Around 48 hours after I had seen Henry with his new girlfriend, I found myself back on my bench, sipping wine from the bottle I had obviously opened a while ago, seeing as roughly half of the content was already missing. I held my pill-bag in my hands. The pills made a clacking noise every time I moved. The noise made me realise that this was real. I was sitting here, and I was going to do it. Finally. Relief. No more white noise. No more heaviness. No more darkness. No more disappointing the people I loved.

Slowly, but deliberately, I opened the bag. I knew that I had stolen enough pills, plenty to get the job done, in fact. Once I had swallowed them, there was no going back. No one knew where I was. No one knew what I was about to do. Chances were no one cared, either. Not even Henry. Not anymore, anyway.

But I was done with the pity party. This was a celebration, a celebration of finally being freed from the shackles of my upbringing, the handcuffs of my failures and the gravity of my shortcomings. Where I was going, none of that would matter. I would truly be free.

I popped the first pill, swallowed, then the second one, then the third. Quick sip of wine in between. Then a handful of pills in one go, and another.

A feeling of wooziness.

Then nothing.