I died at 27.
Not in the physical way but the metaphorical – rip your spirit out of your body and flip your mind around way.
Like all greats, just like I dreamed as a little girl.
At 27, I gave up apart of myself that was my reason for being. A drink a day to take the pain away.
I thought my death would be drug fuelled, my pain would manifest in my body, my trauma would be hell bound.
I didn’t die that way.
My body shook towards the end, my mind unclear, my spirit in another realm.
I stopped drinking at the age of 27.
Apart of me died that day and not in the way that imagined.
Ambrace 