This past four years of sickness led me to a bunch of last nights alive on the planet earth. I couldn’t properly sleep, so at first I was worried about all the things I wanted to do and I wouldn’t and then I started worrying about my familiars that I wouldn’t help and after that I started worrying about the consequences of being alive but handicapped. The fragility of it all. Things usually go bad without people purposely making then bad. While everyone that I knew that wasn’t from my family would have people facilitating their journeys, all my life I had people making sure I wouldn’t succeed.

There is still something wrong with my health, sometimes I wake up in the morning without breath or with my heart shaking like it’s weakened. I have a type of tiredness that I can’t spent a whole day sitting in a comfortable chair without being overly tired and while sit, I can feel my vascular system moving, a pressure in the middle of my chest and sometimes I lose the sight of my right eye for a few minutes. It is getting better because a couple of months ago I couldn’t even sleep on the left side of my body because it made me out of breath or if I did, I would woke up in the middle of the night with a chest pain so intense that would make me close my left hand. The skin infection that started in 2019 has something to do with it along with the contaminated bandage gauze left on my window.

In 2021 I went in some sort of sepsis, drinking 7 liters of water a day, body itching, had a haemorrhage, seizures, cardio vascular accidents and after that close to a year of night fever without sweats. I can still feel that there are some veins that are hardened or in thrombosis and they are close to the heart and they go to where the skin infection is. The skin infection looks stable but not being able to spent a day on a chair, the shortness of breath, the pressure on the chest feels like something is really wrong. I Went to a bunch of doctors and did a bunch of exams and still they couldn’t find anything or didn’t want to treat me. I say that they didn’t want to treat me because the doctors convinced me that this type of skin problem wouldn’t get infected, didn’t prescribed anything to use topically and some of them sung songs that people wrote about me. The problem with psychological torture is the dilemma “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.”

At 35 and sick it’s becoming clear that I’m no longer part of what is living and rather I’m joining the part of what is dying. The other day I woke up in the middle of the night to take a piss. I looked myself in the mirror: heavily balding, my male pregnancy belly and bitch tits. What an enlightening sight. Just to add up with all those bad things happening, yesterday I broke the side of my right front tooth. It is truly over for my romantic aspirations. If a healthy, young and attractive person have a shit relationship, imagine a poor, sick and old person. Romance is for the young and the rich, better endure the suffering alone, it also makes me more creative through some sort of escapism even though it eventually makes me insane or in some sort of arrested development. 

I’m tired of writing in english. I’m too limited and I couldn’t even read my 50th anniversary edition of Lolita from lack of vocabulary. I tried reading it 15 years ago and maybe I could do it now, anyway, I wish I could have an edition of it in portuguese, I added it at my wishlist. I wonder if it would be a wise decision complementing my library as much as I can when I get back to work, maybe it would be a good investment because with my salary, the prices of new computers and internet it’s better for me preparing to be without it. I’m also realizing that is pointless thinking that my writings could lead me to a stable financial life.

I used to be motivated to work with what I perceived to have an artistic value, so I could be satisfied in doing something I considered meaningful and could use the resources to lead a comfortable life in relative isolation. I remember briefly wanting to be famous or infamous when I was thirteen years old and decided to paint my hair green, the following years of colored hair made me realize that what I wanted or needed was a specific type of attention. I thought it could make me distinctive in a positive manner and eventually it would lead me to find outcast type of company, but the experience went mostly as public humiliation, the girl that tried to get close to me was already in high school, I thought she was too good for me and my neuroticism took the best of what could be one of the best experiences of my life. 

To some people I’m thankful, specially the predictive programming which involved what I perceived as educational or a positive prospect of outcome for my life. I could list some works that I found important but I’m afraid it could be unfair for not including someone. The real criminals are too cowardly to show their faces and are hidden behind layers upon layers of proxies, so I’m tired of lashing out on people who have nothing to do with it or are just unaware. Unfortunately, there are a lot of corrupt and ill motivated people out there, I’ll have to learn to live with this fact and avoid what I already know isn’t worth pursuing. I don’t have enough resources to find a lawyer capable of making me justice and I don’t know if it would be worth persecuting criminals of this caliber, after all, it’s the own intelligence services committing those crimes. (drugging, poisoning, murdering, raping, theft and property damage).

 If I get well it will be worth living once again. I’m satisfied with the disillusionment and looking forward to go back to work and my studies.