Diagnosis: Addicted to butterflies, by M.

Prognosis: serious.

And so it all began. One day, they drop this little gem on you, just like that, and you're left with a dumbfounded expression wondering if it's good, average, or if there's simply no solution and it's time to start counting down. If we reflect on each word individually, things don't look very good. They recommend that you never, under any circumstances, look for related information, much less from unverified sources or professionals you can trust. But since they don't know that I tend to do the opposite of what I'm told, here I am with all the related links displayed in the favorites section at the top of my laptop, a perfect Lenovo that my boss bought me for work, and here I am, researching addictions.

Addiction, just writing it makes me horribly afraid. Being addicted means dependence, inability to let go, being tied down, and sometimes even having to increase the dose to avoid going crazy. However, I believe it's what keeps me connected to life, even though we're used to addictions. They can kill, they cause cancer and infertility. Other times it is machines with lights and loud sounds that break families and hearts, families have to fight against the monster and hearts have to recover and wish to be together again.I want butterflies, Because in matters of the heart not all is lost, or if not, tell him, dear friend.

Well, it turns out my addiction doesn't seem to kill you, but you can't imagine how painful it is. The little bitch says she's so comfortable with me that she's not planning on leaving for the moment. I'm afraid she'll be with me throughout the entire false lethargy phase, like some butterflies in their chrysalis stage. This is when everything seems calm, but it's exactly the opposite: it's the period of greatest activity in these lepidopterans' bodies.

Spirotrompa, that's right, already showing promise as a young man, a certain José Luis Cuerda, in 1999 (hint: I was fifteen years old), decided to project "The Butterfly's Tongue" and the only thing I could think of was to start investigating that tongue, a modified mouth apparatus called a spirotrompa, gosh with that little name, I'll never forget it. At that age, they don't do those things.

And so what does my addiction have to do with all this... in the end, like this twisted tongue, everything turns and everything can be turned around again.

The root of my problem is my direct relationship with the male gender. Yes, I'm terrible with men, but not all of them. Only with those who have remained eternally dormant, in that cocoon phase, like authentic silkworms or some nocturnal butterflies that are usually dark and prefer to wrap themselves in this tangle of silk. I've always fed and cared for the silkworms that lived in my mother's kitchen inside a perforated shoebox, but in this case, it was comforting to see how that effort was worth it. With patience, a butterfly was born that looked more like a moth, but with a desire to fly and be free. The life of a butterfly is short, especially those in my stomach, which are immortal.

Sometimes I swear I feel like ripping them out, putting them in a glass jar, and soaking them in cotton with formaldehyde to see if they'll leave me alone, but I admit I'm incapable. If you can't beat your enemy, join them. So that's what I did: I tattooed a beautiful, colorful butterfly on my head, a portrait of Frida Kahlo, so I'd never forget that butterflies look beautiful on your head, but they hurt in your stomach because they flap their wings so hard and because they want to get out.

Then Joshua Weigel comes along and makes “The Butterfly Circus” go viral on social media, an independent short film that hits me straight in the pit of my stomach and tells me, “Hey, wake up, life isn’t easy, but you still have a lot to learn.”

And almost ten years later, I'm still here, like another butterfly, creating evolutionary adaptations that allow me to maintain flight and, above all, enjoy the beauty of my own metamorphosis.