A hotel room

I am flustered with myself. Pill bottles.The are spread all around me, like a blanket. I feel alive and dead, motivated and apathetic, and it eats away at me. I slowly rise from the floor, sitting up and letting my head find itself. The room spins, then everything comes into focus. Standing up takes more effort, but with help from the nearby bed my legs tremor like a newborn faun, and I fall back to the floor.
Where the hell am I ? Taking a deep breath I try to stand again. Where am I ?It looks like a hotel room. Cheap and gaudy wallpaper cover the walls, peeling at the edges.The floor is dark red carpet. Stained. How nice.The smell, overwhelming, metallic and burnt upon my nose, and I try not to vomit.I walk over to the vanity and sit abruptly. My face is stained with blood,streaked like paint from forehead to chin.My mascara is black down my cheeks. My head aches, but I have no bruises. My nose is bleeding.I let it run, it runs down my face across my lips, hitting my chest, creating a path down to my navel.
I walk to the bathroom and wash my face, the sink is stained with old blood. the dress I am wearing is torn at the shoulder, but still stays on with little effort, My legs are sore. The clock says its 11, and the sunshine streaming through the window says its daytime.
I don't know where to go.I glare at myself in the mirror, and with nothing else to do I look for anything I can take with me. To wherever I am going.I see a black bag. All that is in it is makeup, and a knife.A small pocket knife.I put on my shoes and jacket and approach the door.