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Back Little Universes Save as PDF
Chapters (63)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Part 1
  6. Mae
  7. Hannah
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. Part 2
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. Part 3
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. Epilogue
  59. Mental Health Resources
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  62. About the Author
  63. Newsletter Sign-up

Tomorrow, I’ll have been sober for five months. Today doesn’t count yet. I don’t count a day until I wake up the next morning without using. Some people count it once they hit midnight, but we all know the hardest time is after midnight. In NA they give you sobriety swag in the form of chips that signify how long you’ve been clean. You can put them on a keychain or whatever. I have white, orange, green, and red. Next month, I’ll get the biggie: a six-month blue one. It’s like that time when I was collecting the Strawberry Shortcake Happy Meal toys, but not nearly as fun. I still want that blue chip, though.

Before I lay down under the angel to die, I was waking up every night at 4:03, which is the time my parents died—8:06—divided by two.

For the past three days I’ve been waking up at exactly that time. I’m trying not to read into it.

Especially since today is my birthday.

And also Mother’s Day.

All things considered, that is some twisted shit, my birthday being on Mother’s Day.

I read in one of the million pamphlets they gave me in rehab that suicide is the second-leading cause of death in the United States for my age group, and tenth overall.

It’s why I decide to go to a meeting before the family celebration tonight. Before I have to pretend to be a happy birthday girl.

I’m in a church basement near BU. This particular meeting for Young People, as they call us, could be worse. Everyone is college-aged and pretty cool. Mae came with me once and called it the Tattoo Show. There’s coffee and doughnuts from Dunkies. The speaker is this chick from New York who’s a conceptual artist, and she talks about how her art helped her stay sober. And it just reminds me that I don’t have anything like that, you know? Just my acorns. That’s it.

Mae and I graduate next month. Somehow I’ve managed with my alternative school (not so alternative because it’s still school) to get back on track. With lots of help from Mae, of course.

But then what?

It’s a victory for me just to get out of bed and stay sober all day. What kind of life is that?

Aunt Nora keeps giving me these quizzes. All kinds of quizzes from magazines and online stuff, about finding your passion. One was called What’s Your Bliss?

None of it’s helping.

The only thing I want is a pill. And Drew. And my parents.

All things I can’t have.