Point Nemo — Don’t Leave Me Here

ENGLISH VERSION

Point Nemo — Don’t Leave Me Here

1. Point Nemo

They say there is a place in the ocean called Point Nemo.

It is the farthest point from any inhabited land. There, you are alone. Completely alone. No ship passes by chance. No voice carries.

Today, I live in that place.

Not because I chose it. But because life dropped me there: illness, job loss, absolute loneliness, and an eviction that is coming in a few days.

I don’t want to complain. I just want, humbly, to ask one thing:

« Don’t leave me at Point Nemo. »

2. What I have already done, alone

I wrote. A lot.

I created a blog. A public Facebook page. A Ko-fi. A PayPal.

I have no one around me. Not a single friend. Not a single relative. Just a keyboard and an internet connection.

For weeks, I posted on my personal profile. I explained my illness, my unfair dismissal, my hunger, my fear of losing my home.

But a personal profile is made for people who have friends.

I don’t have any.

My posts remained invisible. No one saw them. Because there is no one to share them, comment on them, or make them visible.

So I created a public page. A page that doesn’t need friends to exist.

3. The door they closed on me

One day, I knocked on a door. I was told: “Here, we help. Here, we reach out.”

I believed it. Not naively. With the hope of someone who has nothing left but to believe that the next door will be the right one.

I asked permission to enter. I took a deep breath. I laid everything on the table: Monday’s eviction, the illness eating away at me, the layoff that took everything, the absolute loneliness.

I said I could provide proof. I gave my blog. I showed my scars.

In return, they suggested prison.

“At least it’s a roof,” with a little spinning emoji.

A joke. A joke about my distress.

Behind the screen, I imagine complicit smiles. Maybe not. Maybe it was just clumsy.

But I felt my heart shrink a little more.

4. The shame of asking for help

I am ashamed. Truly ashamed.

Ashamed to have to reveal my life, my weaknesses, my loneliness. Ashamed to have to ask for help when every part of me screams to stay quiet and manage on my own.

This page I am writing is crushing me. Every word costs me. Every sentence makes me lose a little more of the self‑esteem I once had.

I feel exposed, humiliated by circumstances, forced almost to beg when I am only a person who simply had too much bad luck at once.

My dignity? It is on the ground. It has taken blow after blow.

Illness, layoff, isolation, hunger, and now the eviction that is coming.

5. Why I am writing here, on Medium

I am not writing to become famous. I am not writing to be applauded.

I am writing because staying silent is dying twice.

And because maybe, somewhere, someone will come across this text and think: “I see her. She exists.”

👉 My blog, where it all started

If what you just read touched you, if you want to understand the full story, day after day, without filter, without a mask:

➡️ https://this-is-my-last-cry-for-help.blogspot.com/

That is where I tell everything. The hunger, the fear, the sleepless nights, the humiliation, and also the small glimmers of hope when a stranger says to me “I see you.”

I am not asking for money there. I am just asking not to be left at Point Nemo.

6. What you can do, you who are reading this

• Read my blog. Truly. From beginning to end.
• Judge for yourself if I deserve a helping hand.
• Share if my story touches you. One click can save someone from invisibility.

I am not forcing you to do anything. I am just asking you not to look away.

Thank you for reading this far. Thank you for seeing me.

H.