But even when I stop crying, even when we fall asleep and I'm nestled in his arms, this will leave another scar. No one will see it. No one will know. But it will be there. And eventually all of the scars will have scars, and that's all I'll be--one big scar of a love gone wrong.

It's not fair. It's not fair that he lets his rage take over, that he lets it rule him. I don't know why he has to let it rule him. I don't know why he has to be two people.

I don't know why he gets to be two people, and I only get to be me, the one who is here to take what he has to give, and who is here to pick pu the pieces afterward.

I wanted to be his life preserver, the thing that would keep him afloat. Instead, he became my anchor. And I’m tired of drowning.

I refused to believe that someone who had a voice that angelic could be bad. I knew it was illogical to think that way, but I had to believe in something good.

Words have power, and sometimes, they stay with
you for life. It’s up to you to allow those words to define who you become.

To her, not packing our lunches every day or joining the PTA is a feminist rallying cry.