Modern existence has transformed into a peculiar form of slow suicide, where individuals find themselves trapped in a "life" that systematically destroys them. Each day becomes another step in a march toward exhaustion, driven by the relentless demands of perpetual productivity. The anxiety of this condition grips them like a vice, tightening with each notification, each urgent request, each reminder that their value exists only in their capacity to produce. This perverse system demands total availability, a complete surrender of personal boundaries and private space. The distinction between work and life dissolves, not because work has become more humane, but because life has been colonized by the logic of production. Every moment of rest becomes marked by guilt, every pause feels like failure, and the very notion of personal time transforms into a luxury that feels undeserved. The ultimate irony lies in how this pursuit of "winning" requires a systematic abandonment of everything that makes life worth living. Relationships wither under the weight of constant unavailability, passions are indefinitely postponed, and health – both mental and physical – deteriorates in the name of productivity. In this grotesque game, the price of success is the complete surrender of one's humanity, a victory that tastes like ash in the mouth of those who achieve it.

The process of humanization develops in a delicate balance between encounter and separation, like a dance where each step back is as significant as each approach. Human contact nourishes and sustains us, but it is temporary absence that allows us to internalize the other, transforming them into a psychic presence that transcends the physical. This alternation between presence and absence is the fundamental rhythm that allows bonds to mature and deepen. Absence, when framed between moments of encounter, becomes a fertile space where the representation of the other can take root in our internal world. It is in these intervals that we learn to carry the loved one within us, where their image is inscribed in our mind with a permanence that surpasses the fleeting nature of physical contact. This process of internalization transforms the relationship, elevating it beyond dependence on immediate presence. This dynamic teaches us a fundamental truth: distance is not equivalent to abandonment. While abandonment implies a rupture of the bond, distance sustained by moments of reunion strengthens our capacity to love and relate. It is precisely this alternation that allows us to develop a more mature form of love, where the security of the bond doesn't depend on constant presence, but on the ability to keep the connection alive even in separation.

In the era of perpetual connectivity, we have developed a collective phobia of silence. Pauses, those vital spaces where thought traditionally germinated and reflection flourished, are now perceived as threatening voids that must be immediately filled with digital noise. Every moment of potential solitude is quickly occupied by the infinite scroll of screens, the constant buzz of notifications, the compulsion to stay connected. This permanent saturation of stimuli has eroded our ability to experience absence as something meaningful. Distance, that essential element that allows desire to be born and nostalgia to be cultivated, has been abolished by the illusion of constant presence offered by social networks. There is no longer time for longing to develop, for physical separation to transform into that sweet pain of missing someone that enriches our bonds. In our rush to eliminate all empty space, we have lost something fundamental: the ability to process our experiences, to metabolize our emotions. Without pauses, without silences, without absences, our relationships become superficial, lacking the depth that can only emerge when we allow space to exist between us. The paradox is that, in our attempt to stay always connected, we become increasingly incapable of truly connecting.

Contemporary clinical practice presents us with an increasingly frequent and disturbing phenomenon: the subject who has replaced their creative capacity with a compulsive consumerist drive. Instead of generating, building, or imagining, the response to every inner concern translates into an act of purchase. Creativity, that vital force that defines us as human beings, is gradually supplanted by the illusion that fulfillment can be acquired in a commercial transaction. We find ourselves facing an unprecedented historical paradox: never before had human beings accumulated so many material possessions while simultaneously experiencing such profound existential emptiness. Houses overflow with objects, closets are full, online shopping notifications never cease, but each new acquisition seems to deepen the abyss of dissatisfaction. The excess of possessions contrasts dramatically with the scarcity of purpose and meaning. This material accumulation, far from filling the void, makes it more evident. People find themselves surrounded by objects that promised happiness but end up becoming silent witnesses to their vital disorientation. The absence of a meaningful personal project cannot be compensated by the next purchase, no matter how exclusive or expensive it may be. The challenge of current clinical practice lies in helping to rediscover the creative capacity buried under mountains of possessions, and recovering the sense of purpose that no object can provide.

