I have lived more than twice; a sane person would assume I speak of a life busting at its seams. I am not and barely eighteen years old. My 18th birthday was a week and half ago- the first time life became more than I could handle.
I slit my wrists and bled to death beneath a bridge or so I thought. Yet I came back to the same path with the faintest of memories and the heaviest sense of déjà vu toward every major decision.