Don't give up on me now. I'm sorry. I guess that's an odd thing to say. Because isn't that what I'm doing? Giving up?

I could picture life—school and everything else—continuing on without me. But I could not picture my funeral. Not at all. Mostly because I couldn’t imagine who would attend or what they would say.

We both laugh. And it feels good. A release. Like laughing at a funeral. Maybe inappropriate, but definitely needed.

I’m going to be mentally ill in fifteen years, and that’s why my husband doesn’t want to be around me.

It was love because it was worth it.

It may seem that every time someone offers you a hand up, they just let go and you slip further down.

I miss video games where the jump-kick was the trickiest combo to master.