I think, for many people, the hardest part of living, much like writing, is the criticism that comes with it.
Why did I share that? Do I just want validation? If so, from who? And why?
I felt nothing, mostly. And when I did feel, it wasn't sadness. It was terror.
I just wanted to disappear and not exist anymore. I felt like everyone’s life would be better without me in it.
I could feel myself beginning to slip; if this went on much longer, I was going to lose everything, quite literally.
The worst part was going back to school and everyone asking me if I was “the girl who had a seizure."