A little while ago my Daddy told me I was to sleep with my collar on, leashed to the headboard of my bed.

As I lay there with the cold chain in my hand, feeling at peace in his ownership of me, a morbid thought passed through my mind.

What would happen if that chain somehow got tangled up around my neck during the night, and I choked and died, and my children found me there in the morning?

I tested this little theory out. Moved around a lot, tried to see how easy it would be for the chain to become looped around my neck. I can confidently say it would be impossible for me to have managed to inadvertently kill myself in the night.

Anyway. This is beside the point.

The point is, when I lay back down to rest, I imagined that scenario again, only this time happening at a time when my children were staying with their father. A time when I would be home alone.

And honestly? I wasn’t bothered. The thought of dying alone in my bed with nobody there to find me didn’t faze me in the slightest.

I don’t want to kill myself, I couldn’t and I won’t. But I’m just not all that bothered about being alive, either.

That’s not right, is it?