I woke up on a Sunday afternoon with the taste vomit on my teeth.

The scent of ashes were stuck to my hair and fingertips.

Sunlight filtered in from the windows, obnixiously illuminating my clothes strewn around the room.

Fragmented and unwanted memories were flooding back to me as I sat down in the shower. The hot water paired with my eratic scrubbing was making my skin splotchy and red.

I brushed my teeth vicously, as if someone else's spit was still in my mouth. I spat blood.

I stared at myself in the mirror and saw stringy wet hair and dark circles under my eyes.

Pouring myself a bowl of cereal I could feel how empty the house was.

I fixed myself a waterbottle full of ice and climbed the stairs back up to my room. I put on music and began to pick up dirty laundry, scattered shoes, papers, backpacks and cleats. 

I am the girl that I thought I outgrew.