My twin sister was beaten daily by her abusive husband. My sister and I swapped identities and made her husband repent for his actions.
My name is Nayeli Cárdenas. My twin sister’s name is Lidia. We were born identical, but life insisted on treating us as if we were made for opposite worlds.
For ten years, I lived locked up in the San Gabriel Psychiatric Hospital, on the outskirts of Toluca. Lidia spent those same ten years trying to hold onto a life that was crumbling in her hands.
The doctors said I had an impulse control disorder.
They used long words: unstable, unpredictable, volatile. I preferred a simpler truth: I always felt everything too intensely.
Joy burned in my chest. Rage clouded my eyes.
Fear made my hands tremble as if another person lived inside me, a fiercer, faster person, less willing to tolerate the cruelty of the world.
It was that fury that brought me here.
When I was sixteen, I saw a boy drag Lidia by the hair into an alley behind the high school.
The next thing I remember is the sharp sound of a chair breaking against an arm, her screams, and the horrified faces of the people.
No one looked at what he was doing.
