These posts are my favorites. Always. The essays that run on a mental gasoline comprised of desperation and loneliness and fear, the ones with an implied scream at the end or some other gesture of humanity that tosses aside the rules we’ve come to honor: don’t say too much, the internet is forever, your words affect other people who might get really angry and know where you live (after all)….

I’m reading your diary as your life crumbles in the way that all lives eventually crumble…

Take this. Or perhaps you’d like this. Take all of it, take it at 3 in the AM, and pour yourself a drink. Look around the empty house. You can almost feel her absence now, and you think of their wedding. When you wake up in the morning you find yourself wondering if she’ll ever come back. I don’t want to call this kind of writing an overshare, because this kind of writing is why you keep writing for the internet; maybe, one day, you’ll need all of those eyes on you too.