If you asked me how many men have tried to kill me, I’d probably laugh before I answered. Then I’d start counting.

I was breaking every rule I’d ever been told to follow. It was intoxicating and terrifying. That trip wasn’t just about cigarettes or punishment. It was the first time I glimpsed who I might become, even if I was still terrified of it.

In 1989, I was six years old, wearing cut-off dungarees and listening to New Kids on the Block on my shared Walkman, convinced that Jordan Knight might just fall in love with me. This is a story of 80s bubblegum dreams, Polly Pockets, Rollos as romantic currency, and the heart-shattering betrayal that only a sticky-handed schoolboys can deliver.

I loved addicts like they were prayers. This is a story of devotion, damage, and the ache of being shaped by people who could never stay.

This is where the story begins — with loss, with love, and with the words that arrive when there’s no choice but to write them.