I dread mornings like this.

Frames resting on the tip of my nose as coffee vapours continues to blur the vision. Two hours of yoga, yet I still find myself struggling to make sense of the chaos in my head.

Radio sings, awakens the semi-conscious mind. Ipod lies at the side of the pillow, battery bar flashing red. Loathe - the perfectionist speaks; guilt - the girl answers. Apologies used to be sent for unfinished conversations, though as time passed, apologies were felt to be not enough as I often found myself saying sorry for apologising in first place.

Get up lazy bitch, take a look at yourself, get that makeup off - she sends her first order of the day. The girl obeyingly stumbled her way to the mirror, fearing the worst. The lingering sugar taste sent the first wave of panic as she gathers that the damage could not be undone. Memories of the previous night hits, as she oversprays the room with cheap perfume, checklisting the usuals in her head. Pushing open the kitchen door, an empty house provided her with temporary relief. What next, she asked as she carried out the first demand.

You know what next, didn’t you have a good long look at yourself in the mirror before?