Then came New Year’s Eve. I knew I could not spend it alone, so I went to visit my college friend and his live-in girlfriend to stay busy. Around 10 p.m., depression set in, as it did every night. I missed Gary. I missed my mum and dad. I went home to spend the rest of the night with my dog Venya, who is 12 years old next month and my firstborn child. I drank and drank. And cried. And drank. I began staring at the set of knives in the kitchen. I began Googling ways to commit suicide using over-the-counter medication. And I kept drinking. I kept chain-smoking. I laid in bed hoping it would all end, thinking about which route I would take. And then, Venya curled up next to me. It was around 12:30 a.m. I cried and cried, and I decided I would never, ever leave her.