It hadn't always been this way. He could remember a time when he was happy, when the weight of the world didn't hold it's sway on his tired shoulders, when he was in love.
She was the one that led him to this, the one that got away. He spent his entire life trying to make her happy, yet, when it really came down to it, she brushed him off like a speck of dirt on a white blouse. She was the reason for the pile of bottles under his bed, she was the reason for the pain, she was the reason for the scars up and down his arms.
He was a maggot, a slave to his own inadequicies. No matter what he did, or didn't do, it was always to please her. He could never be his own person, for fear of being rejected by her. He couldn't even remember what made him really HIM anymore, always doing what she wanted, going where she wanted, and for what? So she could just toss him aside? NO!
He knew there had to be more to his life than this, being constantly spat upon and dragged through the dust at every turn. He knew it had to end, either she had to go, or he did.