problem is not achieving a legal freedom to end one's existence, but finding something or someone that responds to the infinite need we embody: the infinite need to be loved. When I talk about being loved, I'm not referring to something fabricated by a sick mind—like wandering spirits (I'm talking about my own, of course). I'm referring to a tangible love from real people, even those you might only see via Zoom or WhatsApp, as has been my experience with the Quadratini.
I would like to tell you a little about myself; otherwise, my statements might seem theoretical.
I had the grace to encounter the "living" presence of Christ when I met the Communion and Liberation Movement at age 15. This prompted me—albeit naively, with the genuine boldness of a youth who was otherwise shy and reserved—to try to answer the questions I had: Who am I? What do I want for myself and for those I love? Finally, what can make me happy?
Therefore, in that place and in that company, an awareness of love for myself and my life began to form, perhaps naively and even moralistically. It was there I discovered the beauty of encountering Christ, alive and present.
Then, over the years, the pressure became unbearable. It stemmed from increasing work responsibilities and the thought that I had to do everything perfectly: solve every problem, live up to colleagues who had attended university or came from more privileged backgrounds. I, on the other hand, was from a small town in an already poor province.
There was no margin for error; I couldn't afford to fail. Every assignment became a test to prove my worth, every obstacle a threat I couldn't ignore. I started with a severe nervous breakdown, and then depression set in. The most frustrating thing was that everything seemed normal on the outside. No one (except my wife) noticed what I was going through, and I tried to hide it for a long time.
I forced myself to keep going, to do what had to be done. But inside, my mind had become a trap. Every thought went round and round in circles. Every mistake, even the smallest, turned into a condemnation: "You're not good enough," "You've messed up again," "Nothing will ever change."
My hospitalizations began. This led me to become more aware of the abyss I had sunk into and to resume psychotherapy. Most importantly, it brought back those questions from my youth. Again by grace, and not by my own merit, I still recognized them as true for me, even during my years in the hospital.
Depression is not an illness that can simply be overcome and left behind—it always remains in the background, ready to reappear. Every day is a battle, sometimes easier, sometimes almost impossible to face.
In fact, it has been more than a year since the "anaconda" voraciously took me back into its coils, yet this year, miraculous things have happened to me: the closeness of many people (even though I avoid them!) and, in particular, the experience of the Quadratini. I had heard about this group and started attending in mid-March—even continuing from the clinic at the end of March and throughout April.
I can say with good reason that, for the second time, Grace has allowed me to re-encounter the "living" presence of Christ. I feel His caress on me, almost physically, through this company of people. Despite many of them having a "set expiration date" due to illness, they live through their suffering with a smile and, even more, with a joy that cannot be merely human. (Otherwise, they would all be "crazy" like me, to use a definition from Don Eugenio.) This joy can only be the result of "something"—indeed, of "Someone"—greater than their own pain-scarred humanity.
And then, to be honest with myself, I must say that I have contributed something of my own: accepting that my illness does not define me; that I am not my illness; that even if I cannot leave the house, read, fully enjoy the presence of my first grandchild, or sleep more than two or three hours a night, I can still live. I can always find evidence of His goodness. I just need to open my eyes and not shut myself away in my pain and helplessness.
This does not mean that my illness causes me no anguish and pain. In fact, in the next few days, I will be hospitalized again. I will have to undergo ECT (electroconvulsive therapy) and enter a semi-experimental treatment cycle also based on it, not to mention the heavy medication I take. But the illness has not won. It does not make me desire the freedom to end this torment. Instead, it makes me cry out to God to respond to the desire for fulfillment I feel alive within me. It makes me cry out for Him to take away those ugly thoughts. These thoughts are not an expression of freedom but a prison—a lack of meaning and a loneliness created by my illness.
It may sound trivial, but I need company. For me, the daily company of the Quadratini makes me discover or rediscover that life is worth living to the fullest, whatever the circumstances.
Many times, fatigue and disillusionment would lead me to skip my daily appointment with the Quadratini, but since I entered into this somewhat unique friendship, I have never missed our meeting. Here I find a humanity that is suffering but not angry. And if people are angry, they say so, but they never miss the meeting.
For me, this community is like an IV drip for a dehydrated person. Slowly, with time and patience, it restores not so much physical fitness but a clarity of mind. This clarity, in turn, allows for physical recovery, as the body permits.
And even if this were not the case, we are well aware that the body alone is not enough if there is no living, beating heart; and this living, beating heart can always be found, for believers and non-believers alike, in a group of friends who, together with you, look beyond appearances.