Fred

Sometimes it seems like you were born guilty.

Guilty before my parents - for not living up to expectations.

In front of my relatives - for not being what I should be.

Before the world - simply for existing.

For as long as you can remember, you've always been "corrected."

"Bend your back, don't frown, you look weird."

"You've gained weight again."

"You won't be able to get in; with that kind of character, no one will love you."

You're used to listening, not responding. Just keeping your head down.

Over time, you started eating less. Not on purpose—you just lost your taste for food.

You no longer care what day of the week it is, what month it is.

You only wore oversized clothes - not because they were fashionable, but because then no one could see your body.

People stopped noticing you. And that was even a little nice.

At technical school, you became an outcast. Quietly at first, then officially. People can sense weakness, like dogs. First, whispers behind your back, then laughter.

You tried not to react. But it felt like something had been cut out inside you.

And then Fred came along.

He was what is commonly called "ideal":

Tall, athletic, with thick black hair and brown eyes that were overly self-confident.

He walked down the corridor, and everyone seemed to move aside.

It's funny, but you were afraid of him. Not even because he could hurt you, but because he knew how to do it with words.

Word spread quickly that you were depressed. You didn't know who told you. Maybe someone in your class, maybe a teacher who didn't like your lack of a smile.

At first you tried to ignore the whispers.

But one day, when you were leaving the technical school grounds, Fred called out to you:

• Hey!

You turned around. He was standing at the gate, leaning against the wall, with that same smirk that made your heart skip a beat.

"Depression?!" he said loudly, so everyone could hear. "You just don't get enough attention!"

He chuckled, then added:

• Fat woman!

Laughter behind your back.

Whispers, giggles, someone's glances.

The world has narrowed to a narrow strip of asphalt at your feet.