What to Say Next

If he could get someone like my mother to love him—someone who is universally acknowledged to be all kinds of awesome—and not just love him but love him enough to spend the rest of her life with him, then maybe there is hope for me too.

I still have no idea who or what I want to be when I grow up.

Miney smiles in that way she does when she’s about to force me to do something scary. She’s like Trey that way. Always pushing me out of what she calls “my comfort zone,” which I’ll never understand. Why would you purposely make yourself uncomfortable?

My conversation with Kit is another Notable Encounter, a positive Notable Encounter, so pleasant that I don’t want to put it in my notebook. I want to pretend, for just a moment, that this is not a rare occurrence, that this sort of thing happens to me all the time. That I’m not the sort of person who even requires a notebook in the first place.

when most people talk they aren’t necessarily telling the truth.

Words are not things that can be handed over, simply passed from person to person and let go. They are a string. You’re still left holding one end in your hands.

Maybe we can make meaning out of something that feels so completely devoid of sense, even if only to make ourselves feel better.

My first thought when I wake up on Saturday morning is I want to die. Because if I die, then the nausea will stop, the room will still, and I won’t have to face the shitshow that has become my life.

When I was little, I used to get upset if I accidentally stepped on a bug. I may have mastered the art of self-defense, but I don’t like to hurt things.

I used to think loneliness was being stuck with only the one voice in your head. I was wrong. Loneliness is hearing everyone else’s voices too, except they are stuck on repeat: Die, die, die.