(Happy mother's day, mom.)

A bottle of excedrin, a box of cold pills, and a broken heart. A pocketknife, a few final words on a microchip.

My final "fuck you, God" ended with a spiteful "think again" from Him.

Instead, I threw up. Over and over and over again. Then an instant message, a trip to the hospital, five day stay.

I'm still learning.