Death Valley

by Melissa Broder

If I’m honest, I came to escape

feeling—an attempt that’s already going poorly, because unfortunately I’ve brought myself with me, and I see, as the last pink light creeps out to infinity, that I am still the kind of person who makes another person’s coma all about me.

I wanted a sickbed of my own. I wanted to be laid out in white sheets, everything taken care of for me, and let go. Unconsciousness-envy.

Sometimes when a person who loves me expresses care, I feel oppressed.

the realization that love is not always a feeling, sometimes it’s a verb, and that she loves her husband).

There is never enough pee in novels.