I hadn’t begun to forgive Danny for what he had done, but I was starting to think that maybe he was right. I’d spent so much time playing make-believe, I’d lost the thread between who I used to be and the person I’d been presenting to the world. How do you begin to trace it back to when everything you did wasn’t a perfectly calibrated extension of who you thought you were supposed to be? That was the cost of my curated life. I had no clue where I’d gotten so lost.
