2. The Rabbit Hole Smells Like a Hospital

The people who host the shadows for your darkest hours, will haunt the halls of your mind until you run screaming into the wild, seeking freedom in the madness of isolation.

In the beginning it was innocent.
Him and I were both just broken children trying to escape the memories of our societies failures.
Me, in the midst of a family falling apart to the sound of financial instability, and the generational beat playing on a cycle of abuse and alcoholism.
Him, still healing from the tragedy of being such a sick child.
Too many critical developmental years spent trying to find happiness in the halls of hospitals. A childhood haunted with the scent of industrial strength disinfectant.

Perhaps that is our greatest weekness, the human desire not to be alone. So I fell down the rabbit hole, following in my mothers footsteps, trying to find someone to love me because I could not love myself. 

1. Pretty Sad

The things I remember most aren't ugly. The things I remember most are sad. They are rain and tear drops on flowers and piano playlists alone in my bedroom on a late summer night.
I remember all the crying. My sixteen year old self screaming silently into a pillow, agony, curled up in a ball at the foot of my mattress. The cold wood floor more welcoming than my parents arms.
The truth about being sixteen is that nothing seems right. The truth about me at sixteen is that one week I wanted to die and the next I wanted to run away to the desert and bury my feet in the sand, hand in hand with some imaginary exotic bad boy who would light fireworks in my heart as we drove off into the sunset.