I was being let out. I was actually being let out. They thought I was finally cured, I could barely contain myself. Six years had gone by since that awful night in November when I collapsed from exhaustion and starvation in the middle of the high street. I could still remember the commotion I'd caused, the confusion of noise and people as I was rushed to hospital in critical condition. But that's all behind me now and, although I still suffered from occasional panic attacks, the hospital obviously thought me stable enough to finally have a life. I'd written my bucket list while in hospital, it read:
1. Get a girlfriend and have a stable relationship
2. Get married
3. Travel to another country
4. Start a family- children
5. Get a job
6. Sing in front of an audience
7. Record a demo
8. Become a famous singer
9. Go on X-Factor
10. Do something extreme
I'd tagged the last one on to inspire confidence, which was hard considering I had none.
"Charlie Todd?" the receptionist called, signalling that my taxi had come to pick me up.
My whole body suddenly froze, I couldn't do this, what the hell was I thinking. How could I leave, how could I trust myself to cope on my own. Holy crap, the taxi driver was beeping his horn at me now, I couldn't do it, I needed to run back up to my room, to lock myself in, to never leave again.
I began to feel beads of sweat prickling my skin. My hands were fists, gripping the chair I sat on. They couldn't make me leave, they couldn't physically force me off this chair and out the door into that huge, terrifying world of danger...
But I could. Releasing my hands, which had become iron claws, I stood and took a deep breath. And then walked out of the door, into my new life.
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