The well trodden paths of the mind.

She hands me an old A5 notebook. Other than the yellowing of its pages, it’s surprisingly un-weathered by time.   She is smirking at me as if there is something hidden somewhere inside it. I page through it, taking a while to recognise myself in the handwriting. A page is dated Wednesday, 15th May 1997; notes…

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Relationships are Therapy: Part2 #Accountability

My father gassed himself in his car one night. I only found out the following morning but I knew exactly how he did it. I knew because the first time he tried it I must have been only 10 years old. He had left the house in a tantrum that night and, by chance, I…

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