Since he was a child, cataplexy made him collapse whenever he laughed. Kids avoided him. Even his mother once said, “You’re embarrassing.”

In university, he found a way to survive — turn it into a joke.

He’d crack a line, laugh, collapse. Hit the floor. Bleed. People laughed harder, filmed it, shared it. “Bro’s the best,” they said.

So he kept performing. Even when it hurt. Even when his ribs bruised and his head spun.

One night, after a crowd roared at his joke, he collapsed near the dorm staircase. His body twisted. Head bleeding. No one stopped. No one noticed.

He woke hours later, alone on cold tiles, blood dried on his face. His phone was empty.

No texts. No calls. Nothing.

He chuckled through tears.

Because the truth cut deeper than the fall:

They only cared when he fell — Never when he didn’t get back up.