
It’s been a-year-and-a-half now since I took my last pill back in 2016. I remember the day well. I woke up on the morning of a new pill packet and decided “screw it” – I’d had enough of them and it’d only been 10 months!
By this stage I had changed from my previous happy self into an emotionless zombie – I was simply floating through my days in a strange sense of detachment while periodically experiencing anxiety attacks. Plus, my hair was thinning and I was developing hyperpigmentation on my face.
I had never wanted to go on the pill in the first place, but condoms weren’t cutting it in the honeymoon phase with my new boyfriend. I had taken the morning-after pill twice in the space of about three months (oops!) and I just couldn’t see any other way around it.
