More images of how I struggled to walk after I left the hospital, and the way I can’t tell anyone. I took a chance telling Sasha that night and here I am, hating myself more and more when— “My brain is... is fucked up and I’m—” “You’re what…” His voice filters into the air around me, his calloused hands gently taking hold of mine and removing them from my hair. Through all my panic, I hadn’t realized he’d stood up. “I-I’m—” I shake my head. I can’t do this with him. It’s not fair and it’s not right. In a little over a day, I’ll be gone, and so will he and I’ll just be like all the other girls
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