A Voice Worth Hearing

My name is Vincenzo. I'm almost 30, living in a psychiatric community facility. Not a prison, but not quite home either.

I arrived here after years of restlessness, precarious circumstances, blurred diagnoses, and an absence of peace. My mother died from a cerebral aneurysm when I was ten. My father lost a leg at 28 but continued to reprimand me even when I was an adult, telling me I needed to find a job.

fragments of memory

Meanwhile, I've lived between panic attacks, technological illusions, and existential mirages. At 13, I believed I was a computer genius: installing Linux, tinkering with hardware, deluding myself. But reality was harsher: no safety net.

lost in time

I've survived by pickpocketing, attempting to work in fortune-telling call centers, losing myself in online casinos where I lost everything. My Game Boy cassette collection—my little treasure—was thrown away. Along with my past, my childhood, the idea that something was truly mine.

Now I live with the anxiety that I might be evicted from here too. Yet I'm still here. Writing, thinking, reflecting. As if the journey of an outcast could still illuminate a crack in the world.

echoes of absence

Support My Journey

If my story has touched you in any way, I would deeply appreciate your support. Your donation, no matter the size, would help me build some stability and possibly a path forward.

HELP ME

Every contribution helps me maintain my dignity and pursue the possibility of healing through writing and creative expression.