45,000 died within the last year. This is what I do; I bury myself in data, in research. Wading through the numbers blocks my mind from thinking about the people behind them. If I concentrate long enough, I might just forget about my friend Greg, one of the 45,000, who shot himself last year.
The people who should be shamed on this holiday are not the sluts, but the people who don’t dress up at all.
As a survivor, you will do anything to not see yourself as one of the individuals in that statistic.
I was never going to be a perfect bride, and that was completely fine. There is no such thing.
It’s a strange emotion to feel as if your body is failing you.