This time 10 years ago I was fighting for my life in hospital after not eating for days and then downing a bottle of red wine (stolen from my mum’s wine rack), ODing on paracetamol and codeine, smoking God knows what and slitting my wrists.
The scary part? I was only 15.
Lay in bed, just trying to hold it together. Trying to convince myself not to dismantle the pencil sharpener that’s in my desk drawer. I don’t need to do that. I haven’t done that for almost 5 years. Why is it that right now, even after all this time, there’s nothing I want more?