We enter the hospital and the memories hit me immediately.

The last time I came here was last year when I had four tonic-clonic seizures in one day.

When I turned eighteen, they discharged me from outpatients and I was supposed to get a new doctor, an adult one—but I never did. My mum tried to fight to find one, I didn’t try though. I was too tired too. What was the point? It’s not like they ever did anything. I’ve gotten my diagnosis, there is no cure or treatment. I’m done with the doctors.

We go down the stairs, our footsteps echoing throughout the building. My fingers touch the railing, the familiar blue metal leaving a slightly cold sting against my skin.

This place was like a second home to me as a child. I know these halls like the back of my hand. Every turn, every ward, every section I recognise.

If I get this job, everything will come back to me.

For better or for worse.

(Extract from my WIP)