You helped me hurt me

Prologue.

I'd hum in pleasure as I'd feel the liquid slide down my throat, this had become a habit. It was like an everyday routine I had considered quitting once before but every time I tried it ached. I'd take another eager gulp of wine, forcing myself to swallow. I'd need it. It numbed the pain.

After that I'd stomp up the stair, into the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror I'd took a long, hard stair at what I had become, at what I had done to myself. My blood shot eyes would barely open shadowed by bags, my once mocha skin turned pale and dry, my wine stained lips were chapped, this wasn't me. The reflection would make me sick, physically.

In all honesty I'd call it abuse, wouldn't you ?

I didn't mean for this to happen, I thought the alcohol would make me forget, thought it would erase the pain but all it did was increase the damage and now despite how much I seem to try, I just cant quit. Well I guess I could but it's more on the fact that I truly don't want to, probably sound crazy but I just can't bare the thought of having to remember. Mentally, I can't cope without it, and sadly if alcohols the only way to stop it from hurting then so be it. After all I tried everything.

I'd frown at the mirror, disgusted at the sight. Turning away I'd ran towards my room. I was so frustrated at what I dared to call my life. Slamming the door behind me I'd pounced on my bed and with a face full of tears I'd buried my head in my pillow. Then I'd just cry, alone Like I always did.

Everyday would be the same, like I'd continuously hit the reply button.