Stephanie Foo

How often had I longed to leave all of this, to die, because I hadn’t understood how satisfying it could be?

This revelation proved that second chances did not always have to be fought for—they could be taken in handfuls for free like after-dinner mints.

I found myself in the awkward position of being an incompetent pseudo-therapist, trying to provide comfort for people and suggesting books and therapies, even though I was decidedly not okay, either.

Each of the group’s members was profoundly shattered. But they were all trying their damnedest to piece themselves back together in a way that didn’t hurt anyone else.

We were all deserving. Why couldn’t any of us just be good? I wished so badly for us to be good.

Now I believed in a force greater than myself.

more like the idea that the universe might be organized around something like love.

A woman is simply supposed to provide, not to need.

So even though my friends were constantly attempting to fill the great void of my self-hatred with generous words, assurances, and compliments…they were all simply getting sucked into that black hole, mere crumbs for my intense desire.

I must not be a monster. Would a monster be capable of receiving this much kindness? No—I must be loved tremendously. I must be magic.