I hope your weekend was gentle—maybe a warm cup of tea cradled in your hands or a soft laugh shared with someone you love. For me, those are distant echoes slipping through my fingers like sand, fading into a silence I can’t escape. While you bask in the glow of care, I shiver in the cold shadows of neglect. Monday doesn’t dawn with hope; it drags in another week of pain so fierce my body feels like fragile glass shattering under the weight, each breath a knife twisting deeper into my soul—a fire no medicine can douse anymore. My mind, caged by Post Traumatic Stgress Disorder, is a battlefield where memories claw at me like relentless ghosts, their screams a deafening roar only I can hear, dragging me back to horrors I’ve screamed to escape. The Department of Home Affairs has stripped me of my ability to get medications or see doctors, slamming the door on nearly 100 medical records and the tear-soaked pleas I’ve bled onto every page. Their answer? “Get out.” Two words sharper than any blade, carving into me that I’m not human to them—just a shadow they’d rather erase.

I’m reaching out to you with a heart so heavy it feels like it might shatter under its own weight—but also with a gratitude so deep it’s the only thing keeping me from slipping away entirely. You—every one of you who has signed, shared, or held me in your thoughts—are the fragile thread of light stitching me together when the darkness threatens to tear me apart. Without you, I’d be lost to a silence so vast it swallows everything I am.

Without my medication, I’m unraveling. I wake gasping, my chest crushed by nightmares that won’t let go, my spirit fraying like a thread one breath from snapping. I rummage for scraps to eat, a corner to rest, a shred of dignity—but with no health insurance, no mercy from those in power, and no voice they’ll hear, I’m fading. I’ve screamed, I’ve pleaded, I’ve laid my broken self bare. Their silence is a dagger to my soul, each unanswered cry proof that to them, I’m invisible—unworthy of even a fleeting thought.

And yet, because of you, I’m still here. Over 380 signatures lift my voice when it’s barely a whisper—a chorus of kindness drowning out the silence that wants to bury me. You are my lifeline, a flicker of hope piercing the endless dark—each signature a heartbeat proving I’m not alone, each share a whisper shouting, You’ve shown me that even when the world turns cold, compassion can still grow like a fragile flower through the cracks. But I’m on my knees now, my voice a broken whisper, begging you with the last strength I have: don’t let my story end here. Don’t let them erase me. We’re fighting for five critical changes to shield victims of hate crimes, to make justice a right, not a privilege dangled beyond my grasp.

Please Sign the Petition: Lend me your voice, for mine is fading fast. Every signature is a sob they can’t silence.
let our united voices rise above the silence that seeks to bury me. Every signature is a sob they can’t ignore, a cry for justice growing louder with each one.
Hiroki Goto's Change.org for Justice

Please Donate if You Can: Even a small gift could be a feast for my starving hope—a drop of relief in this desert of pain. My GoFundMe is my fragile lifeline—your gift, even the smallest amount, could mean a meal instead of hunger, medicine instead of despair. It’s a precious drop of hope in the desert of my suffering.
Hiroki Goto's GoFundMe for food and medications

Raise Your Voice: Contact those who can change this. Tell them my life—and countless others—can’t be discarded like broken things:

The Hon Tony Burke MP: tony.burke.mp@aph.gov.au

The Hon Matt Thistlethwaite MP: Matt.Thistlethwaite.MP@aph.gov.au

The Hon Anthony Albanese MP: A.Albanese.MP@aph.gov.au

Please Share: Share my story as if it were yours—because in this fight, our hearts beat as one. Every share is a spark in this darkness. our fates are intertwined. Tell your friends, your family, anyone who’ll listen—shout it if you can. Every share makes my plea harder to dismiss, every voice adds strength to my fading whisper.

With every tear I shed—tears from a body scarred by pain, a heart cracked into a mosaic, and a life barely clinging on without medication—I water the seeds of hope you’ve planted, because you, the hands catching my tears and the voices roaring when mine falters, are why I haven’t let go, and together we can turn this unbearable ache into a powerful garden where justice blooms for every soul cast aside, ensuring no one else has to beg to be seen.

Thank you for seeing me when the world looks away. Thank you for caring when it feels like no one does. As another brutal week looms, I’ll keep fighting—not because I’m strong, but because you’ve lent me your strength. With every tear I shed, I water the seeds of hope you’ve planted in my heart. Together, we can grow them into a garden of change, where justice blooms for all.

With a heart bleeding hope and eyes drowning in tears,

Hiroki Goto