I find it hard to write, because whatever I say, it feels like I’m getting something wrong…

Over the years, I’ve always seen all sorts of initiatives like this, but I was too embarrassed to ever pluck up the courage to try... and if I did try asking for help, like for a tin of food, I was dismissed with the excuse that it wasn’t the right group (back in 2020, during the Covid period, I’d run out of tins for Macchia – my cat – and in a very well-known cat group, my post wasn’t even approved when I tried)

Now, I’d like to give it a go, because I’m tired of always being ignored with feigned regret or attacked without ever asking for a single euro, when perhaps those who lie or are better off than me organise fake collections.

(I know some).

I’m already talking too much without having explained almost anything… it’s difficult, because I’m terrified of being attacked again.

I’ll try to explain:

On 29 June 2025, my 50-inch TV broke down – the one I’d bought with so much sacrifice back in February 2020. It felt like a tragedy, having to constantly count every penny, but I didn’t know that just over two weeks later I’d lose the most precious ‘thing’ in my life…

It was what I’d always fought for, what made my heart beat in this world I find so horrible.

I’ve lost my soul… I’ve lost my Macchia, as those who know me will understand… and the pain I felt that day, and still feel now, is something that, no matter how hard I try to find the words, remains hard to put into words.

Turning my head and suddenly seeing him wrapped in a towel, now lifeless... just writing these words makes me tremble and my temples start throbbing rapidly...

I need a ‘modern’ television where I can watch a few films (I have an active Prime subscription) to distract myself at least a little...

I know it sounds absurd, but it’s even more so for me to even try...

Lately, I’ve incurred expenses that are too high for me... and in the space of a week I saw my love die and still had to stay clear-headed to sort things out quickly whilst running a temperature of 35°...

It happened around 10 pm and by the next morning he was already leaking fluid...

I had to act quickly as I didn’t have a plot of land, and I had to make the difficult decision to have him turned to ashes... that is, to have him cremated.

Suddenly I had to look at urns whilst at the same time battling my own grief...

Even now, I’m crying as I write this...

My heart is broken, and to say I feel dead is an insult to him... who truly is.

A few days earlier I’d received my meagre disability pension, and I never would have imagined that just a few hours later I’d be paying for my love’s funeral...

I had to pay more than 50% up front to get the funeral directors to come.

If I hadn’t had that money, I don’t know how I would have managed.

I spent 600 euros on the vet, funeral services and an urn to have my love... his ashes.

I know that perhaps no one will read this poem, but I feel it’s right to explain myself after being constantly accused in a group of using his death to get a bloody TV that had broken down long before...

Where a lady even led me to believe she’d give it to me for free (before anything happened to my Macchia) and, of course, the naive one, the fake victim and the opportunist turned out to be none other than me...

I just need to take my mind off things somehow, and if I lose control, all I can do is cry, and I feel stupid because my crying won’t bring him back.

I’ll never see him again except in photos...

My vocal cords scream his name in silence... I’ll never be able to speak normally again...

Every corner of the house reminds me of him and I feel a heart-wrenching emptiness.

I feel guilty just for breathing, but even then I’m judged as a public danger who incites suicide.

In short, nothing is right, absolutely nothing.

The fact is, he was the only one who suffered in those five days... all of a sudden.

He’d already been ill for a year, the new vet told me, but without a CT scan it couldn’t be seen, and the old vet always told me he was as fit as a fiddle, and seeing how active he was, of course I believed him.

The problem is that his condition worsened with the excessive heat of those days.

I’m asking for a little help to raise the money for a suitable TV, like the previous one, as I’d already bought the wall mount of that size.

I have debts to pay off until October, so if I can manage it, I’ll be able to buy a TV in November, but I need one now, to have an escape.

Because crying won’t bring my love back, and without distractions, that’s all I know how to do.

My heart is in pieces; I was terrified this would happen, but I didn’t think I’d have to face it so suddenly, in just five days...

Tonight marks two weeks since that cursed day.

I hope my words are understood in the right way, without causing any further distress.

I’m attaching a photo of the broken TV to prove I’m not lying, but please don’t ask me for photos of my love, because I find that utterly disrespectful.

His lifeless eyes and everything else... are etched in a traumatic way in my mind every time I have to go back to fighting this bloody reality.

I, still... I wish I didn’t have to believe it.