I would be lying if I said my original decision to drop out of work was altruistic. It was for three reasons: my anxiety and depression went into overdrive, and I decided I was safer and happier in my flat doing drugs.

Unsurprisingly, I had to leave the flat due to none payment of rent (my parents bailed my out there), but I clung to those childish little hopes we all have: maybe tomorrow the antidepressants will work, maybe tomorrow I can find the money to buy my stuff and stave off withdrawal, maybe tomorrow I’ll win the goddamn lottery (or mum or my sister will).

Of course, none of these things happened because they are the childish daydreams of an adolescent stuck in an adult’s body. I’ve never found a way to change that mind set. Maybe it is just how I am, but it makes me chronically unsuitable for the modern world.

Reading Liz Truss’s comments about how the workers here should be more like the Chinese workforce (you know, the country that has to put nets around their buildings because of all the suicides from their cruelly overworked workforce), I realised something as dark and sad as I have ever known since the nightmare of secondary school: this world doesn’t give a shit. About any of us. We are here to feed capitalism, and then die.

“Well, what took you so long to realise that?” It’s a good question, and the answer is Elphis. The Goddess of hope. The thing I have clung to for so long, that brief feeling during Jeremy Corbyn’s tenure that maybe things really were changing.

But the Capitalist machine saw off the threat. And now it’s gearing up to grind our bones to make their bread. Before they fuck off into space and leave us all to starve to death. Interstellar was way ahead of its time there.

Well, I’m no cog in a machine. If it comes to it, I’ll make damn sure I’m dead before that happens. I’ll do my drugs because they make life bearable. They will kill me. I’m okay with that. It is, in the end, my choice to do this, and not some asshole bathing in millions I can only dream of.