I know what you are now. I think I knew before, but, you know, after I sent that kid to the hospital, years ago, they said I had an anger problem, but that’s not true. I was angry because of something else. Something I’d lost. Trying so hard since not to be angry. Got me all defenseless, and I lost more, and more, and more… that’s not getting better. I want to be angry. When I ran home from college, on the bus I had this dream, or maybe I saw it out the window, last leaf on the tree finally blown off. I’m so scared, all the time, and the fear *hurts*. Feeling like everything is over, was over long before I got here, so long, hiding, or trying to outrun this. I get it. This won’t stop until I die, but when I die, I want it to hurt. When my friends leave, when I have to let go, when this entire town is wiped off the map, I want it to hurt. Bad. I want to lose. I want to get beaten up. I want to hold on. Until I’m thrown off and everything ends. And you know what? Until that happens, I want to hope again and I want it to hurt. Because that means it meant something. It means I am… something, at least. Heh. Pretty amazing to be something, at least. […] I know this won’t save me in the end, but I don’t need it to save me forever, I just need it to save me now.
— Mae Borowski, Night in the Woods