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I’m a lunatic.

Mr Boss Man turned up with a runner in tow about 2 days ago and I lost it. I mean LOST IT.

I smashed most of my living room up- you name it; I smashed it. Glass coffee table and all. Then I moved onto the kitchen where I started waving a knife around in the air, screeching like a banchee, I can’t remember what I was yelling about. I can remember bursting into tears and slashing one of my wrists- at which point Mr Boss Man dived on top of me and wrenched the knife out of my hand. I ended up grabbing another one and going for my neck, but didn’t succeed because him and his runner managed to restrain me. Mr Boss Man had got behind me and had my arms pinned to my front, while his runner pinned my legs to the floor.

I spent AGES trying to kick and punch and wriggle my way out of their grasp. I was going NUTS. Fuck knows what would have happened if they’d have let go. Well, I know the answer to that one. I was done, I didn’t give a shit, I just wanted to die.

In the end I wore myself out and must have fallen asleep, because I woke up on my sofa with my best mate sat next to me surrounded by shattered glass and blood stains all over my clothes from my wrist.

Mr Boss Man and his runner had left. The next day I got a text from Mr Boss Man;

I look at you like a sister, I’m sorry I hurt you

Words are so very powerful. I was that low, even though I knew it was absolute, utter bullshit- I ALMOST let myself believe it. I was chasing that feeling, the one that fills the big black hole of emptiness inside you. That warm, contented feeling knowing you’re loved and wanted.

Then I realised there was another way of getting that feeling, and smoked some crack instead.

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