Author Bio: Monstrosity

This was how I chose to write my own bio for my creative writing class at the end of the semester.

            She is a nineteen year old addict. There are days she wished she didn’t feel compelled to give into the sin, but it’s that love hate dynamic which truly embodies the spirit of an addict. If there wasn’t the hate the love wouldn’t be so pure, so raw, so wonderful. And if there wasn’t the love, well there would be no need for the hate that comes from wanting something you can’t, you shouldn’t, have, and rarely get. Right, right? She is an addict because she does it not for profit but for the totally unadulterated personal enjoyment. The narcissist within her needs an ego stroke that only her own hands can provide. Sometimes these excursions go late into the evening and her fingers crack with the break of the dawn. And like a true addict sometimes endless hours of self indulgence produce nothing but rotten spoils, not even fit for the dog who she has consequently neglected to feed in her comatose. But occasionally, the fix is enough, good enough, better actually than she could have ever imagined and she pulls back with blood shot eyes, shaking from sleep deprivation and the consumption of manmade energy to revive her depleted sources. She smiles. You have to smile, even if it’s ugly, you have to smile because no matter what happens, you’re the one to blame now. And that’s just how it is, isn’t it? They’re all to blame for what they’ve become, we’re all to blame for what we’ve made ourselves. They smile because they know the high will fade and they’ll do it again and again. Even when they swear they won’t. It’s all consuming for them, for her and she doesn’t hate it as much as she says she does. They love it, she loves it. Relapse is the only option and nothing has ever really seemed more beautiful than letting go. She’s an addict. She’s an author. She’s a monster.