The other night at work, a man saw the beginning of the scar on my back, and asked if I had lost my wings. "That's fairly accurate," was my reply. I think my diagnosis was the exact moment where I lost my innocence, my childhood happiness.
When I was younger, I believed I would die at twenty-two. Every now and then, I think about if this is really how I want to spend what could potentially be the last year of my life.