[ WP ] Write a passage from your autobiography .

She reminded me of my sister, in a way. Only in appearance, big brown kind eyes and a sincere smile. I do n't know how it happened, but she started seeing me as a sister too. 
 
 We were family, in a way. A family can be brought closer together by tragic events, supporting each other because, well, you went through it together and you need each other. Our situation was different. We only knew each other because we sat at a table every day with the rest of the `` crazies'', talking about trauma and how we deal with it. 
 
 We went through the same thing, but we went through it separately. What we had in common was months of lying in bed being useless, and negative thoughts we had lost control over. We ended up in the same hospital around the same time, but never saw each other. We had the nurses treat us like crap. It made sense to me, because we were just taking up beds that someone with a real injury could have needed. They saw us as people screaming out for attention, and treated us like it too. 
 
 It's weird to think how we were two young women who barely knew each other, and we could sit around comfortably and talk about poop. Not just any poop, but the kind that comes after you've been force-fed the disgusting charcoal drink by a disapproving nurse. We giggled about it, and in each other found a way to see the dark humor in our attempts. I never looked at her with pity when she talked about it, and she never looked at me that way either. We just giggled, like two high school girls in a quiet corner discussing some hilarious secret. 
 
 I'm pretty sure we drove the psychologists absolutely crazy. The sex jokes never stopped. We had `` art time'' where we would sit around a table and display our feelings with different mediums. It was helpful, but we never stopped rolling our eyes at it, or finding new ways to torture the shrinks. There is nothing quite like talking about your feelings while a friend proudly sits next to the giant clay penis she plopped on the table. 
 
 I do n't know if I would have survived without her. She made me laugh, she made me cry. The emotional ups and downs she put me through might sound awful to the average person, but when she made me cry it was beautiful. I was so numb for so long, tears would stream down my face in calm torrents and I would only feel worse for it. She made me cry, really cry. I opened my heart, my voice cracked, my face contorted, and sweet relief flooded me. Crying had a function, and it felt wonderful. 
 
 We both left on the same day, with big hugs and promises to see each other again. Instead, our chapter together ended on the same day our treatment did. I wo n't ever forget her.
