Life events took a toll on my mental health, marking the beginning of my clinical depression.

It became a vicious cycle. Depression feels like emptiness, a vacuum, a dull gray void—you become a real-life Pierrot. But despite all this misery, you can’t cry. And no words—NONE—help. Every new day is sheer torment, filled with the desperate wish to end this madness. But something kept testing me.

Then, during a routine breast ultrasound, the doctor’s eyes widened in shock. “You need to see an oncologist immediately and get a biopsy, ”she said.

And then, Teide erupted. But through it all, every single one of my loved ones stood by my side. That’s when I realized—I am not immortal. Then came surgery, where both of my breasts were removed, followed by full-scale chemotherapy. The "red one"—the hairdresser (I lost ALL my body hair), and the "white one"—the Spanish boot (my fingers and toes went numb).

But now, having walked this entire path, I know:

I am not perfect, but I am beautiful and loved. I will die one day, but my soul is radiant and eternal.