“Am I dying, or is this my birthday?”
I wonder if your guilt eats you alive.
I hate that my boyfriend never had the chance to meet one of the most important people in my world.
Speaking gratitude into the world is a way of manifesting your reality.
You blame yourself, even if you did everything within your power to help them. Even if you had no idea they were struggling. Even if, deep down, you realize that you couldn’t have changed anything.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that I might be obsessed with dying. Not that I want to die, but that I prepare for it at every turn. I think about how depressing it would be for my parents and friends if something were to happen. I’ve rehearsed what my last words would be if I had the chance to choose them.
“Hi, I’m sorry to bug you, but I’m looking for Jessica,”
“Sorry there’s no one here by that name,” she said.