I was afraid I was going to die and then I was afraid I wasnt.

I had no idea how to live, but I didn’t want to die.

I suspected at that moment that I would not die, but it was unclear whether I would be pleased about that fact.

I'm not dead.
A dim realization but an important one, because I should have died.

I think that might not have been enough, were it not for me being my family ’s only hope. Because they were also dying, in a different way: financially, mentally. And I thought, I can’t die. Literally I can’t die.

What I thought would kill me, didn't. Every time I said to myself: I can't take this anymore — I was wrong. The truth was that I could and did take it all — and I kept surviving. Surviving again and again made me less afraid of myself, of other people, of life.

I thought I was killing myself and I did not care.

I thought I was learning to live; I was only learning to die.

The parts of me that used to think I was different or smarter or whatever, almost made me die.

i thought i was learning to live but i was learning to die

I used to think, if I could realise I'd die
Then I would be a lot nicer
Used to believe in a lot more
Now I just see straight ahead
That's not to say I don't have good times
But as for my days, I spend them waiting...

My old skill at self-delusion overrode my doubts as I told myself that Dexter probably believed in me. I could believe anything then. I still can as long as it is improbable.

I thought you were going to say I was dead,' I said.

'I just couldn't kill you off,' the boy said.

'Thank you, Huck.

This wouldn't be so bad, I told myself. But secretly, I knew that I was quite wrong.