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She’d rather die than lose her mind.
Who was she to ask for help from a God she wasn’t sure she believed in,
Her mother had comforted her and told her not to be sad for the butterflies, that just because their lives were short didn’t mean they were tragic. Watching them flying in the warm sun among the daisies in their garden, her mother had said to her, See, they have a beautiful life.
Even the well-intentioned and educated tended to keep a fearful distance from the mentally ill.
She wanted to read every book she could before she could no longer read.
Reading was fast becoming a heartbreaking chore.
