(Happy mother's day, mom.)
A bottle of excedrin, a box of cold pills, and a broken heart. A pocketknife, a few final words on a microchip.
My final "fuck you, God" ended with a spiteful "think again" from Him.
Instead, I threw up. Over and over and over again. Then an instant message, a trip to the hospital, five day stay.
I'm still learning.