Here’s some more from my painful past.

During my last year there in New Brunswick I recognised my suicidal behaviour. I was frightened how I could happily choke myself until my vision went black, and by how I could just reopen wounds deliberately without flinching and paint things in my own blood. I went to my school’s counselor, Anne Gorman. I told her my anxiety, my family’s problems, and, more importantly, how suicidal I was. My parents were informed via my aunt and uncle. We didn’t have a working phone line because we couldn’t afford it.

My parents gave me special treatment for maybe 3 weeks then went back to ignoring me again.

I’ve never forgiven them.