No need for a special, super elaborated art for this.
And I don't even know why I did it nor why I'm posting it, maybe it's just an intense need to express myself, even if no one will hear it, and honestly I hope this is as ignored as everything else.

I turned 33 today. It's a funny number.
Also the age Jesus died, if you're religious and likes to know these curiosities.
I'm not that lucky, I suppose.
If I look back, my life is the very same since I was 19, but now with more joint pain and more experience in "being fucked up". If you cut this chunk of time, from 19 years old to this very year I turned 33, there won't be much change. My whole life is an anime filler.

Life didn't go very well, so I was forced back into my mother's apartment, where I had to throw a massive tantrum to have my social name respected. Mind you, I don't give a shit about pronouns, I couldn't care less. It's just the name. THE NAME. That is very important to me. I identify myself as non-binary since 2019, when I got out of the closet and I didn't see much effort from my family to, y'know, USE MY NAME... So I started to call them out, sometimes with sarcasm, so they would notice that I am very upset that I'm not being respected. Well, calling my mom out made my brother scold me like I had stabbed someone, saying that "what I am is respect, just not the label", bitch, the label was the problem. The "label" was the very REASON of discussion. He said "we'll spend the whole day with you calling this glass as 'microscope' and every time you misname it, I'll slap you in the face". I said "are you comparing me calling her out with slapping someone in the face?" and he said "it's the same. The shame of it is the very same". I thought I had an ally. Now I know I have none in this house hold. Because even if my mom actually started putting more effort, more than she ever had, into calling me by my name, there are... stuff... that makes things nasty. The manipulation. The narcisism. If you know a person like that, you know how exhausting it is to coexist with them under the same roof.

I know I won't get beaten, or kicked out of the apartment, nor mocked or anything like that for being trans... but that doesn't mean I am free from the risk of becoming statistics - even worse! - by my own hands. I am hopeless. I can't see a Future. I can dream one, but dreams are made of fantasy and to become real they need some, ANY anchor in reality, which I cannot, for the love of dogs, see in this hellbound land of ours.

My body hurts every single day in such way that I already ditched painkillers because my liver and my pocket can't handle the constant usage. My mind is in perpetual state of chaos and every single ADHD medication I used did jackshit for me except for making me feel ALL possible common negative side effects.

I feel trapped, like a stupid rat in glass maze trying to find a stupid piece of food that the Powers That Be keep moving to another place when I finally reach the spot it was, after breaking my nose on the glass walls for hours.

Every minute hurts. Every second feels like torture and it feels like the only exit from this prison is death, and still every time I tried in the past resulted in a big DENIAL from the Universe and more suffering, so now I am in pain, desperate, hurt and completely paralysed by the fear of failing again.

I look in the mirror and I have absolutely no Idea of who this person is and all I want is to punch them in the face, but then I'd have to explain to my mom why all the mirrors in this golden cage are broken, and I barely have energy to get out of my bed most days, let alone talking to a person that does nothing but to drain every ounce of my will to live whenever she appears in front of me.

I tried to hide behind art, but now it hurts as much, if not more, than just laying in bed all day and pretending I don't exist. Art requires me to think, to feel and try to express it, and using my brain cells to think is to remind me I am still, in fact, alive, therefore it is expected of me things I am not sure I can deliver.

I feel like my soul is already dead and my body is an empty husk walking around and denied rest in the name of profit and the feelings of others and this pisses me off, but I have no energy to look for alternatives.

But still, here I am, trying to make most of this walking cadaver that is me and my body. Still trying to draw every day, even if it's a little bit, trying to make ends meet... But I don't know. I really don't. I thought that by 33 I would have at least my own place, rented of course since only heirs have money to buy property at this day and age, but still... I have nothing. Today I got a pair of shoes from my mother because she couldn't stand watching me walking around with a pair of running shoes with a bloody hole in them. Should I put more effort in art? Probably. What's a little bit more pain for a body that screams all the time, right? Gotta make that cash somehow...

Anyway. Thanks for reading, if you did it. Now you can delete all this info from your brain.

Have a nice day. I'm trying my best.