I’m dead.
I died.
I came back alive.
I live in a big house.
I live in a happy house.
I have a mom and a dad and a sister.
My mom loves me.
My dad loves me.
My sister loves me.
I have a dog.
My parents can afford me.
My parents can afford my sister.
My parents can afford my tuition and car and living.
My parents love me.
My parents tell me every night that they love me.
My parents show me that they love me.
My mom makes me breakfast pancakes on my birthday and sings to me.
My dad buys me my favorite cereal and fills my car with gas.
My sister and I share love and laughs. We never want to move away.
My sister and I never got beaten, scratched, tied up.
My sister and I never had to survive. We simply lived.
My sister didn’t have to stay in a loveless relationship.
I didn’t have to try to hurt myself at every chance.
I didn’t have to constantly cry myself to sleep and wish I could die.
The pain disappears when I can’t feel anything.
Sometimes death feels like my only cure.
