The weekend: Sitting in the dark, blackout blinds a blessing. Pillow sodden with snot and drool and tears. Tissues in piles. Rocking backwards and forwards, crying so hard that my muscles ache, my head pounds, a sick feeling in my stomach. I’ve eaten a bag of supermarket own brand Doritos today and half a tub of ice-cream. I had the foresight to get my wine from the fridge and the bottle stands empty but the alcohol hasn’t touched the sides and has provided no fuzziness, no relief. 10 hours I cried on Saturday. 10 hours straight. Then intermittently throughout the night. I woke up at 12.30 on Sunday and started crying. It’s 00.30 now and I’m still crying. I’m torn between desperately wanting someone to contact me and hoping they don’t because I know I’ll tell them I’m having a bad time and I’m perilously close to losing everyone now. This could be the last straw, the line in the sand crossed. But I wish I could unburden this on someone, share just the tip of it. I rock and cry and over and over again under my breath I breathe: I wish I was dead, I wish I was dead, I wish I was dead.