Yesterday.

Misery. This is what it was. I now knew the complete meaning of it. Drugs, nor alcohol could fix the now empty hole inside of me. I was blank, I was sober, and I was broken. I could hardly breathe anymore. I didn’t think about living. I didn’t think about anything. At all.

How could Paul do this to me? I thought he was my friend. When we were still teenagers, we told each other that we would never let each other down. We were best friends. But now he just had to stab me in the back, rip my head off, throw my rotting corpse into the middle of a street and watch as a bulldozer with shards of glass sticking out of it goes over me.

I wanted to hit him, to kill him. I had a problem… a big problem. I’ll admit. I hate myself. I hate myself more then anyone can understand.

I stared blankly at my ceiling for hours. My phone rang a lot, my doorbell rang a lot, and I heard Ringo and George screaming at me from downstairs. I never got up to let them in. I kept all of my lights off, and just didn’t move. I don’t think I moved in days. I cried to much, I felt like I was dead, or should be, at that.

I lost the one thing in my life that meant something to me.

Before I was born, my dad left my mom. My mom had boyfriends, and was never around. I lived with my Aunt Mimi. My dad came back when I was 5 years old and basically kidnapped me. I’d never been so terrified. My mom came back for me, and that was the last time I ever saw my dad. After that, I forgot about my mum because Mimi never mentioned her. When I was older, though, my mum came back into my life. She meant so much to me… she loved me. She loved my music, and my friends, but she loved me. That meant the world. But, I did something wrong, obviously, and she got hit by a car, and died. I never cried in front of anyone.

But right now I felt like I could cry in front of everyone, and not care. I was in misery, who would care? No one.

I wished that my heart would stop beating. All together. So I could just… die. I’d be better off. I’d be happier. Why couldn’t I just die?

I rolled off of my bed, feeling a lot of joints crack. I moaned lightly, crawling, quite literally, over to my booze cabinet. I opened it, and grabbed a bottle of scotch, lifting it to my mouth. Before I could take a swig, I dropped it. Alcohol was the reason I lost her, so I’d never, ever touch it again.

I lie there on the floor, gazing at the ceiling, my mind like a blank piece of paper. A wet piece of paper, so no one could ever write on it. Please! Lightning strike my house! Meteor! Aliens! Bigfoot! Anything!

I sighed deeply, and stood up, walking into my bathroom, and leaned over the sink. At first I thought I might throw up, but then I realized I just wanted to look at myself. I had no shirt on, and only boxer briefs. I glared. Ugly. Ugly, stupid, and worthless. My hair was everywhere, my eyes were weary, and had big, purple bangs underneath each one. My lip was swollen, and my cheekbone was bruised. I looked as miserable as I felt. Great.

Suddenly, something shiny caught my eye. A silver flash. I looked over at my shaving razor. I hadn’t used it in a couple of days, and my face was shaded with a brown shadow. At first I thought about shaving, then I thought of a greater purpose.