maybe people will say, “Holy shit, I can’t believe you survived that. I can’t believe you’re still alive.” When I tell people my stories, they tell me I’m strong. But that makes me crazy because I think, What’s it for, though? Throw stuff at me and I’ll get through it, but for what? What does the strength matter? It doesn’t matter to me. I’m not strong. I am not. But I am still here. I didn’t lose my mind, even though I wanted to. And I could have.
