By the time I was 19, my life had spiralled out of control – I was homeless and destitute, my infant son was living with my abusive mother and I was addicted to heroin. I’d had a pretty dodgy childhood; my father died when I was very young and I was left with my mother. At 16, already very traumatised by what I’d experienced at home, I ran away and ended up living in Sydney. It was 1996.
I was pretty much living with whoever I could take drugs with at the time, until that situation became unstable, and then I would go somewhere else. I wound up with this guy I met using. Together we came up with this grand plan to end our lives because we were both in hopeless situations. That didn’t work, obviously. He ended up in intensive care in a very bad way and I ended up in the psych ward, with nowhere else to go.
