I tried to break into my mum's house in the middle of the afternoon. I'd convinced myself it wasn't really burglary if it was daytime, if she wasn't home, if it was my mum. I told myself I was just getting what I was owed money she wouldn't give me, things I thought I deserved. But when I jimmied the back window, a neighbour spotted me. I panicked and crawled into the tiny space under the house, heart thumping like I'd buried myself alive. I lay there listening to the police stomping around above me, calling my name. When they finally pulled me out, I was genuinely shocked. I actually said, You can't arrest me it's not even night. They looked at me with a mixture of pity and disgust. And that's when it hit me: I'd broken into my own mother's home and my own delusions.