And yet here I am. Broken and bleeding on the inside, heartsick, I am here.

You know who you are you just have to believe it.

I lied to Julia, I didn't know what else to do because you - you make me feel..." I had to stop. Not because I didn't have words. I did. But I was afraid to say them. He looked at me, and I knew then I could love him. That if I let myself I would. "You make me feel too," he said, and held out one hand.

It's bullshit. It's so easy to label people, to look at a list of symptoms and say, "This is who you are. This is what you are.

I do not fall. I fell so hard so long ago there is nothing left for me to land on. I just keep falling and falling and falling.

Look at me. We aren´t them lauren. You´re not your mother or father any more than I´m my mother. You´re you and I´m me and I love you.

I don’t know, shifted a little or something, smoothed down–people would think of me the way they think of Dave, and everything would always be perfect. I would be perfect.