"More than a stunning debut. It is the announcement of a bold new literary voice"
—Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower

This is supposed to be for the dead, but in a way you both kind of are to me. It’s been two years since you both got together and ruined my life. It’s been two years since you both sent me spiraling into a dense sea of sadness and hopelessness that has taken me two years to get out of. I’ve climbed out but I’m still wet with hurt. I can’t see you both in the hall at once or I start having a panic attack.

Bri, you manipulative bitch. It’s harsh but true. I trusted you with my life. I trusted you to stop me from hurting myself and to help let me open up. I trusted you to be supportive and help me with Ry. You were none of those things. You promoted the act of self harm to me. You didn’t help me. You told me you’d be there for me and you weren’t. I was there for you until you decided to talk to my crush and start dating him. You didn’t even tell me. You never asked if I was okay all the times in science when I could not stop the tears from pouring out of me. You ruined me. You said sorry once but it was fake. I knew it was fake. You don’t care. You never did care. You and Ry have broken up and gotten together so much it’s not fair. I’m over him, but still. You’re constantly hurting him and then reeling him back in. Just stop.

Ry, you already know I love you. You’re not dead to me. Our friendship is mostly dead though. I miss you a lot. I miss having such fun conversations. I miss talking until 1 am and then talking about what we talked about at school the next morning. You know I love you. You know I care about you. I don’t hate you anymore. That was two years ago. You didn’t know that I liked you. You didn’t know that I would be hurt. You helped more than Bri did. You were there and you still be yourself up. I may not be IN love with you anymore, but I still love you. I love you as a friend. You always slide up on my sad snap stories, you always talk to me about what’s going on with my crush. We’re breaking through this. Bri had her chance. I gave her so many chances to make up with me but she never took them. You’re taking your chances and I love you for that.

This goes out to all my dead things, dead in one way or another. All of the death that I’ve encountered, metaphorical or physical, you’ve shaped me into a new person. I’m not medicated anymore. I only see my therapist once a month instead of twice a week. I’m new and I’m better and it’s the death I’ve faced that has made me this way.