A story based on real life.

I have been to many banks in my life, some of them have this entrance where there will be a few ATVs or cash-machines where you can exchange currencies. Sometimes there will be a water dispenser. The floors are often old 90´s themed grey ish carpet. This feels like a tiny little glass box/room. This is where I have seen and meet homeless people, kind of squatting the room for a night because they feel safer there than outside, but also warmer. Remember how many cameras a bank has and remember that a carpet is insulation from the cold ground and that a roof and walls even those the wall is glass doors that open automatically. This is still better than bricks and cardboard.

I didn't knew that I was being tortured, before I had a break down.

It was a normal day, like any other day, it was maybe a Monday or a Thursday, the sun was shining and the autumn leaves was filling the streets making them both slippery but also so beautiful.

Drip.

I was enjoying one of these peaceful moments, where the sun feels so much more warm, after days with cold winds and rain.

People were being busy, trying to get places, trying to meet people with distance and trying to do a life or having a day.

I was walking with my bike, strolling around trying to be in this warm weather moment.

Then I sow it, a poster.

Drip

I had forgotten about the sound, the pain, the constant picking. I had forgotten that I was here, I had to worry, I had to figure out my life and my future.

Drip.

17 years old, when I started doing this.

I had learn to be alone, learned about being creative with no money and using my imagination. I have learned to build barricades, fixing old wiring and toilts in abandon places. I had being brought up tuff because I wanted to survive.

Drip

I stop, I look at it, I become numb. I can feel it, hitting hard, electric. A huge picture of a person on a big skyskrabere.

The person looks like their in peach, but maybe also not really, like it is a dream. Or maybe. I read the text, it says.

Drip.

Being to meetings after meeting with strangers wanting to know how it goes, who I am, what I want, why I do the things I do.

One hour, two hours later.

I am a number, a long document. And they all want, they all need to follow the low, some judge, some put me down, some talk te me like I am a child. Some lays some tries to make me feel like I am a freak or scum. Something is or is not wrong. Just get a hair cut and get a job.

Drip.

The poster on the building says :are we ever going to hug again.

:"I can't, can't do it. I want do it anymore!"

He yells it out loud, with red eyes, tiers running down, hands clinched, he's just having a fit, a break down, he's lost it.

He spit, cries, tares of his mask. He kneels down, lost sad and cries, it burns around him, with pain and suffering

Drip

They tell me just call this person, try this internship, try this class or take this school.

Cut your hair, take of your personality, take it all away, let us change you, come on. You can do it. Try again, no try again.

Drip

I tried it all, the many things they wanted me to do, studying, Courses after Course, volunteering, internship, taking pills talking with shrinks and psychologist, talking with friends, family and even group thearpi. I did it. I changed, I even stopped being myself, serviel times.

Drip. It's not going to stop, it's not going to give me a job.

The person who is painted on the big sky skrabes under the text saying 'when are we going to be able to hug again. They are hugging a white, ghostly shadow, a person who is blank, like some one cut them out, of this picture.

Drip.

The man has stoppede crying, he has found his strength to stand up and walk hobble and shamed away.

Drip. I here it, I feel it, the water bording they have been doing to me for 13 years. On, off, on, off. The pressure, the picking, the social pressure.

I am the man, we are the man, you do you, I do me, we both this until we do us. let´s try to do us.