The Day I Realised I Wanted to Live
Tuesday 13th June, 2017
Just over two years ago, in February 2015, I dropped out of my first A-Level school. I had moved there after my GCSE’s but, for various personal reasons, I ended up leaving prior to exams. My parents agreed to this with the understanding I would go back into education in the following September. I spent sixth months working with my Dad’s company, whilst trying to save myself from sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness.
Lo and behold August came around and I still had no plans for September. In a feat of desperation my father and I moved me up to live with his parents, my grandparents, in Ipswich, Suffolk, where I was to attend the local Ipswich School. I was hesitant about returning to education from the start, but I told myself that A-Levels were imperative and it was only two years.
Four months on and Christmas came around, already a very hard time of year for me, it was made harder by my constant inner battle about whether I would be able to continue in Ipswich to complete another 5 terms. Despite therapy, supportive friends and an extremely understanding school, I was slipping further and further away, spiralling into self-destruction. With the breakup of my inevitably doomed relationship pushing me closer to the edge, I knew that this was do or die for me. I either found the will and the strength to go on, or I couldn’t go on. With suicidal thoughts poisoning my mind and self-harm replacing homework as my evening avocation, I had to find the part of me that wanted to live and I had to, at any cost, hold onto it.
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