Autofiction at its best for anyone who has ever felt out of place. Born with my umbilical cord wrapped three times around my neck, I consider it my first suicide attempt.
It is a long and arduous task to be declared an invalid, especially when it’s not a consequence of work or war, unless you consider family a war zone. Mental invalidity requires paperwork, patience and persistence, the willingness to line up for hours at offices no one has ever heard of and negotiate intimately with public employees. It is a sort of pastime in Naples, and forty-year-old Max, is making it his reason for existing – when he isn’t passed out drunk, popping pills, robbing people or trolling gay clubs. An ironic, profoundly moving story of self-destruction at the heart of mental illness.