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Norish, 18.
03 December 1993.
Alive and completely terrified.

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People make mistakes. People make bad choices. Out of anger, confusion, sadness. Out of a collation of unexplainable, mashed up emotions. Out of sheer spur of the moment stupidity.

But we rather forget than seek forgiveness because the shame of apologizing surpasses the need to make anybody else feel better other than ourselves.

"One day you’ll wonder when the last time you cried was, and find you can’t remember. That’s great, you’ll think, no one can hurt you now. No one can touch you. You are a pristine and impenetrable fortress of stoicism. Everything is blank and immaculate.

Carry on and don’t give it another thought. Not until someone asks you how you feel and you don’t have an answer because you just don’t know. Not until something happens and you laugh when you were supposed to cry because somewhere along the way the wires got crossed. Not until someone is sitting in front of you, spewing their feelings and begging for yours and all you can think is what a mess they’ve made in the place you’ve worked so hard to keep so tidy."

— Julie Beck, Thought Catalog

"I start to see that I surround myself with broken people; more broken than me. Ah, yes, let me count your cracks. Let’s see, one hundred, two… yes, you’ll do nicely. A cracked companion makes me look more whole, gives me something outside myself to care for. When I’m with whole, healed people I feel my own cracks, the shatters, the insanities of dislocation in myself."

— Julie Gregory, Sickened: The Memoir of a Munchausen by Proxy Childhood