would you be me? because i would be you.

I wake up feeling nauseous. 
As soon as I am submerged into consciousness, reality hits and I am already dreading the day ahead.
I finally force myself to get out of bed and head for the shower — avoiding every mirror and reflective surface along the way.
I am disgusting.
Some days I am so appalled with my appearance that I begin to vomit into the toilet or nearest wastebasket.

Good morning.

As I leave the shower, I once again try my best to avoid every mirror, but to no avail. I catch a glimpse of my reflection, and although I ensure to make no eye contact, I stop. I stop and stare at the disfigured monster in the mirror and begin to cry.
Sometimes.
Other days I become so angry that I begin to shake.

Either way, I dash for my bag or secret hiding spot.
Pills.
Pills make me better.
They quickly come to the rescue.
I take a mixture of different barbiturates. I swallow until their magic is instant.
Shortly after my fifth or seventh pill, my anxiety begins to fade. My muscles weaken. My head becomes increasingly lightheaded.
I take more to ensure that their effects will last throughout the day.

I get dressed, sort my belongings and hopefully am able to restock my stash.
Before I head for the door, I bring myself to take one look at myself in the mirror.
My hair is a mess. My posture is horrid. My eyes are dazed. 
I smile.  

The pills further twist my reality and give me one more day.