As I stared at myself in the dirty mirror, I took inventory of the various parts of my face that I no longer recognized. My eyes which were once bright were now dull and lifeless, with large, dark circles underneath. The eyelids sagged with what seemed like the weight of the world.

My mouth, which once loved to smile and laugh and sing, was now permanently turned downward; anchored in the corners by creases that had somehow formed over the last few months. My lips were terribly chapped and swollen from a variety of acts that I once considered sacred and special, and now brought only shame. Constant crying and too much cocaine made my nose permanently red and runny. My cheeks were puffy and still showed signs of bruising from a recent pummeling doled out by someone. God, I didn’t even remember who hit me. Shit, who didn’t hit me anymore?

Just then, a thought crossed my mind. It was the first thought I’d had in a long time that caused me to smile, so I said the words aloud, “I look like the wreck of the Hesperus.”

As I considered the words, I realized that I didn’t simply look like the wreck of the Hesperus. “I am the Wreck of the Hesperus,” I said to the woman in the mirror. She nodded sadly in agreement.

My body was destined to be smashed on the sharp rocks and left for dead at sea. The only thing that distinguished me from the fabled “Hesperess” was that the man who had bound me to the mast of this doomed ship did not do so with pure intentions. My fate was to be tethered here until the captain decided to jump overboard, condemning me to my grave. And, given my current circumstances, it sounded like the closest thing I could imagine to a happy ending.

The woman in the mirror shook her head in disgust at my morbid shipwreck fantasy. I told her to fuck off, and left the room.