ignite // phan

ret•ro•gres•sion

ˌrɛtrə(ʊ)ˈɡrɛʃ(ə)n/
noun
the process of returning to an earlier state, typically a worse one
*trigger warning - self harm*

It was funny Dan thought, finally away from all the negativity, away from the cause of the problem and the depressive thoughts still found a way into his head.

It had been three days since he had run away or, more or less, been thrown out and with every day that passed, the voices got louder and more abusive.

No matter how hard Dan tried, he couldn't block them out, he couldn't keep them quiet. They kept him awake at night, refusing to let him get any kind of rest.

He flopped down on the cold wooden floor of what was to be his bedroom, the cold seeping into his back between the gaps where his t-shirt had ridden its way up his torso. Dan still hadn't managed to find a suitable bed and, in all honestly, he neither had the energy nor money to search for one.

He sighed, a white fog expelling from his mouth. He had not touched the heater since his neighbour had come to visit and the apartment was painfully cold, but Dan didn't care.

Dan rolled onto his side, his back cracking on the cold, hard ground as he did so.

Although he was away from the horrible place that he once called home, he felt worse than ever. The voices were louder, stronger when he was alone, and with no distraction, they seemed to echo, never giving him a rest.

He slowly sat up, his eyes begging to be closed, and he realised there was no chance of him getting sleep anytime soon.

He groaned as he sat up and made his way through the hallway to the small bathroom, running his hand along the paint-chipped wall.

When he reached the sink, he turned on the cold tap, splashing the water onto his face, hoping that it would wash away all of the negative thoughts.

Of course, it didn't.

He looked up at the small, round mirror at the person staring back at him. He was almost unrecognisable. The dark circles under his eyes were so visible, you could see them from a mile away.

His hair was a mess, he had been too tired to straighten it or even brush it, and he wasn't planning on doing so anytime soon.

It was now 8 am, and he decided that if he wasn't getting any sleep, especially after the cold shock of water, that he should at least try to do something productive.

Dan walked out of the bathroom, and back to the room that was supposedly the lounge room. (Not that there was anything to lounge on.)

He searched the room, looking for something to keep the voices down. To shut them up, even for just an hour.

That's when he noticed the boxes that were stacked in the corner from the day he first moved it.

Still half asleep, he walked over to the boxes and began unpacking them.

There were so many memories hidden in them, and Dan didn't quite understand why he packed most of these things.

Old toys from his childhood, photos of him and his parents.

He threw the picture across the room, watching as it slowly descended to the floor.

He wanted a fresh start, he wanted to erase the past and begin a new life.

As Dan rummaged through his old things, something caught his eye. Something that triggered so many bad memories.

The lighter.