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“Hudson, I keep starting this and stopping again because I can never decide which version of me is supposed to write it. That sounds strange, doesn’t it? Some days it feels as though several different people move through the same hours wearing my face. And none of them agree on what is real or what matters. One of them wakes up early and tries very hard to be normal. She drinks water, opens the curtains, reads things carefully, answers letters like someone who understands consequences. Another version barely leaves the bed. She lies there listening to the house breathe around her, floorboards settling, pipes humming, like the building itself is trying not to disturb her. And then there is the one I don’t like speaking about. She arrives later in the day. She doesn’t feel like she belongs to me at all.” — Jodie Kelly