His name is Timothy and this is his hraoadfs.

God's watching me, he watches me gorge on alcohol until I'm nothing but an inappropriate mess, he watches as I crawl to the toilet to be sick. This kind of desolation is either fueled by my unhealthy mind or stupidity and I consider both to play their part. The mirror is the only honest friend I have, discerning my ever little flaw beneath the glare of my heavy bathroom lights. My eyes? Rung, wrinkled and tired. My hair? Knotted, greasy and flat. These are my bodies outward cries for me to wash and sleep, while inside by stomach turns anxiously, restlessly awaiting time to process all the shit I've pumped into it. I step into the shower, I'm clean. I lie in my bed, I sleep...

When I get up I feel ashamed and inside while I know it's a lie to help my body live with me, I promise I'll never drink again.