Just another day.

Blearily looking into the mirror, I wince inwardly at the face that stares back. A haggard quality that is caused by the bags under my eyes and my drawn, palid skin. Both testaments to the amount of sleep I've been getting. Worse though are those eyes. Other people are perhaps fooled by the slightly glazed lifelessness, but I know better. I can still remember what they looked like when I still had hope that perhaps life would work out well. I can remember the slight glint of mischeviousness that tiredness or sadness might dull, but never extinguish. It's gone now though. I can't see it coming back either. The base quality seems to be a certain hardness, perhaps cynicism, but really it's despair. I remain watching only by great strength of will, studying those eyes, hoping to recognise something. I didn't need much, just a hint of the person I remember. Eventually though I can't bear the weight of that gaze and look away.

I look down at my hands, trembling slightly with the loss of fine motor control that is another sign of sleepless nights. Nights spent lying on my back staring at the inside of my eyelids, unable to sleep for the overwhelming pressure of regret, crushing me, reminding me of opportunities lost.

Will today be the day?

I contemplate those hands, remembering their past glories. Seeing them grasp a ball or stick. Seeing them crash into the ground, breaking my fall. Seeing them caress the soft skin of one of my regrets. The melancholy of remembering better days weighs me down, threatening to overwhelm me.

Suddenly today's decision comes to me and with the release of nerves that accompanies it nausea rushes in. No more or less than any other day, and just as insistent. I rip up the toilet seat and retch over the bowl. Nothing comes up of course; I haven't eaten yet. Even so minutes pass before I feel together enough to flush and stagger back to my room. No blood today. I glance around the room but it is the same as when I left. My few clothes lie scattered around, but everything else is alien, chosen for the apartment by someone with very different tastes to mine.

Done with decision, I make the rest of my preparations easily by rote. I quickly pull on my jeans and a black t-shirt, stuff papers into my bag, unlock the door then lock it behind me. Three flights of stairs navigated in a blur and out to my car.

I sit there for a second, collecting myself, then turn the key in the ignition. Nothing. Sighing, I play with the engine disabler thingy, then try again. This time it splutters into life, radio blaring, barely understood, but soothing, the voice friendly and familiar. As close to a friend as anything I have currently. I merge with the traffic and idle my way to work.

Finally I arrive at the carpark, shut off the car and sit there listening to the engine cool. Breathing deeply, I think about what I will do and the reasons why it must be this way. Then, having settled myself for what is to come, I smile. It feels strange, but I know that by the time I enter the building it will seem relaxed and familiar. With a slight spring in my movements I get out of my car and head for work.

Just another day.