“I didn't know if the beginning of my story was in a promising private school and a yearbook full of hope and my ending was in here, in this ruined space, letting it all go. But I was determined to accept it, perhaps debate it, and then move on to a new story. I did want things. I wanted to express myself, I wanted to get out of my dead-end job, I wanted to feel loved, I wanted to love myself. I wanted to know that this what not the end. I couldn't start a new story until I gave words to the "why?" of it, even if it hurt, even if it felt too messy, even if it wasn't the story I set out to tell. It was my story and it was all I had. I dusted myself off and left the basement.”