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405 pages, Hardcover
First published May 7, 2019


Lennon
Los Angeles. City of Angels. City of Eternal Damantion. It's a matter of perspective, I suppose. Considering my life is cursed, I'm placing all my figurative chips on a solid bet that it is eternal damnation. Since the air is hot, sticky, and humid here, it's fair to say I'm surrounded by hellfire. It clings to my skin and smothers me like plastic wrap.
I'd rather be back at the mental hospital.*
Kyler
Yeah, a tree house. Go ahead. Laugh. Let me find the fucks I give.
Hint:
None.
That is correct. I do not give a single solitary fuck about how absurd it is. I'm seventeen. Six foot one and growing, and I still prefer to remain hidden in the trees. It's rad and if anyone knocks it, I'll knock their teeth clean out of their face, no joke.*
"My scars are invisible, buried deep inside, guarded by the monster in my head."
"His scars are there, literally written on his face."
I'm proud of the mask, but he doesn't need it. I wish he could see himself the way I do—the truth I see reflected in an old soul that has too much wisdom for a seventeen-year-old kid, the smile on his lips when he's observing me and doesn't think I notice, the water of his eyes, calm as a glass sea yet harboring the constant threat of a riptide."
"I get anxious. I think about terrible things. Awful things. Things that no person should ever think about, or at least admit to thinking about. And once I think them..." I pause nervously. "Once I think about them, it consumes my brain and eats at it like some kind of cancer. The thought dominates every single waking moment, over and over and over again. Like being forced to watch a gruesome movie in your head with your eyes wide open. The only way to make it stop, to get relief, to silence the goddamned thought, is to do things in patterns of five or whatever stupid, irrational, illogical idea my mind has in store."
His hand slides across the underside of my jaw. "Don't cry for me."
"I'm crying for the little boy who was you," I say. My arms are shaking like mad, trying to keep myself upright.
Kyler closes his eyes and pulls me forward. He doesn't hesitate.
He kisses me.
And the minute his mouth touches mine, I'm a supernova.
Her voice is laced with sadness that loves to bloom through quiet tears. "Are any of us ever okay, really?"
I stroke her hair with my fingers. "No. No one is okay in a literal sense. Everyone is screwed up, and they're either screwed up enough to admit it, or too blinded by ego to see it. But I think we can be okay for moments, Lennon. Sometimes for hours, days, even weeks. And I don't know about you, but in this moment I'm pretty okay."
Her arms wrap around my neck.
It's the best feeling in the entire world. In the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxies combined.
"Yeah," she says, "I'm pretty okay, too."
When Lennon came into my galaxy it was a welcome surprise. I didn't see it coming., hence the surprise part, but then she was there. Beside me. In a different direction. It felt as if she belonged there, like she was always there and would always be there, so now that Josh had removed her from my orbit, the tear in my patchwork will spread until it's a gaping black hole.
The night is blinded by your wonder,
So it steals you from my grasp,
These walls we've built come tumbling down,
Our wills were caving fast.
So wash away the world we've built,
But please don't let them break you,
Brace yourself, you gotta fight,
Don't let the thoughts control you.
Shock and awe, surprise them,
those who think you're weak.
Look to the sky and chase them,
those answers that you seek.
The stars will light the sky for us,
They'll illuminate the way,
They show you how to find me,
They'll make you want to stay.
To anyone dealing with any kind of mental illness in yourself or in your families. You are bold. You are brave. You are badass. Talk about it. Please use your voices to shake up the world! Be informed and show support and understanding. No one should have to walk through life alone. Find strength in community and be good to every person you meet, because you don't know what their story is, you don't know about the scars they carry. Be kind.
"Get back here. You have nothing to hide, nothing to be embarrassed for. If you have to ritualize, so what? All that means is a whole bunch of people who have OCD or know someone with OCD or love someone with OCD will feel like they have a voice. Ordinary people do ordinary things while people like you do extraordinary things."
I'm broken and you're beautiful,
You're my Juliet,
I might just be your Romeo,
The one you can't forget.
The scars that burn inside my mind,
They fascinate you so,
You're my fateful fairy tale,
I'm never letting go.
”His face. It’s not a birthmark. He’s tortured. Like the Phantom of the Opera. A reclusive musical genius with a burned-up face.”
THOUGHTS: MY MOTHER DIED IN A CAR GOING SOMEWHERE. BUT AT LEAST SHE HAD A DESTINATION. I DIE INSIDE STANDING STILL.
I opt for one last push of OCD me into the atmosphere. I make it loud and clear to everyone I will never fit in, and that’s okay. “I’ve waited 3,628,799.996 seconds to hear you say that. I missed you, too.”


"You all right?"
"Is anyone all right, really?"

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