Suicide to them is an act of selfishness. Someone who is truly selfless does not think of himself often enough to desire death.

So small as to be negligible. It's strange, but there's something in that thought that makes me feel almost...free.

I have done bad things. I can't take them back, and they are part of who I am. Most of the time, they seem like the only thing I am.

Because even a sliver of distance between us is infuriating.

I want to break something, or hit something, but I am afraid to move, so I start crying instead.

I have a theory that selflessness and bravery aren't all that different. All your life you've been training to forget yourself, so when you're in danger, it becomes your first instinct

You’re too important to just … die.” He shakes his head. He won’t even look at me—his eyes keep shifting across my face, to the wall behind me or the ceiling above me, to everything but me. I am too stunned to be angry. “I’m not important. Everyone will do just fine without me,” I say. “Who cares about everyone? What about me?