Sometimes memories are the worst form of torture. I know mine are, because it’s the only explanation I have for the feeling that is clawing at the pit of my stomach. The saying you never know how much you miss something until it is gone has never felt more real. I ache for the feel of my own bed, my own bathroom with the clutter all over the counter. I ache for my friends, even for the normality of my school life. Each thought makes my head spin, the same kind of feeling I get after half a bottle of vodka but this time the head spinning is there just without the buzz.
You need to pull yourself together.
After collecting my schedule – finally – I had made it to my first class, English, which was situated in the main building I arrived in on the second floor. I haven’t got a clue how I m
