“My dearest sister, I’ve learned there is a different way. No more surviving, living.”

My dearest sister, I’ve learned there is a different way. No more surviving, living.

I forgot who I was, and I allowed myself to be a victim for the first time in my life because of you.

there are no “proper” or socially acceptable ways to feel desperation. But there is an area of the many shades of grey making up the colossus of desperation that only the people who have ever felt or been privy to its torture will understand the prose in my letter to you my dearest friend.

Before I knew I was a writer, writing became the way I learned to speak again. This is where it started