I would never have thought that I would walk on such long paths carrying the hanging bodies of dead people on my shoulders, as I never thought I could return from a hell that not only did I not ask for, but which made me so comfortable that my happiness had, somehow, become my biggest scumbag. I would not have thought that I would be proud of my vulnerabilities, addictions, fears and suicide plans, nor did I think that the reality could hurt so much and yet, between leaving without knowing what really happened to me, I chose to fight. I started writing from my childhood about everything around me without realizing that everything would prepare me to write stories and verses about years divided into days and nights of torment, screams, mutilations of a soul and a body that I do not wish to live them today. I thank me for every mistake, for every paint, tear or crisis … They all brought me not late, but at the right time, to be the way I could never have learned otherwise. It never ends, but now I know how to live with it, my beloved depression and the shadow of a former self.