I am angry that I starved my brain and that I sat shivering in my bed at night instead of dancing or reading poetry or eating ice cream or kissing a boy.

I've written in every imaginable location; a repurposed closet, the kitchen table, the bleachers while my kids had basketball practice, the front seat of the car when they were at soccer. In airports. On trains. In the break room when I was supposed to be wolfing down dinner. In the back of classrooms when I was supposed to be paying attention.

Write about the emotions you fear the most.

I have ten bucks in my pocket - what to spend it on? French fries - ten dollars' worth of french fries, ultimate fantasy.

I understood what triggered her earthquakes, most of them.

I wish adults would spend less energy freaking out about the cutting itself and work harder to understand what drives kids to self-harm.

I nod like I’m listening,like we’re communicating, and she never knows the difference.