I have had more than my fair share of low moments in life, but the last 11 days of June 2025 shattered my previous benchmark for low moments, raising the bar to new heights.
A year ago today, I was smack in the middle of a five-day bender. That bender, my third – and last – of 2025, had my sister rushing me to four hospitals in 48 hours.
The first hospital turned us away as they were not equipped to handle mental health cases. I have no memory of being there.
My memory of the second hospital is fragmented, and care was limited. My sister took me back home, left with my house and car keys, and made it clear I was going back to Chiromo Lane Medical Center the next day. But in the morning I lied that I was better, so she let it go.
Twenty-four hours after I lied to her, my sister received a call from HR as she was listed as my emergency contact at work. That prompted a visit to the third hospital, where we met with my GP. She insisted on an MRI, which was done at the fourth hospital.
Here I am, one year later, and by every meaningful measure I could not be further removed from the girl I was on this day last year. A girl who allowed herself to unravel, one poor decision after another, until she no longer recognised the woman in the mirror.
Ten days ago, Olivia Rodrigo released her third studio album, you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love. A key theme of the record is unravelling, so much so that Olivia will embark on The Unraveled Tour in support of the album. Her interpretation of unravelling centres on the realisation that romantic love cannot magically fix personal insecurities or mental health struggles. A lesson that tends to arrive quickly, and often painfully, in your 20s.
But I am 38, and at 36 I experienced a different kind of unravelling than the one Olivia had at 22. It started with a thread that came loose in February 2024, and that thread continued to unravel until, by June 2025, there was nothing left to stitch up anymore.
One thing that stands out so clearly in my unravelling is how trapped I felt in my unhappy life. 36 was heaven and hell combined, but 37 was a custom order from hell with my name on it. I felt so fucking trapped that I would have rather set fire to my life and burned everything down, myself included, than walk away. Four hospitals in 48 hours. That was setting fire to everything, myself included, rather than living unhappily ever after.
The last 11 days of June 2025 were a personal worst, and I spent the second half of the year picking up the pieces of the mess I made. It has been one hell of a journey moving from unravelling to becoming, and while I have several people to thank for where I am right now, today I want to spotlight my sister. Four hospitals in 48 hours was a tumultuous time for her, and it deepened our relationship in a way only something like that can.
My sister and I have always had a rather superficial relationship because it is common for children from dysfunctional homes not to have a close bond. Our dynamic shifted somewhat after our mum died, but we have always been more comfortable talking about pop culture than our feelings.
Having to pull me from the depths of hell when I was too broken to do it for myself finally broke open our relationship. We still talk a lot about pop culture, but I am more comfortable being vulnerable with her about my struggles, and she always responds with such tenderness, calm and love.
My sister’s dominant temperament is a Phlegmatic and, as I recently learned, Phlegs will show you all the ways they love you before they say it out loud. The past year has shown me just how much my baby sis loves me, and now my favourite eyes to see myself through are hers.
Lwile the Leo 