I understood what triggered her earthquakes, most of them.

I breathe in slowly. Food is life. I exhale, take another breath. Food is life.

Write about the emotions you fear the most.

I failed eating, failed drinking, failed not cutting myself into shreds. Failed friendship. Failed sisterhood and daughterhood. Failed mirrors and scales and phone calls. Good thing I'm stable.

Nothing is perfect. Flaws are interesting. Be the tree.

So, she tells me, the words dribbling out with the cranberry muffin crumbs, commas dunked in her coffee.

I want to go to sleep and not wake up, but I don't want to die. I want to eat like a normal person eats, but I need to see my bones or I will hate myself even more and I might cut my heart out or take every pill that was ever made.