Defeating Bluebeard

'Normal' people are the blacks of industrialized society, the 'mentally ill' are the blacks of 'normal' people, the 'psychotics' are the blacks of the 'mentally ill'. And the 'normal' people, the 'mentally ill', the 'psychotics', the black people say: I'm black and I'm proud"!

New edition

If you can overcome “schizophrenia”, perhaps you can overcome any disorder

A true story told of a schizophrenic psychosis with a happy ending. A saving message of healing. The denunciation of the gravity of secrets and double messages. The repetition of the negative as a necessity to learn how to overcome it, at the service of life. A combined intervention of a psychiatry with a human face with a pure Rogerian psychotherapy in the modality of being as a cure.

Maria Mirella D’Ippolito, in addition to what emerges from the site, also focused her attention on the healing of schizophrenic psychosis through the Rogerian approach together with a pharmacological treatment. This book, already published in 2003, and in its second edition, also presents the author’s professional experience in this field through the narration and the essay present in the Appendix.

Dedication of Saturnia to the Brothers and Sisters

To all of my brothers and sisters: “This is my truth, if your truth is different, it will also be true and, even if it may seem absurd, they will both be true”

Request the book



From Defeating Bluebeard: I am Saturnia

A sister of mine, like all my brothers, my husband and others, chose a nickname out of respect for my obligatory clandestinity, and she chose Foglia. She wrote to me as stated in the foreword:

“The ‘black box‘,” as Foglia, one of Saturnia’s sisters, said to her in a letter, having read the first draft of the book and using this as a symbol for the attitude of all her siblings, “performs a remarkable function in terms of the reconstruction of truth, but its role comes to an end in the catastrophe, and so we lack the space and theenergy to pause for a moment to appreciate its merits. Well now, this book is also the ‘white box’ of our family ‘still in flight’ around the world, and it is a romantic opening statement that you make to our future, telling us to spy on our dreams through the keyhole, when they spy on us. Threads so subtle and evanescent as to be the preferred victims of blasts of air. In this way, you have given us a ride alongside you on your trip with these images under the microscope of your soul, or these enlarged ‘index maps’ as we could perhaps call them. Like a special envoy, you offered us your reportage from the battlefields of your inside/outside, in the inhospitable land of the unsaid and of the secret. With the dry style of the front-line journalist, you described to us the storms that overwhelmed you, of which only “silent and incomprehensible relics” reached us at the time. I participated in the pain you felt for your child, whom you loved so much you decided not to create. But this baby to whom you gave birth two months prematurely really is very beautiful and I want to thank you for inviting us to the baptism. Your Foglia».

And, at the end of the book, three very significant dreams for the exit from the tunnel:

… a unique road, it comes from the mists of time. A clear crossroads, either to the right or to the left, or the consciousness or the unconscious. Here you are. Finally being able to choose. I understood what free will was, now it was possible. Still weak, I was strongly attracted to the left, but I felt that this time I would not come back I chose the right, the real, out of love for the people I was following, I would not have abandoned them, out of love for myself, Amloc, affections, and «because – I said to myself – today I feel it and experience it every day: the left, the unconscious alone excludes the conscience, the right, the real, the conscience, do not exclude, they can never totally exclude the unconscious». And the unconscious chooses the suitable moments and ways to be recognized and listened to.
And I dream, while I’m telling this story, that I have to furnish, put the objects in order in my father’s house, my conscience, and a mulatto woman offers me for this house a picture of one of her black ancestresses, the face of a nice big woman. And I hardly understand: the mystery, the inscrutable must have a place.
You’re right Anna, the more I order, the more I arrange, the more I have to leave room for mystery.
But, about more than halfway through this process of re-reading, experienced by me as a travail, a dream tells me: «It is not said that if you get to the end of the path, you can’t go back» : the end is almost there and go back to the right, a post or two as milestones. Retracing, reading and re-reading again.

Still at the end of my autobiography up to 2000:

Here he is mom, he was born. I passed you. You always said you were going to be in the papers because you gave birth to your last child at the age of forty-seven. You were supposed to do them after ten days, actually, I’ve already done them.
It was born, it is here in my hands, a sensation of completion, of liberation, of beginning…
He was born just over six months old, now he needs an incubator, sure, it’s a cold car, but then he’ll be able to go out.
We need to prepare the last things, the sheets, the clothes, the pacifier, the bottle, the bibs… a lump takes my throat.
I had gone, almost in the third month, to have a control mammogram. The doctor, without any delicacy, asked me: «How many children does he have?». I had to answer: “Nobody” and that “nobody” was tearing my tears, deafening my ears, I wanted to say: “I’m almost in my third month”.
Here’s mom, emptiness accompanies me, but he was born, my son, my story.
He has a slight handicap, my handicap passed to him but largely overcome. I have to take care, protect him, take care of him… He can’t catch cold, mom.

English version of some parts of Befeating Bluebeard

I – It was a Breakdown
VII – Incarceration
VIII – The crisis years
Book index