Sitting alone in an empty room. You’re such a pitiful sight - black, untidy hair strewn all over in distress. Lonely tears mark your cheek, leaving a sad trail of mascara in their wake. Your eyes stare morosely at the bottle in your hands – the cure to your suffering.

There’s no one left to turn to, the pain is too much to bear. A soft pop and off comes the lid. The contents of the bottle spill out on to the table, spelling out words in you imagination. Bitch. Loser. Freak. Fresh tears spring to your eyes, staining your pale skin once more – black oil in a sea of white. And still they mock you; their words - harsher and harsher, your sobs - harder and harder, the pain - greater and greater. You can’t take it.

No time to think. Fingers close around the pills. Hands tremble. A few ragged breaths. Swallow quickly. A split second to hope that wherever you go is better than this.

Your head hits the table. The cage is broken.

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