I no longer remember the details. I just remember walking through the house surveying the damage and marveling how much could unravel in one month’s time.
The last two times I went off birth control, we made a baby in a matter of minutes, but this time I’m becoming fertile again for no reason other than my nostalgia for natural rhythms.
Eventually, I’d get bored with my life, play into her feelings, and repeat. You’d think I wouldn’t be surprised when she began to pull away, but you’d be wrong.
To the general public, a surgeon’s family (resident or attending) has an easy life, cushioned by wealth and its conveniences. The truth is, when I hear that overused phrase about worth, I want to scream.
"Years later, I realize now, my memoir-writing was selfish. In writing about my childhood, and grief, I claimed myself. I took my own life without ending it. "
The gut never lies. Since then, I control my anxiety by noticing whether it’s in my chest or gut. If it’s in my chest, it’s just PTSD. If it’s in my gut, there’s real danger.
"The priest read our names out loud and fell silent. Everyone stood up again, and the chorus began to sing. The acoustics of the cathedral carried the sound up throughout the space, and it seemed like even the walls were singing."
I would be left with a mark of shame, a constant reminder that I was poor white trash growing up in a neighborhood governed by the laws of despondency and desperation.
