She was addicted to coffee. She was addicted to cigarettes. She was addicted to music. To movies. To reading and writing. Silly enough, she was addicted to burgers and fries. To having conversations with people. To freedom. Even to putting on make-up. Addicted to looking at the rivers and lakes and oceans, the mountains, the sunsets and sunrises, the stars.

She was addicted to many things, good and bad, but she only struggled with one of them. The one that was practically taking over her life. Pain. She realized that living with it for as far back as she remembers, made her miss it when it wasn’t there. She began wanting pain because that’s all she ever knew. Pain was now her home, and she was addicted to going back home.