Once my father was gone, I expected that someone would come for me. I expected them to lock me up somewhere I wouldn't be able to impede the busy-bodies, the regular people. I expected to be institutionalised. I mistook the shrieking gulls for sirens and locked myself inside the bathroom to hide from flashing lights. But nobody came.
I summoned every last dot of valour I could scratch from my soul, I swallowed a shot glass of rescue remedy and went to the social welfare office. I filled out forms and ticked boxes. I found that continued survival came down to a simple matter of form-filling, a basic proficiency in the ticking of boxes and because I managed never to miss a box or make an illiterate mark on the bottom most line instead of signing my name, nobody came.
And here I am still, and here you are.