Manchakuy

Manchakuy, meaning “fear” in Quechua, is an exploration of my own journey with mental health—a topic that remains taboo in Ecuador. Through this series, I aim to humanize and poetically convey what it feels like to live with anxiety and depression, giving form to the emotions that often go unseen and unspoken.
This project grew out of my personal experiences and the writings I collected over four years. These texts evolved into visual narratives that I captured in Cuyabeno—a place that had been my refuge, where I once felt peace and happiness. Returning to this space, I confronted the turmoil within me in the very place I had fled to for comfort. What emerged were photographs that turned my pain into something tangible, something others might understand.
Through this work, I open the doors to my mind and my struggles. In one of my writings, I reflect:
«I’ve heard of the fear of dying, but my fear is of living. I had been told about fear of the dark, but no one warned me about fearing my own darkness. My soul feels out of place in my body, and I don’t recognize myself in the mirror. I want to escape, but the noise in my mind drowns out any silence I try to find.»
Each photograph is deeply personal, reflecting the tension between fragility and resilience. In one image, I see myself as a tree—fragile, yet rooted—struck by the weight of its own shadow. As I wrote during this time:
«I feel like my body is a tree battered by the storm of my own sadness, fragile and exposed. My darker self traps me, willing me to drown in sorrow. My tears flood everything—the bed, the bathroom, the room, the garden, the forest—until I know that depression has returned.»
The cyclical nature of my depression is something I’ve struggled to make sense of. It comes in waves, often unexpectedly:
«Just weeks ago, everything was light. I felt alive, filled with purpose. And now, I am back in the endless pit, where even the faintest light is overshadowed by thoughts of death.»
Despite the intensity of these emotions, Cuyabeno—the rainforest—offered a paradoxical sense of calm. The chaos in my mind clashed with the steady rhythms of nature around me: the flow of rivers, the rustle of leaves, the distant cries of wildlife. These contrasts gave me a new perspective on the potential for healing, even in the depths of despair.
With Manchakuy, I hope to create an intimate dialogue between myself and those who encounter my work. Through these images and words, I want to challenge the silence surrounding mental health, to break through the stigma that keeps so many people isolated. I want to share the rawness of my experience—not as a plea for sympathy, but as a testament to the beauty that can arise from facing fear and finding strength within it.