Herpes And Shame, Six Years Later

Healing isn’t fun or narratively appealing: it’s a whole lot of pulling off scabs and dissecting long broken bones that didn’t set properly. It’s hard.

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I Am Not a Hugger

When someone I don’t want to hug walks toward me with their arms outstretched, I feel like I want to crawl out of my skin.

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Suicide Radio

The challenge of suicide radio isn’t not obeying it. The challenge of suicide radio is identifying it for what it is: an impostor.

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How to Feel When the Good Die Young

The only thing I can compare her death to is if someone picked up the needle from a record in the middle of a song—no scratch, just sudden silence where there used to be a voice and rhythm and the strum of a guitar. You wonder if silence has ever been this loud before.

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