It’s hard not to say, “Yes! I was there too! There was not a day of my life until 28 that I didn’t beg for death”, but your story is the one that matters here, and you deserve 100% of the the respect available, I’m I for one am determined to try to offer it as well as I might, despite my many weakness.

Besides, I no longer go to sleep with razor blades in my bed, so I guess most evils can be dealt with in at least some manner. The scars that cover much of my body are only how I look, not how I think or feel.

Besides, I’m now her full-time caretaker, and have been for years. It’s about my choices, not hers. And that is hopefully the forever condition.

And I’m happy your choices were made by a strong and passionate survivor. And I’m also glad that your love for the world is stronger than the possibilities for considering vengeance or finality that must have arisen at times of intense suffering; and when reminded of the many thefts from your life. (The ghosts and demons of pain and regret.)

And if I ever want know how wolf tastes, I’ll know who to ask!

Deepest possible respect,

Thank you.

Award-wanting white writer-ish. OLD. Nixon ’68-Cried myself to sleep. After crying myself to sleep again in 2016, now living 2 C “Orange” wearing PRISON orange.

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