Lifers

by K.C. Blume

If you’re looking for a happy ending, I’m sorry to disappoint, but this may not be the story for you. Many of us suffering from the mental illnesses described in this book never find our happily ever after, and while it might hurt, love is always worth the pain. I hope that you find this book to be worth the pain as well.

I relive every road trip, every concert, every late night spent at shitty dive bars with my friends—any moment that has made the fight worth it this far.

The highs and lows of bipolar disorder aren’t short-lived. Sometimes, they last for ages, and this winter has dragged on for years.

I would kill every man who’s ever whistled at me on my walk to work if I could, and I say that with my chest.

Regulating your emotions doesn’t make you sane; it just makes you a better actor.

I want to crawl beneath her skin. I want to rip her open and carve my name onto her ribs just to live close to her heart forever.

“You’re not crazy, Blair.” She says, “Some of us here are, but not you. You’ve just got more emotions than your beautiful body can handle sometimes.”

People think of depression as this cold, lonely place inside of your mind, but it isn’t always. Sometimes, it’s warm, like an electric blanket. It feels like sitting inside of a cottage in the woods, curled up next to a crackling fireplace with a purring cat sitting on your lap. It’s nice for a little while because it’s familiar.

I don’t fucking need antidepressants. I just need this girl between my legs at all hours of the day.

If she wants to die, I could help her. I could die with her. I could dance with her in the afterlife for all of eternity if only it meant I didn’t have to feel her loss.

I’m an absolute mess in every way possible, ready for her to tear me apart with her teeth. I want to be her favorite meal. I want her to taste me and never feel fully satisfied again.