I had started drinking and drugging. Anything that I thought would help me feel again. I even fell in love. At least, I thought it was love. I was too young to know, and too old to move on when I found out what it wasn't and what it was. I was sixteen.
So I started drinking and drugging to help me forget. To make me deaf to the voices in my head. So that I would stop waking up with hangovers, in a different body, in a different bed.
It should have been a chance to start anew. But I didn't know where to begin. And when the changes became too unfamiliar, I turned to my old habits again.
When I was sober, I felt so out of touch with myself. I felt so out of place in my own skin, that I tried to find a home within somebody else.
I never went to bed alone. And there's only so many times you can run and hide from your friends before you're left alone. I should know.
Then one night there was a tap on my window.