Contemporary clinical practice confronts us with a new type of suffering: that of the subject trapped not only in activities that feel alien but under constant pressure to become someone they are not. Dissatisfaction is no longer limited to doing but penetrates to the very core of being. In this scenario, distress arises from the implicit demand to adopt a prefabricated personality, designed to fit the standards of "employability" and "social adaptation" that the market demands. This imperative of personal transformation demands continuous performance: one must appear perpetually optimistic, even while consumed by hopelessness within; we must appear "easy-going," even though our being yearns for depth and complexity. Productivity becomes a mandatory personality trait, and efficiency a moral virtue. The subject thus finds themselves in the paradoxical situation of having to construct a convincing falsification of themselves in order to "be someone" in the world. The psychic cost of this splitting is enormous. The true self, with its genuine desires and yearnings, is relegated to an increasingly reduced space, while vital energy is consumed in maintaining this facade of perfect adaptation. Authentic dreams and aspirations are sacrificed on the altar of employability, and personal uniqueness dissolves in the homogenizing mold of social acceptability. Suffering no longer stems only from what we do but from the violence implied in having to be "another" to survive.

The analyst's ethics demands a profound renunciation: the abandonment of any desire to direct, shape, or determine the analysand's life path. Unlike a mentor who guides or a teacher who instructs, the analyst embraces a unique position of companionship that consciously resists the temptation to lead. This ethical stance requires a continuous practice of restraint, acknowledging that true liberation emerges not from guidance, but from the space to discover one's own way. The beauty of this relationship lies in its inherent temporality. The analyst walks alongside the analysand with the clear understanding that their presence is provisional, that the journey together will naturally conclude when it is no longer needed. This awareness transforms the analytical relationship into something rare in our directive world: a space where one can simply be, without the pressure to conform to another's vision or expectations. Perhaps the most liberating aspect of this ethical position is the deliberate refusal to tell another what to do with their life. In a world saturated with advice, opinions, and prescriptions for living, the analyst offers something far more valuable: the freedom to discover one's own truth, to make one's own mistakes, and to find one's own path. This restraint becomes a powerful form of respect for the analysand's autonomy and capacity for self-determination.

Living under a totalitarian regime demands a painful exercise in psychic self-mutilation. To maintain an appearance of normality, the subject must perform complex internal surgery, carefully sectioning off those parts of themselves that could endanger their survival. This split is not merely an act of prudence, but a profound self-inflicted violence that fragments the integrity of being, creating watertight compartments between what is seen, what is known, and what can be said. The supposed "well-being" achieved through this self-amputation comes at an exorbitant cost. Each day requires an elaborate exercise in selective amnesia, a sophisticated system of self-imposed blind spots, a precise choreography of silences and omissions. The person becomes an expert in the art of not seeing the obvious, of not naming the unnameable, of not feeling what must not be felt. This precarious balance consumes an immense amount of psychic energy, leaving little space for true personal development. In this context, psychoanalysis encounters its fundamental limit. As a practice based on the possibility of saying everything, of freely exploring the darkest corners of the psyche, analytic work becomes practically impossible where speech is chained. Freedom of expression is not merely a political framework for psychoanalysis, but its most basic condition of possibility. Without the ability to name what is real, to articulate pain and truth, the analytic process becomes just another way of sustaining the split, rather than healing it.

In the relentless narrative of contemporary capitalism, the imperative to "be a winner" has profoundly transformed our relationship with others. We no longer see our fellow humans as companions in the human experience, but merely as obstacles to overcome, stepping stones to trample in our ascent to the summit of success. This metamorphosis of perspective turns every human interaction into a potential battle, every encounter into an opportunity for domination. The neighbor vanishes as a subject and materializes only as a marker of our own triumph. Their function is reduced to being the living testimony of our superiority, the broken mirror reflecting our "victory." In this perverse zero-sum game, personal affirmation is achieved only through the negation of the other, turning the construction of our own greatness into an exercise in the systematic demolition of others' humanity. This destructive logic reveals the central paradox of our era: in the obsessive pursuit of individual success, we lose precisely what makes us truly human - the capacity to recognize and value humanity in others. Victory thus becomes a form of existential defeat, where the "winner" ends up reigning over a desert of authentic human connections, celebrating a triumph that is, in reality, evidence of their own spiritual impoverishment.

