Morgen is het donderdag
I was nineteen when a blood vessel in my head started leaking — too young to understand what was happening, too obedient to question the beliefs that shaped my medical choices, too stunned to process the violence of surviving something that should have killed me.
I didn’t make this work then.
I couldn’t.
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It took years before I was able to look back at that time with any kind of clarity.
Years before I could face what my body went through, what I refused, what I endured, and what it cost to live in the aftermath.
This project is about the distance between the event and the understanding.
About the silence that follows survival. About reclaiming the story from the shame, the doctrine, the confusion, and the fear.
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I am still writing poems about it — slowly, carefully — because language is only now catching up to what these photographs already knew.
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This work is the confrontation I once avoided.
And the proof that I made my way back.