That pretty much described you to a tee.
The life you lived, the things you shouldn’t do but did anyways because you didn’t care, and the people you hurt. It was all like that. You were dirty, rock bottom and you were making a damn life out of it. Your single most concern was one thing and one thing only.
Drinking up life in the shadows, cozy in the back alleys of Amestris, you were somebody nobody needed. You were sick, so diseased. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to give two shits. You enjoyed everything you did, you coveted it.
You didn’t want the pristine, little house with blue shutters, white picket fence, husband and kids. You’d never wanted that. You wanted be down in the dirt, grinding it up with whatever came close enough to be your victim. You scrapped with the thugs and yanked out some bitch’s hair before being dragged out and kicked to the curb.
You needed that kind of life.
It was simple.
It was easy.
You didn’t need anyone, anything. You didn’t have to depend on someone, you didn’t have to be lonely or sad. There was nothing for you to lose, nothing for you to get attached to. It was the safest way for you to live. You only had to have one thing to make it.