"Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones, and I will try to fix you.." - Coldplay

It's a Friday night, and here I am, just following my routine that has become regular in the last year. All of the lights are out with the exception of my beloved black light, and I am in my usual position on my bed, lying on my back and staring blankly up at the ceiling.

My headphones play the usual music, haunting songs that remind me of everything as I cradle my bottle of spiked Vitamin Water. Lame, I know, but there's no sense in risking getting caught and getting in trouble over it.

This routine is my special remedy, my temporary cure for the emptiness that constantly fills me. You see, I always seem to be craving an escape. That feeling of numbness in my brain that keeps the parasite at bay. This pain is something that I absolutely cannot cope with, and haven't been able to for the past three years. Three long, bittersweet years.

For the most part my remedy is pretty successful in the sense of controlling that nagging parasite. However, it always seems to make the stabbing feeling in my chest intensify. And that is the point where I get weak and break down all of my resolve.

I am, pathetically enough, guilty of being a "drunk dialer." In reality I barely have to be buzzed before I stupidly reach for the phone. It's almost like a reflex, a very unfortunate one at that. Honestly, I don't think any of my inebriated phone conversations have ended up benefitting me.

But the saddest part of my pathetic habit is that the reciever of my drunken telephone rants is always the same person. Without even thinking about it my finger immediately finds her speed dial button, no matter what time of night it is. And I always end up feeling terrible the next day, not only because I made a fool of myself with my incoherent rambling, but because in my inhebriated state time difference is a comepletely foreign concept for me. I know that each time I ask if I've woken her up, her assuring me that I didn't is simply out of kindness.

The worst part of all of that is that just when I swear to myself that I'm done, that I'm cutting off all contact for good, I go and dial her number anyway.

I don't need anybody to tell me that living like this isn't healthy, because really, I've known that since the very beginning. But somewhere along the line I stopped caring about myself. All that matters to me now is her and her happiness, even if that doesn't involve me.

Foolish? Most likely. Does she feel the same way as I do about the circumstances? I wouldn't bet on it. Should that matter to me? Probably, but it really doesn't.

The truth is that I live for any type of acknowledgement from her, always have. Even as it has diminished significantly over the years, just hearing her voice every month or so is enough to get me by.

Lately even that is a rare luxury. These days all I've heard from her is that ringback tone. That aching, slap in the face every single time I hear it. It wasn't enough to not answer my phone calls; she had to go and set it to a song that she knows will kill me each time I hear it. That song she used to play just for me over the phone late at night when the distance was too unbearable.

So as I lie here in my bed, hanging up for the third or fourth time after only getting her voicemail, I think about the countless memories. The song currently playing on my Ipod hits a certain soft spot and almost brings tears to my eyes, that is if there were any left.

I can't help but identify with the verses, the words that describe my exact thoughts.

"When you try your best but you don't succeed,

When you get what you want but not what you need,

When you feel so tired but you can't sleep,

Stuck in reverse.."

I don't know how much sleep I have lost over the years because of her. Whether it be phone conversations or the thoughts that just won't go away. I just always feel so tired.

"And the tears come streaming down your face,

When you lose something you can't replace,

When you love someone but it goes to waste,

Could it be worse?"

I'm pretty sure that Coldplay took those lines directly from my thoughts. Unoriginal, mind-reading bastards.

"And high up above or down below,

When you're too in love to let it go,

But if you never try you'll never know just what you're worth.."

I can't help but laugh out of bitterness at that last line. Even if it is somewhat true, I don't think letting go of the best, yet most painful thing in my life is going to make me feel worthwhile.

Even if it is somewhat true, I don't think letting go of the best, yet most painful thing in my life is going to make me feel worthwhile. At least that's what I'll keep telling myself. I need all of the excuses I can cling to to justify this sick, degenerative cycle that I continually subject myself to.

"Lights will guide you home,

And ignite your bones,

And I will try to fix you.."