And spiral I did. It wasn’t just a stumble; it was a full-on nosedive into a chasm of despair. My thoughts turned darker and more irrational with each passing day. Somehow, in my mind, I managed to twist my personal failures into a catastrophic narrative: I hadn’t just let myself down, I hadn’t just let my loved ones down—I had let all of humanity down. Every mistake I’d made, every missed opportunity, every ounce of potential I’d squandered became magnified into a global tragedy, a weight I carried entirely on my own shoulders.

Without Russell as a catalyst, I found myself back at square one again—adrift, untethered, and uncertain of where to channel the energy that had consumed me for years. The obsession that had once fuelled me, given me purpose and a sense of destiny, was gone. And in its absence, the reality of what I had lost began to sink in.

The news that Derek had stolen my idea was a blow I could never have anticipated. It hit me harder than anything I’d ever faced, and yet, I couldn’t even let myself grieve it properly at the time. Instead, I buried the pain as deep as I could, hiding behind the walls I’d built around myself. I tried to push it away, convince myself that it was just another setback in a life full of them. But deep down, the wound festered.