The truth is humbling, terrifying, and often exhilarating. It blows the doors off the hinges and fills the world with fresh air.

He was raised without a proper diagnosis.

I missed him so much that I had physical sensations of loss, all over my body. Like one minute I was missing an arm, the next my spleen. It was making me feel sick, like throwing up.

His laugh is made if porch swings and lemonade

Nothing made sense to me anymore. I knew I was young, I knew I was small. But I was worried that I might already be ruined.

(The new boyfriend) knows I write every day for hours but has no idea that all I’m writing about is me. It seems wiser to let him think I’m an aspiring novelist instead of just an alcoholic with a year of sobriety who spends eight hours a day writing about the other 16.

Bad news should be followed with soup. Then a nap.