Thirteen Reasons Why. Jay Asher.
I love feeling of you get when you just finished a really great book, one that moved you. But this is a different kind of moving. This is something I felt relation to -- but shouldn't have. Why can I relate to a book that tells all the last words of a girl that killed herself? I'm not sure why I understand her in a way. Or why I've felt some of what she's felt -- why I've felt even the slightest relation to her. Or why I can honestly say I've sat there and thought about how I'd do it, or when, or how, or thought about my funeral, or thought about who'd cry. It's kind of sad in a way. Before you think I'm crazy, though, it's been quite some time since any of that has really crossed my mind like that.
Nonetheless, amazing book. It's almost comforting, in a way, to read the thoughts of someone that fictionally killed themselves. It's comforting to realize you truly are not alone. It's actually really upsetting to think about; it's upsetting to realize that society has become so corrupt that the only way you can be zapped back into the reality of those around you and their minds is by reading a deep book.
I almost wanted to jump through the pages of the book. I wanted to rip apart each letter of every word and run after her. To let her know she isn't alone; to let her know someone does care, and does understand. To save her, or at least try. This book made me dead-set. I know what I'm doing with my life. Any doubts of career I once had have been settled. Reading this-- reading her words and imagining her broken voice speaking them-- made me realize I can't not be that outlet, that savior. The same savior I always wanted when I thought the same thoughts, when I had to save myself.
I love feeling of you get when you just finished a really great book, one that moved you. But this is a different kind of moving. This is something I felt relation to -- but shouldn't have. Why can I relate to a book that tells all the last words of a girl that killed herself? I'm not sure why I understand her in a way. Or why I've felt some of what she's felt -- why I've felt even the slightest relation to her. Or why I can honestly say I've sat there and thought about how I'd do it, or when, or how, or thought about my funeral, or thought about who'd cry. It's kind of sad in a way. Before you think I'm crazy, though, it's been quite some time since any of that has really crossed my mind like that.
Nonetheless, amazing book. It's almost comforting, in a way, to read the thoughts of someone that fictionally killed themselves. It's comforting to realize you truly are not alone. It's actually really upsetting to think about; it's upsetting to realize that society has become so corrupt that the only way you can be zapped back into the reality of those around you and their minds is by reading a deep book.
I almost wanted to jump through the pages of the book. I wanted to rip apart each letter of every word and run after her. To let her know she isn't alone; to let her know someone does care, and does understand. To save her, or at least try. This book made me dead-set. I know what I'm doing with my life. Any doubts of career I once had have been settled. Reading this-- reading her words and imagining her broken voice speaking them-- made me realize I can't not be that outlet, that savior. The same savior I always wanted when I thought the same thoughts, when I had to save myself.
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