Hi, my name is Vermeer. And this is the part I never wanted to write.

It has taken every fiber of my being not to resist this, but the truth is simple:

I need help. And I need to tell the truth about what this year has been.

This year broke me open in ways I didn’t see coming. After an unexpected breakup, I moved abruptly back to Los Angeles. What followed was a collapse I couldn’t stop. My mental health deteriorated so rapidly that I attempted suicide.

That moment became the start of a long, painful journey toward finding the right medication and therapy — and for the first time in my life, I actually felt hope. I was being promised services and help. I've been diligently following up with doctors and case workers for the last four months, and none of the resources have shown up.

But life didn’t give me much time to stabilize.

Only two months after my attempt, I was drowning in stress. I had barely any more savings, carried thousands in debt from my relocation from Berlin, and faced wave after wave of interview rejections. I eventually secured a holiday job — a small lifeline — but I was let go as my medical issues started.

My body gave out.

I developed painful ulcers in my mouth that spread into my throat. Drinking water felt impossible. I dragged myself to urgent care, not realizing how close I was to dying. The nurses checked my vitals, went silent, and immediately called an ambulance.

November 20th is the day I almost died.

When I entered the ICU, I weighed 102 pounds — far below what was medically safe for me. My blood pressure was 72 and falling. My white blood cell count was 0.6. The doctors were preparing for the possibility that I could go into cardiac arrest or slip into a coma.

If I had arrived even a few hours later, I would not be here.

What I haven’t told anyone...

I’ve kept the worst details from most friends.

The truth is that I am much sicker than I’ve let on.

I have life-threatening ovarian cysts that will likely require the removal of my ovaries. These cysts suppress my appetite, and with my late autism diagnosis — and a lifetime of pain and hunger cues that don’t register properly — I became severely malnourished without understanding how dangerous it was.

I’ve lived with pain my entire life. I don’t know what “normal” feels like. I don’t know when discomfort becomes an emergency. That confusion nearly killed me in November.

The reality I’m facing now

My doctors have been clear:

My body cannot endure another period of severe stress, hunger, or instability.

My nervous system, immune system, and endocrine system are all in a fragile state.

If I continue on the same trajectory — unstable housing, chronic stress, and inconsistent access to food or medical care — I'm at serious risk.

Annual Survival Budget While Waiting for Disability

Housing

Rent: $1,900/month → $22,800/year

Utilities, WiFi, phone: $250/month → $3,000/year

Total housing: $25,800/year

Food and Nutrition

$400/month → $4,800/year

Medical Care

Prescriptions, specialists, imaging, urgent care, transportation: $300–$500/month

Annual estimate: $4,800/year

Basic Needs

Laundry, toiletries, OTC meds, bedding, assistive items: $200/month → $2,400/year

Transportation and Emergencies

Pharmacy trips, medical rides, unexpected visits: $100/month → $1,200/year

Safety Buffer

Unpredictable medical or crisis expenses: $2,000/year

I am writing all of this down because I’m finally out of denial about what my body has endured and what it can no longer carry alone.

This isn’t a plea or a performance.

It’s simply the truth: I am trying to stay alive long enough to see the other side of this year.

And for the first time, I’m letting myself be seen in the process.