In 2 months I will be 27. When I was 18 I choked and couldn't swallow, or rather I was afraid to swallow and wanted to die so badly that I used that to die of hunger. I spent a year on soup and lost many kilos, so many that I reached 21 kilos. When I was 19 years old, my family collected 300 reais to pay for a consultation with a specialist in dystrophy, this consultation saved me because I was prescribed vitamins, there were several, but I only remember the D. By the way, I will send an email to the doctor to thank her for saving me, I thank God every day for having let me be born in this family.

Since then I have been optimistic, most of the time I have managed to be, nevertheless, at the end of 2022 I faced a strong depressive crisis. Since the 23rd of December I wake up thinking that I have to take this drug for one more day, and during the day I have intrusive thoughts, what a shitty life, Lord, why don't you free me from this suffering right now? I avoid thinking about what if, but in those moments it is very difficult not to and I end up rambling, idealising this supposed life.

To tell you the truth, I'm tired of keeping it all in my head, of pretending to my family that I'm fine. But the reality is: why tell them? I am poor, I cannot afford treatment. It's just me, my mother and my sister on a minimum wage and a pension of, if I'm not mistaken, 500 reals. Maybe my family would help pay for a psychologist, it's a possibility, but I don't know if I can break the image of the happy and smiling boy, despite the difficulties they have with me.

I wanted to write lighter things before this post, or even more on this post, but as I don't have a computer and can't dictate to google docs, I write on the virtual keyboard and it hurts my arm too much, an effort I can't make, I decided to write this soon.