It’s two years later and I’m sitting across from the interviewer. I hate that people pity me, what's done, is done. I tend to space out a lot and it's obvious when the interviewer taps my shoulder asking if I’m all right.
"I'm sorry, what was the question?" I think I apologize too much. I think people apologize to me too much. What happened isn't their fault but I feel like it's mine. I provoked someone to do this to me.
"How did you do it? How did you manage?" the woman asks, leaning forward in her chair as the camera narrows in.
"My best friend, Michael," I said, smiling at the thought of the screwed up friendship we had. Michael was all I had and he's all I have now.
How Michael and me met is probably one of the most messed up stories but it's a great one. At first, I didn’t even want to be friends with Michael; you could say I even hated him. Michael has always been there for me (even when I didn’t want him to be) and I’m so thankful for him.
