M
This is an excerpt from a story I found in one of my dog-eared writing notebooks. This one was written about 10 years ago. My recent (and better(I think)) stuff is hiding on a flash drive that I can't find 
A patch of sunlight slowly crept across the floor as I watched listlessly from the safety of my bed. I noted how it made the synthetic threads of the carpet shimmer vaguely, like sand in moonlight. I was cataloging inane details about this room, trying to block out the tsunami of unpleasant- no, painful- thoughts threatening to overwhelm me.
This isn't even my bed, I thought. Not even my room. Not my house. Not home.
The dam burst, and as the first wave struck, I rolled to my side and clutched a pillow to my stomach and dug my finger nails into it.
What am I doing here? How did I let things get so bad? Why am I in the guest room of my mother's house, crying all over her stupid flowery pillow cases?
I knew the answers; of course I did. I knew that I'd made one bad decision after another, trusting people I knew were untrustworthy, basking in the glow of attention, blocking out the voice in my head that was screaming "Wrong way! Turn around! DANGER!".
I'd never thought I was a stupid person. I had, in fact, prided myself on being so much more intelligent, sensible, than my friends. Being smarter, wittier.
Prettier.
Now, I realized, I had done nothing more than collected my reward for my pride and vanity, and yes, my stupidity. My selfishness. My greed for attention, for acceptance.
The price had been too high, but I hadn't understood what I was purchasing, so I paid it.
Over and over again.
I wanted to tell myself that it was alright, it hadn't happened, I was still the same girl I'd been before. Back when I thought I knew myself, back when I thought God would protect me, back when I thought my mother could hug away all the pain.
Back when I was in control, could wrap a man around my little finger and then walk away unscathed.
But countless numbers of tears couldn't wash away the vivid memories. No amount of denial was going to bury reality.
The patch of sunlight had reached me, was moving across my arm, leaving a warm tingle where it touched my skin. It was too wholesome, too clean; I recoiled, pulled the pillow over my face, and screamed.
A patch of sunlight slowly crept across the floor as I watched listlessly from the safety of my bed. I noted how it made the synthetic threads of the carpet shimmer vaguely, like sand in moonlight. I was cataloging inane details about this room, trying to block out the tsunami of unpleasant- no, painful- thoughts threatening to overwhelm me.
This isn't even my bed, I thought. Not even my room. Not my house. Not home.
The dam burst, and as the first wave struck, I rolled to my side and clutched a pillow to my stomach and dug my finger nails into it.
What am I doing here? How did I let things get so bad? Why am I in the guest room of my mother's house, crying all over her stupid flowery pillow cases?
I knew the answers; of course I did. I knew that I'd made one bad decision after another, trusting people I knew were untrustworthy, basking in the glow of attention, blocking out the voice in my head that was screaming "Wrong way! Turn around! DANGER!".
I'd never thought I was a stupid person. I had, in fact, prided myself on being so much more intelligent, sensible, than my friends. Being smarter, wittier.
Prettier.
Now, I realized, I had done nothing more than collected my reward for my pride and vanity, and yes, my stupidity. My selfishness. My greed for attention, for acceptance.
The price had been too high, but I hadn't understood what I was purchasing, so I paid it.
Over and over again.
I wanted to tell myself that it was alright, it hadn't happened, I was still the same girl I'd been before. Back when I thought I knew myself, back when I thought God would protect me, back when I thought my mother could hug away all the pain.
Back when I was in control, could wrap a man around my little finger and then walk away unscathed.
But countless numbers of tears couldn't wash away the vivid memories. No amount of denial was going to bury reality.
The patch of sunlight had reached me, was moving across my arm, leaving a warm tingle where it touched my skin. It was too wholesome, too clean; I recoiled, pulled the pillow over my face, and screamed.