At first it almost works. That is the trap. It does not destroy you immediately. It gives you a little rope. A room with a window. A fridge that fills, even if only halfway. A new route to work that gives you for a while the illusion that you yourself decided to rewrite who you are. You count coins on the table and it feels temporary. You get paid and divide it up with seriousness, rent, electricity, petrol, a few groceries, maybe one coffee out on a Sunday to remind yourself that you are not only a machine for bills. You say, all right, we tighten a little now, later it will open. Everything takes time. You say it to others, and you say it to yourself. Mostly to yourself.