December 9, 2017:

At the worst moment of the worst year of my life I grabbed my only blanket and took off to sleep in the park.

There were reasons. To live as damaged as I felt. To be with the people I considered my own. To escape the landlords, my erstwhile friend's racist and ever-present in-laws. I slept under bushes, shivering and high, for three or four nights, not sure how many. Until the food supply and the drug supply ran out simultaneously.

I should have sought therapy but I didn't understand what was happening. Only that my world had collapsed, and that this wasn't my life. I'm still not sure it is.