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.

And what if---what are you if the people who are supposed to love you can leave you like you're nothing?

She became a story, one I have mostly forgotten. One I can't end because she died a long time ago.

Sometimes being me is very confusing.

Things... well, things suck sometimes. And sometimes you can fix it. And sometimes you can't. It's just the way it is.

Once upon a time, I did not live in Shady Pines. Once upon a time, my name was not Alice. Once upon a time, I didn't know how lucky I was.

Wherever I go, I'll always see you. You'll always be with me. And there's no happy ending coming here, no way a story that started on a night that's burned into my heart will end the way I wish it could. You're really gone, no last words, and no matter how many letters I write to you, you're never going to reply. You're never going to say good-bye. So I will. Good-bye, Julia. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for being you.