The drugs may be gone, but the void was still there. There is always a way to fill up the cavity. The question is whether you are making it worse or healing it. After my release, the scalpel found its way to my skin again. Etching its marks into my body as a constant reminder. Most nights ended with sirens, and the floorboards soaking wet. My days were numbered. The more I tried to console myself the more blood was spilled. Did I want the attention? Did I want to be saved? No. What I wanted was the sick comfort this new pain provided. It provided me a new home. It gave a means to justify the end.