“You can’t change the road you traveled from a child, but you can certainly take a different road for the journey into your future.”

“Recovery on the med model requires you to be obedient, like a child," she explains. "You are obedient to your doctors, you are compliant with your therapist, and you take your meds. There's no striving toward greater intellectual concerns.”

“(My momma + curvy roads= wear your seat belt.”

“You don't even like swimming! You can't jump in without holding your nose," she points out.True.But if I were at the country club with the other kids my age, I would glide in from the shallow end or just plain jump in and drown. At least I'd die cool.”

“Klonopin ruined my lie. It takes away your drive, and in the morning, you don't want to get out of bed, because you feel so groggy. I don't even know what it's like to feel normal. This is my world. Things don't get me as excited as most people because I'm in a constant state of sedation. It should never have been prescribed for long-term use.”

“That's cool," he says."Yeah," I say, and we go into another marathon pause."So..." he finally says. "Think you can start talking to me again?""Oh,so you noticed the silencio treatment?" I tease. My horoscope in Seventeen this month encourages me to "take a romantic risk," so I'm going for it."Yeah,I noticed when I had to do Actividad thirty-three as both fruit vendor and customer," he says, and I can hear him grinning through the phone.”

“Once Mamaw's eased her body onto the seat, pinning me in so tightly that a seat belt would just be redundant, we head out of the parking lot and onto the open road. Mamaw and Papaw have agreed to take me shopping for Mackenzie's birthday present, and we're heading out to The Square at the breakneck speed of thirty-four miles per hour."Slow down, Frank," my mamaw commands, patting my knee. "We've got precious cargo."He eases up on the gas and I throw my head back and close my eyes, anxious and frustrated.”