At night, lying in bed with Michael, I had strange, vivid dreams where everything sparkled—a gilded razor, a mound of shimmering powder, a golden handgun that gleamed in the light. When I turned to look at my reflection in the mirror, there was glitter streaming from my nostrils, clinging to my lips, dripping from my chin. But then I would awaken to find sunshine pouring through the window, and I would turn to feel it on my face. After spending so much time in the darkness, my eyes had adjusted. It got easier over time, but there were still mornings where it was the most frightening thing—to
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