“Soph cries for me at night. It happens at least five times a week. She keeps talking about a monster under her bed. It’s really hard sometimes to convince her that there isn’t. Actually, hell, it’s hard for me to convince myself that there isn’t a monster under her bed. I had to stop taking my medicine—it erases all feeling. With it, I looked at my child, my baby and had trouble digging for the things I need to raise her—enthusiasm, compassion for others, a genuine smile. So I decided I would deal. I have a good enough grasp on reality. I know what’s real and what isn’t. I just love her so much. So, if I see something and I don’t think it’s real… I will just tell myself it isn’t… Don’t look at me like that. You don’t understand. You don’t know what this feels like! Soph needs someone better than me, I know. And guess what? I’m selfish. I need her. Otherwise, is there a point to anything for a person like me? Without her, there is no reason for me to even exist. What would you do?”