I woke up with a banging headache that morning. My head hurt but my mind was calm. As I looked around the messy bedroom littered with old joints, underwear and cigarette papers I suddenly understood what had to happen. I had to die.
This might sound like the first chapter of a depressing new novel (it’ll probably win a Booker or something, the really depressing ones always win awards) but it actually describes the opening scenes to the morning my seventeen year old self decided to take her life.