How did I get here? I lie on the floor, the ugly and scratchy grey/black carpet pressing uncomfortably against my bare back. I mentally curse its ugliness and its occasional flecks of red and blue colored fibers. Why did my mother have to pick out such a hideous carpet? I can’t grab its soft tendrils with my meaty hands in fits of rage, so instead I pull out my hair. I forget why I’m so mad. I forget where I am.

How did I get here? I slowly position myself upright, a few vertebrae making a faint and pleasurable popping sound on the way. And there it is, staring at me. And all of the horrid memories come rushing back like a dam had burst. It looks at me with terrible eyes from behind the door. I wonder why my mom had painted it like that: red with a black crackle. Ugly as sin.

The monster stares at me and I cry. I don’t realize until the morning that it is just a lamp, so for now I cry hot tears and I fear for my life. I move slowly to my horizontal position and forget where I am.

…How did I get here?