I remember my father’s voice talking about me while we were having dinner, as I put mechanically pieces of food into my mouth. He was picking holes in me and his words offended me, they weren’t meant to do so. At that time, anything would had hurt me, and knowing how ugly I seemed didn’t helped me feel better, it only confirmed my suspicions about how worthless I had to be. I didn’t try to defend myself, or play it down, or deny it, just looked down and kept listening. I remember feeling humiliated, I felt a painful wreck. My mother also coincided with my father and the two decided they should take me somewhere to correct those errors. I kept silent. I did not object, nor agreed. I just didn’t say a word. I was only paying attention to the sound of my heart cracking, my bones creaking by the winter cold that had settled within me. How could I have cared about their words? I had lost everything, so I had nothing left to be afraid of. They could do what they wanted with me. For me it was the end of time. And I didn’t give a damn. How could it matter to me if the only thing I believed in had disappointed me, if I had lost all I cared about ? You’d just said goodbye to go on your long journey back home, turning away more and more from me, and I had lost my newfound home and remained stuck in the moment when everything fell apart, playing it over and over again in my memory . Then, I hadn’t either a place to return. During all those years, I had always received shelter by some people who made ​​me feel comfortable and warm, althought I never felt entirely at home. But now something had changed in me and I no longer feel comfortable in that place anymore. It was not the right place for me. I had started my long exodus. I had no home, no refuge, nothing to care about.

They made ​​an appointment at that clinic. I let them  take me there without resisting. In this catatonic state where I was, I might have been taken wherever they pleased, as if I had been taken to a cliff and from there thrown into the sea, I’d had let them, maybe I wouldn’t even had noticed it. Maybe I longed for it. The only thing real for me at that time was the great pain in my heart, that lasted tirelessly for days and nights, days and nights, without giving me a moment of calm, even in dreams. Suddenly, everything and everyone seemed so cold, so distant, the world was covered by a layer of strangeness and frost. I was lost and left with no choice but to turn around and retire. However, show weakness in front of them was unbearable, and shattered my confidence in myself. It was a way to prove them right and admit that I could never survive out there alone, without them, I’d better go back to its protective home where they’d keep  safe and we wouldn’t have to worry again, neither they nor I, about what I was going to do with my life. Forever a little, dependent child. And the way I was pressed by them (my father said he would leave the house, my mother, who would get worse and die), showing me that my freedom was just an illusion, woke up the anger in my heart, which boiled until the confinement made it liquefy in an added pain.
All I remember about the time we spent sitting in the waiting room was, again, the dull ache in my heart and anguish dulling my head. Basically I felt hurt by being there. When I finally walked into the expert’s office, they all talked about me, but, again, it hardly mattered to me what they said, while they didn’t force me to open my mouth. I remained lying there, staring at the ceiling, ignoring the praise or criticism towards me. Then, when the auxiliary began to do her job, the pain came. A physical, real, earthly, bodily pain. I was relieved, it made ​​the feelings in my soul more bearable for a few moments . I closed my eyes and gave myself up to that feeling. When he finished and saw the reflection of my battered red face in the mirror I could not help thinking I was a failure.

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