Sad Janet: ‘A whip-smart, biting tragicomedy’ HuffPost

by Lucie Britsch

She talks constantly.

The pills are working, in that everyone’s here and we’re not dead.

I’ve been haunting the shit out of myself for years.

I try to call her, but she doesn’t answer. No one ever does when I need them.

I want to do what men do all the time—externalize my feelings, instead of internalizing them and making myself sicker.

she’s not the one who should be asking, but at least someone is asking, and now I’m crying.

It’s enough to make me vomit, which I do, a lot.