Look at poor Alex slumped on the floor.
Preoccupied with her own inferiority, talking to Bob to try to escape the life she hates.
Her incoherent mutterings co-mingle with her dribbling drool.  
Poor, poor Alex living in the shadow of everything she thinks was stolen from her.
Alex has learned to cope through the haze of chemicals and denial as she percieves those flames of hell licking at her to be the warm sun.
Poor, poor Alex.
Always wishing there was something more.