I read your book Prozac Nation: Young and Depressed in America when I was in my twenties. I remember your journey through the darkness. I appreciated your honesty, your courage, your intellect, your literary prowess, your love of Bruce Springsteen.
And maybe—and this is a really optimistic maybe—somewhere along the way this dour story might give some people some inspiration and even some hope for a better future, for the future that people my age and younger can look forward to building.
I was saddened by the news of your death. It reminded me of the time I read your book. It reminded me of the time you inspired me. It reminded me of the time you gave me hope.