...She's not buying [the lie], but there's nothing else on the shelves.

A river of images and thoughts and feelings, dirtied and polluted so that no one could drink from it without gagging.

Maybe Rachel was right all along. Maybe the past is past, history is history, and you just push it aside and look for the future.

You don't swing at any pitch. You swing at the ones you can hit.

It's not an easy choice, but that's OK. Easy doesn't equal good. Difficulty doesn't equal bad. It's just life, is all.

(Man, I wish life had emoticons, you know? So that when your dad pisses you off you could like click a mental button or something and just show him one of those rolleyes. That would rock) Anyway.

You and your scars. Please! You don't kill youself like this!" I gesture, holding a wrist turned up to the ceiling, then pretending to cut across it with my other hand. "That's just a cry for help. That's just attention. Everbody knows that. Cutting across just gets you to the hospital. That's just from movies and TV shows and stuff like that. You didn't really try to kill yourself. you just wanted attention, but you screwed up. Try harder next time.