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As Captain Swenson read his orders assigning the Juneau to Admiral Callaghan's Task Group 67.4, he saw his worst fears coming true. Because the Navy was so desperately short of better-suited ships, the Juneau, which was built strictly to fire at aircraft, would now have to attack surface vessels and expose its thin skin to their fire, perhaps the fire of battleships with their powerful 14-inch guns.

Chapter 65

chapter 51

Chapter 50

L's introduction at the end of issue 2 was amazing.

L's introduction at the end of issue 2 was amazing.

“This is so exciting. Have I ever told you you’re the best person at helping others out of the darkness?”
“You have, actually.” I laughed. “Never fear!” I shouted. “Captain Apathy doesn’t care!”

{...}

“You care when it matters,” she whispered. “That’s all that matters.”

I used a notebook to keep a precise record, in real time, of when I noticed feelings of anxiety, what preceded the feelings, and what compulsions they triggered. The more aware I became of my own destructive psychological patterns, both past and present, the more adept I became at addressing them.

But the bottom line was this: In order to remain an active (albeit secretly dysfunctional) member of society and continue to enjoy all the perks of membership, I would have to alter my anxious response

“But there is another set of feelings that is not inherent.” She set the binder down in front of me, gesturing to the open page. “Empathy, guilt, shame, remorse, jealousy, even love—these are considered social emotions,” she said. “We’re not born with them. They’re learned.”

In the barrow they placed rings and jewels, all such ornaments as troubled men had earlier taken from the hoard. They let the earth hold the wealth of earls, gold in the ground, where now it still dwells, as useless to men as it was before.

Then the people of the Weather-Geats built a mound on the
promontory, one that was high and broad, wide-seen by seafarers,
and in ten days completed a monument for the bold in battle,
surrounded the remains of the fire with a wall, the most splendid
that men most skilled might devise.

“Because you’re not sorry,” Mom said quietly. “Not really. Not in your heart.” Then she looked at me as if I was a stranger. It paralyzed me, that look. [...] It was a look of hazy recognition, as if to say, “There’s something off about you. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I can feel it.

This part gave me chills:


“I’m a liar. I’m a thief. I’m emotionally shallow. I’m mostly immune to remorse and guilt. I’m highly manipulative. I don’t care what other people think. I’m not interested in morals. I’m not interested, period. Rules do not factor into my decision-making. I’m capable of almost anything.”

On the surface I resemble almost every other average American woman. Social media confirms my existence as a happy mommy and loving partner whose posts are borderline narcissistic. Your friends would probably describe me as nice. But guess what?

I can’t stand your friends.

She walks through the marble lobby, and it feels like something huge is ending, but she knows it’s not. She knows this is a story that she will tell again and again for the rest of her life, and that one of these days, she’ll tell it as a beginning.

Phoebe knows this is the only way she wants to live. She must say the terrible thing, even when it’s hard. She must think the terrible thing, even when it’s scary.

“But it’s also true that this wedding will never be a waste,” Phoebe says. “Because I came here to die. And now look at me.”

This is when they both start to cry.

No, Phoebe will never be a mother. Phoebe will never know what it’s like to create life inside of her. But there are other ways to create. Other ways to love. Other reasons to live.

Then she remembers she is not supposed to feel shame, according to her therapist and Thyme. She is supposed to be kinder to herself, because this habit of tearing herself down every three seconds in her mind makes her feel ashamed. But at least she notices it. At least she is becoming aware of these things now.

Perhaps there really is no such thing as friendship, just as Phoebe thought on the darkest nights back at home.

But Phoebe can’t let herself fully believe this. It seems truer to say that friendship is just hard. It requires radical honesty. A kind of openness that Phoebe felt for the first time in her life that night she arrived at the hotel, so free and unburdened by anything. So ready to leave this world.

Phoebe wishes she could go back and speak the same way when in bed with her husband. She wishes she could have had the courage to ask for what she wanted, even if it sounded weird. Because she is starting to suspect that she actually likes weird things. That everybody likes weird things, which is why sex shops are open in the middle of a Thursday afternoon.

They got married in a public park, invited only their closest friends and family, because they were suspicious of money, of grand gesture. The bigger the gesture, the emptier the feeling. The more wedding you need, the less happy you must be.

There is no such thing as a happy place. Because when you are happy, everywhere is a happy place. And when you are sad, everywhere is a sad place.

Deep down
she didn’t believe
she deserved to be loved
or to be happy
and so she did
what she always did
when she got scared
she drove him back
away from her darkness
away from her chaos—
but unlike the others
he didn’t go
he had seen the truth of her
burning deep inside
and he would never give up now
not until she became
that wonderful light
he saw so deep within.

There is a great miracle
that occurs when we listen
to that little voice inside our heads
that tells us truthfully
who we are and why.

Many of us
are extremely uncomfortable
being happy
like wearing someone else’s clothes
so much so
that we quickly
destruct any happiness that finds us
to return
to the comfortable agony
we know so well.

NO GREAT LOVE
WAS PERFECT
NO GREAT LOVE
WASN’T BRAVELY
FOUGHT FOR.

Remembering that it all ends soon
isn’t a bad thing
it frees us
to live as we should
with lots of love
and little worry.

It’s better
to be brave
and vulnerable
than safe
and all alone.