This book is not a clinical record and not an argument about what “really” happened. It is a testimony of perception from inside a system that claimed to be care, and felt like captivity. After the trauma of sexual violation, I entered environments that promised safety and repair. What I encountered instead echoed the logic of a camp: surveillance disguised as protection, compliance demanded as proof of sanity, and the slow erasure of one’s own account in favor of an official one.

What followed was not only confinement but misinterpretation — diagnoses assigned as if they were labels on crates, not lives. The dossier that accumulated in my name became a parallel biography, authored without me, then used against me as if it were the only truth: a manufactured archive that rewrote my past, narrowed my present, and pre-decided my future. I found myself living under the weight of paperwork more durable than my voice.