I went to my grandads grave and sat there taking tablet after tablet. I was crying, I told him I wanted to die right there with him. That I wanted my lifeless body to be there above his. As though it would connect us somehow. I took eight tablets, then I stopped.
I had a message from my Italian friend, asking me what the weather will be like when we go to Scotland together. It pulled me back to the present. It pulled me away from wanting to die. He makes me want to live. I can't wait to see him. I felt ashamed for getting as far as I did. I don't want to do this to him, or my brothers, or my niece.
But then I almost kept taking them. Any more would have meant going to hospital. Any more would have made everyone see how bad this all is. But what if they didn't let me go home? Then I'd feel even more trapped than I already do. And there'd be someone else who'd need the bed more, there always is. I don't deserve their help. I'm not even sure I deserve to get better.
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