When I look around at this ‘normal’ life you’re so eager to leave, I don’t see boring or predictable – I see friends who love you and a family that would make any sacrifice for your happiness. I see the kind of security I’ve never had and always wanted. I may have given you access to the world I know best, but you and your family have given me a world that doesn’t exist on a map.

I am silently correcting your grammar.

Dad’s heart was in the right place, but it bugged me when he talked about Covenant like that, as if he’d singlehandedly created this perfect teenage utopia where everyone got along, talked openly about feelings, and never said or did anything to hurt anyone. Nice visual, but it wasn’t true. We judged each other; we just did it more subtly and about different things, like who was the better Christian.

Alliteration is alarmingly addictive.

The thoughts start gathering, butting up against the caution tape surrounding my brain, strategizing and preparing to rush in and take over. I.

I like to know where I stand with people, and I figure I owe them the same courtesy.

Yesterday, when I took the stage for the sixth time, I read a poem about unreliable friends, people you love and feel bonded to but can never truly trust. It was about feeling alone and vulnerable, and never being able to fully let your guard down.

Feeling all the pain of letting them go. And knowing I did the right thing.

You seem to know how to articulate your feelings and share them with other human beings. I’m afraid my gift is the exact opposite; I’m skilled at holding everything in.

I’m going to show you something that will change your whole life.