The spring in my step isn't down to you. I’m not giving you credit for the smile plastered across my face or the way my pulse is racing. My sore feet. My angry texts. My lack of dignity. My rotten hangover and inability to keep any food down. My tear-stained cheeks, my bloodshot eyes and my shaking hands. Those are down to you, partly, and somewhat due to the sheer amount of alcohol I binged on the other night. That horrible what-did-you-do-last-night feeling you can’t shift from the pit of your stomach. The self-hatred. The mind-numbing headache and feeling of regret. So, here's to the ability I have of pretending everything is okay. Of dusting myself off, getting back up and starting all over again. Don't flatter yourself. I'm more than capable of coping without you.