“…I’m better today than I was then. I’ve recognized many of my compulsions for what they were: a desperate need for approval from my father and when that didn’t happen, a deep motivation to be the exact opposite of everything I was told a “good girl” was. I killed pain with you. I killed time with you. I didn’t give a fuck about anything but you. I lived for you. I would’ve died for you. I dropped out of school so I could spend my days fucking you. I didn’t make plans with you because I didn’t have any…
I want these pains in my chest to go away when I write about you. Your memory isn’t that scary. You’re barely a person to me anymore. You’re a disjointed jumble of names and booze and parties and shithole apartments and weed and long car rides and drugs and concerts and bad decisions. I loved you or I barely knew you. There was no in between.”