I used to want to die. I woke up every morning amazed that of all the chances I had to die during the night, I hadn’t taken any, and that I had lived to the morning.
I used to want everything to end, quietly for me, but for others to see the result of my suffering, to know that I suffered while they watched, for the proof of my suffering to remain in my body. Â I wanted my death to be revenge; a wake up, a message I didn’t know how to tell when I was alive. I hated you enough to do this. I loved […]