Today was a lucky day. Tomorrow I am due in court, and the chances of me not going to jail are slim. I thought I should make it a day to remember, but unfortunately, I would remember it for all the wrong reasons. Then I came around—or to put it correctly, my uncle Pete pulled me back to life. I wasn’t breathing; they had to breathe for me. The shame and the fear of what I had done hit me like a wave, but it was too late to undo it. I had let everyone down again.

Addiction is an ugly, ugly beast, and it is very hard to deal with. I do tend to give people many chances because I know how hard it is to fight. But watching someone you love go through it is like living in a constant state of grief. You mourn the person they used to be while clinging to the hope that they’ll come back. It’s a cruel, unrelenting cycle, and it takes everything you have just to keep going.

Scott was turning into a lovely young man. He had a kind nature, and we had a strong bond. We could talk about anything to each other and could even read each other’s minds. But as the addiction took hold, that bond began to fray. The boy I knew was slipping away, and in his place was someone I didn’t recognise—someone who lied, who stole, who hurt the people who loved him most. I wanted to save him, but I didn’t know how. Every day felt like a battle, and I was losing him piece by piece.