En la narrativa implacable del capitalismo contemporáneo, el imperativo de "ser un ganador" ha transformado profundamente nuestra relación con el otro. Ya no vemos en nuestros semejantes a compañeros de viaje en la experiencia humana, sino meros obstáculos a superar, escalones que pisar en nuestra ascensión hacia la cumbre del éxito. Esta metamorfosis de la mirada convierte cada interacción humana en una potencial batalla, cada encuentro en una oportunidad de dominación. El prójimo se desvanece como sujeto y se materializa únicamente como un marcador de nuestro propio triunfo. Su función se reduce a ser el testimonio viviente de nuestra superioridad, el espejo roto donde se refleja nuestra "victoria". En este perverso juego de suma cero, la afirmación personal solo se logra a través de la negación del otro, convirtiendo la construcción de la propia grandeza en un ejercicio de demolición sistemática de la humanidad ajena. Esta lógica destructiva revela la paradoja central de nuestra época: en la búsqueda obsesiva del éxito individual, perdemos precisamente aquello que nos hace verdaderamente humanos - la capacidad de reconocer y valorar la humanidad en el otro. La victoria se convierte así en una forma de derrota existencial, donde el "ganador" termina reinando sobre un desierto de conexiones humanas auténticas, celebrando un triunfo que es, en realidad, la evidencia de su propio empobrecimiento espiritual.

Contrary to traditional images of fire and torment, true hell might be a place of perfect and perpetual conformity. A space where the smooth surface of existence is never disturbed by the roughness of doubt, where the monotony of universal agreement suffocates any spark of questioning. In this realm of satisfied mediocrity, comfort becomes an invisible prison, and the absence of conflict transforms into a supreme form of torment. The perfection of this hell lies in its ability to eliminate not only pain but the very possibility of growth. Without stumbles to make us wiser, without questions to keep us awake at night, without the restlessness that precedes each significant discovery, the inhabitants of this place exist in a state of living death. Perpetual unanimity becomes a tombstone that buries all possibility of evolution and discovery. But perhaps the most terrifying aspect of this hell is the complete absence of choice. In a universe where everything is predetermined, where no one needs to decide because everything flows in an endless stream of conformity, the very essence of what makes us human vanishes. Without the ability to choose, without the possibility of making mistakes and learning from our errors, without the privilege of doubting and questioning, we become mere automatons, inhabitants of a paradise that is, in reality, the most subtle and sophisticated of hells.

The analytic process requires a delicate relational fabric between analyst and analysand, a connection that goes beyond mere professional interaction. This special bond creates a safe space where the deepest truths can emerge, where vulnerability finds refuge, and the most intense emotions can manifest without fear. It is a connection that must be strong enough to hold, yet flexible enough to allow movement and growth. The intimacy that develops in this therapeutic space is unique in its nature. It must be deep enough to allow all passions, fears, hopes, and shadows of the analysand to surface. This bond becomes a bridge for crossing the turbulent waters of the unconscious, offering both support and freedom of exploration. It is a delicate balance between closeness and distance, between understanding and autonomy. However, it is crucial to remember that this therapeutic bond must maintain its quality of flexible connection, avoiding becoming a knot that suffocates. The purpose is to facilitate dialogue, not create dependency; to allow development, not restrict it. Like a well-executed dance, it requires coordinated but free movements, where each participant maintains their individuality while contributing to the shared dance of healing.

Revenge represents a primal attempt to redirect the flow of suffering, transforming the passive experience of pain into an active pursuit of retribution. In this psychological alchemy, the helpless cry of "I suffer" metamorphoses into the empowering declaration "you will suffer." This transformation offers a seductive illusion of control, promising to convert victimhood into agency through the act of inflicting pain upon others. Yet this redirection of suffering creates a devastating paradox. While revenge may momentarily alleviate the burden of helplessness, it initiates a cycle that ultimately consumes both the avenger and their target. The vengeful individual, in their quest to transfer pain, becomes bound to their own suffering in a new way. They exchange one form of bondage for another, as the pursuit of vengeance demands an endless investment of emotional energy and psychological resources. For some, revenge becomes more than an act—it transforms into an identity, a reason for being that defines their entire existence. These individuals construct their whole world around the axis of retribution, finding purpose in the perpetual pursuit of payback. However, in making vengeance their life's mission, they unknowingly become prisoners of their own hatred, their identity forever tethered to the very source of their original pain.