After all this time alone I’ve finally perfected my routine. I could get amnesia, not even remember my name, and still know this routine. It’s my life. It goes drink until I couldn’t remember my own birthday to save my life, check. After I finish drinking myself into oblivion I crawl up to stairs to my room, and cry until I throw up and fall asleep. Not breaking the pattern, I stumbled up the stair, clawing each and every step trying to climb to the top of the summit. Once in my room I fell face first into the pillows crying while waves of nausea passed trough my body. Feeling a familiar sensation I ran to the bathroom and heaved into the toilet until the only thing left coming was tears.

I must have fell asleep against the toilet, because I woke up curled in a ball on the cold tile floor with an incredibly stiff neck. I didn’t even have to look to know what I’d see in the mirror. My reflection would show blood shot eyes staring back at me, a pale face as if the person in the mirror wasn’t really even alive at all, and a body that gets thinner with each passing day. I’d see my own worst enemy, me. But really that’s the funny thing about it. I knew what was happening to me, but I didn’t care. There was nothing to care about. I just excepted the fact as if it was as inevitable as death itself. My deep blue eyes are now as lifeless as my soul. I’m just another pathetic sob story. Feeling sorry for myself again, I picked up an all too familiar object. Placing the blade against newly scabbed over skin, I pushed down leaving a fresh new wound that even time couldn’t heal, because no matter what it would scar just like all the rest. It’s not dejavu it’s just life. It’s my life.

Glimpses of her face kept passing through my mind. She’s always on my mind.

I pushed harder.

She was saying something, god but I just couldn’t make it out.

Deeper. I tried to decrypt her world.

Blood was now flowing freely from under the blade.