Summary from Goodreads: At the age of seventeen, Paige Alexander
had it all planned. She wrote a letter, sat in the bath, and slit her wrists.
Her plan failed.Her best friend, Alex, is dead.
Paige can’t get over her twin sister blaming her for a tragic event in their
Colorado is in the midst of voting on lesbian and gay rights and Paige is
terrified to come out of the closet, fearful for her life.
Many people in Paige’s life are keeping secrets from her. Will she piece
everything together before it’s too late?
In this gripping first-person narrative, a young college student grapples with
more than first loves or coming of age. In a world filled with homophobia,
suicidal feelings, and a dysfunctional family, Paige cuts her wrists in an
attempt to free herself from the crazy life that’s all she’s ever known.
Could there be new lessons in store for Paige? With the help of her girlfriend,
friends, and a compassionate therapist, can Paige find the safe space she needs
to heal, grow, and cut her strings?
It’s taken seventeen years to do all the damage, and now I hope to fix it in one. I promised Jess I’d go to therapy for at least a year. Not sure it’ll work, but I made a promise. I’m good with promises. Well, mostly. I recently broke one. To be honest, I was forced to break it. It nearly killed me—literally.
Jess wanted me to agree to four years—the entire time I’m in school! I didn’t want to set that precedent since I plan on going to grad school. I don’t want to be in therapy for the next eight to ten years. How depressing would that be? Seriously effed-up people go to therapy for that long. I’m not messed up. I just want to control my own fate, not be a puppet for others.
I’m not a sociopath. Wait … would therapy even help them? Doubt it.
Will the therapist give me one of those personality tests? You know the ones with letters that pinpoint your type. I never know how to answer those questions. Are you organized? Yes … except when I’m not.
Many have said I’m a “Type A personality.” Here are the characteristics:
Rigidly organized (semi check);
Highly status conscious (my parents force this one on me);
Sensitive (well, that seems unnecessary. Why not just call me a crybaby?);
Cares for other people (yes and no);
Truthful (flat-out no);
Always trying to help others (in most cases);
Takes on more than one can handle (yes, but didn’t have a choice);
Wants others to get to the point (well, duh! Who doesn’t?);
Obsessed with time management (uh, I mentioned earlier that I failed with time management).
This list doesn’t include knowing that I’m always right. It should include that. It should also include knowing that most people are morons. How do they keep surviving and breeding? Also, I think everyone should get out of my way. I like to get from point A to point B fast. I hate pedestrians and drivers who lollygag. If you want to be lookyloos, by all means. Just get out of my way!
Back to this whole time-management thing. I think I should just get on with it. How long does an introduction need to be anyway? I could have simplified things for you.
I’m seventeen. A girl. I’m going to college in a few months. My whole life is in front of me.
I slit my wrist two days ago.
I’m not insane, but I act like I am.
T. B. Markinson is a 39-year old American writer,
living in England, who pledged she would publish before she was 35. Better late
than never. When she isn’t writing, she’s traveling around the world, watching
sports on the telly, visiting pubs in England, or taking the dog for a walk.
Not necessarily in that order. She has published two novels: A WOMAN LOST and
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