In the aftermath of her twin sister's tragic death, Reagan Sinclair finds herself in a never-ending battle against paralyzing panic attacks and drowning in grief. Desperate to just survive each day, Reagan's world is turned upside down when Paris un...
Well, here we go again with the deep thoughts and pondering the meaning of life. It's a real party in my brain today, let me tell you. Want to know what I think about? I think about what you did a great to deserve this. What Mom and Dad did. What I did. I try to make your death have meaning, but there's no reason for the inexplicable. It's just plain old not fair, and that's that.
But sometimes I think that if I can explain it all away losing you wouldn't be so hard. Maybe then the weight of your absence would be more bearable, somehow. More navigable. But there's no profound "aha!" moment waiting to be discovered, no grand revelation that'll make it all better. Lately, I'm starting to accept that your death doesn't need a big, shiny reason behind it. It wasn't our parent's fault, it wasn't mine, and it wasn't yours. You're not here because of the choices made by someone else, and it was as senseless as it was selfish. There's no explaining away your death. There's just you not being here and me dealing with that.
I think about you being all alone in that box, and it leaves me breathless. Sometimes that's the thing that keeps me up at night, thinking about your body, all alone. Cold. I keep expecting it to get better, easier. But it feels heavier with every step I get to take and you don't. I feel guilty for every smile, for every moment of fleeting happiness. I feel guilty for the very breath in my lungs. How dare I be happy in a world where you don't exist? I've got a VIP ticket to the Guilt Express, all aboard the "I Don't Deserve Happiness" express train. Choo fucking choo!
I feel so guilty for being alive, Roe and it's a curious thing because if you were here I know you'd want me to live. You'd scream it at me. You'd take my shoulders in your hands, and you'd shake me until my teeth rattled, and you'd scream it in my face. “Live Reagan! Live. Live for me! Live for you! Live for the both of us, just live!"
But mostly I find myself thinking about you, wondering if you're happy wherever you are. I hope that somehow you're happy, Roe. I hope you know that you're missed and loved and that not a day goes by when I don't think about you.
Love Reagan
Reagan: Meet me at TBB?
Samara: Wish I could but I have a thing.
Reagan: It's okay don't sweat it, I'll drink a crapy coffee in your honor.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"HOW'S THE JOURNALING GOING?" Erica asks me from her seat in the armchair. She's dressed all in green today, matching the walls of the room.
"Peachy," I say with a bright smile that I drop intimately. I kick off my shoes, tuck my knees into my chest, and hide my face from her. She laughs and it feels like the sound punctures my brain tissues. This morning I woke up feeling like something chewed me up and spat me out. I threw up three times before leaving the apartment and I think I'm running a fever, but it's therapy Wednesday so here I am suffering through it.
