“This Is Psychology” Episode 10: Immigration

“This Is Psychology” Episode 10: Immigration



In this episode, Dr. Anderson reviews the mental health issues facing many immigrants and suggests ways to make psychological help more accessible to them.

http://www.apa.org/news/press/video/this-is-psychology/immigration.aspx

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January 23, 2013 / 2 Comments / by / in
  • At age 19 being new to the dating/gf world my shyness prevented me from meeting new people in person so I would go on AOL chat. I had recently broken up with my first girlfriend who cheated on me, and I was very heart broken. I met a girl in the chat room. She was 18, and I was open to meeting people online, so we met one day. We started going out and getting to know each other. I fell in love with her. I fell in love with a lying monster. I knew her real name and age 6 months into the relationship, when it was too late.
    Her mother pressed charges to get full custody of her using me as "evidence" that her father couldn't take care of her. I later found out she was very promiscuous and I wasn't the first person she had done this to. I ended up in jail for a little  while after accepting a plea bargain as my public defender advised me to take. I was a US Resident at the time, one year away from becoming a US citizen. I had no previous criminal record. I was a bright kid starting up in college. All that got taken away in a matter of moments. I got separated from my family, from my country, from everything.
    Since age one I had lived in the US so I pretty much was more American can Mexican. The US was my home. I studied my whole life there and had a great job as well. But because of this so called girl friend I got deported to Mexico after being locked up with a broken heart. I thought things couldn't get any worse.
    Arriving at Mexico I have had many unfortunate events, some of them violent. My car got stolen, I've been robbed several times, I've been assaulted around 5 times, and been stabbed once while going to work in the morning on the public bus. The other week someone tried to break into my apartment claiming I was another person and I supposedly owed him 100 thousand dollars. The trauma does not end there.
    Of course there has been PLENTY of psychological damage. I've tried to kill myself 3 times. The first time wasn't so bad. It's not even worth mentioning. My second attempt happened after living in Mexico for a number of years and just got sick of it all. I took a combination of around 5 different sedative pills with a bottle of tequila. I ended up unconscious covered in vomit for a couple of days until my girlfriend at the time found me in my apartment. I can't remember many details about what happened. I had amnesia for about 4 days, maybe a week. I ended up in a psychiatric ward thinking it would solve my problem. Boy, was I wrong.
    I think I ended up more traumatized after being in there. I started taking some medications and failed to follow up with my psychologist due to unemployment. I eventually stopped taking my medication all together. I started using drugs again, however they weren't heroin. I haven't used heroin since I left the rehab facility.
    I decided that I needed to make some changes. I discovered Buddhism, and it started helping a lot. More than I expected. Everything was fine until my new job started asking me to work for longer hours. Sometimes I would work 11 hour days. I had also enrolled in a university to finish studying and "get better". Apparently school and work didn't work out for me and made my anxiety a lot worse. Having trouble at school because of the language, I was unable to write an essay. I had already been late for work the entire week because I needed to buy school supplies and books. More anxiety, more stress. Less sleep. Less food. A bomb was about to explode.
    In the first week of September of this year, 2013, I attempted my most horrendous suicide attempt. While sober, I removed most of my clothes, ran to the kitchen for some of the sharpest knives I had, and got in the shower. I
    wasn't even crying this time. I didn't care about anything. I just wanted to die. I started cutting myself like a madman. Stabbing at my stomach, trying to cut deeply, deep enough to cause a fatal injury. After failing, I went for the wrists. I started cutting side ways digging deep using two different knives. Then I ran the blade from the top to the bottom, stabbing and twisting the knife trying to cut through  everything to ensure I ended up dead. After losing strength in one arm I went for the other. I just saw the blood pouring out on the shower floor thinking, "this is it, I have finally made it". But it wasn't over.
    The knives weren't sharp enough apparently, or I don't know what happened, I needed to die before my grandparents returned home. I left the shower, wrapping myself in a towel, dripping blood everywhere. I found a bottle of that cleaning solution BAM. I chugged half of the bottle that was left. I immediately regurgitated and started feeling my whole mouth and stomach burn and burn some more. I couldn't find my grandfather's gun, so I then went for a thick plastic bag and duct tape. I wrapped my head with it, back in the shower to avoid making more of a mess than was necessary. The plastic bag ended popping. What the f*ck was happening? Why couldn't I just DIE!?
    I went back to the knives, but was unable to get anywhere. My grandmother was about to enter the apartment and I called my neighbor and asked her to take me to the hospital. I told her what I had done on the way there. I didn't want my grandmother to find me that way.
    I had to leave school and work for a while. Now I have these incredible scars on my arms and I can't wear short sleeves. I go to work wearing long sleeves, and try to hide my scars as much as possible when they may be visible.
    So here I am. Still alive. I'm thinking about going back to school and quitting my job. F*ck school and work. I can't do it. Is there any hope for people like me? My parents are also suffering.

  • I really appreciated my APA associations. I am proud of it.

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