She blinked. She had not taken a breath for a while. She laboriously drew in some air, forcing it down her lungs. Why did she line up so much? She exhaled quickly, deciding to wait a while before trying again. Her chest hurt less when she did not breathe… Her thoughts returned.

She needed to know the identity of the girl. But she already knew the answer to that question. That girl was a memory of herself long ago. That memory is testament to the suggestion that once, she had a life worth living. That there truly was a time when she could smile, and thoughts came clearly, instead of through a haze. All the visions alluded to this possibility: she was once happy.

How could she have allowed herself to lose such a precious thing as happiness? But she knew that one as well. That fine white powder on her dresser is that thief which stole everything important. Disdain for the deceitful drug rose up within her. Yet something seemed familiar about this hatred. It was almost as though it had been there for a very long time. She also knew with sudden intensity: she loathed herself and what she had become. With a swiftness that belied her current stupor, she realized she had always known what she had lost.

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