The Problem with Forever

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

I was going to throw myself a freaking party when I got home. Like an eat-fudge-icing-straight-out-of-the-freaking-can kind of party. Hardcore.

“I mean, you look like you’re pretty sturdy. You could be the base or a back spot,” she said, shrugging like she hadn’t just said I looked sturdy.

Over the past couple of years, I’d been slowly unpacking all the emotional baggage from the past, all the trauma and fear, but that mess had done more than just keep me silent, existing in the background. It had held me back from—from living

I remembered him ranting once about how if someone coughed, they were given time off from work, but if someone was mentally fatigued, they were expected to suck it up.

This speech wasn’t forever. Being embarrassed was not forever. None of this was forever. But trying was. Living was.