“But like many who are lonely, I was more preoccupied with others than were those who lived to socialize...Everyone I hated was always with me, even when I was alone. They had to be, for I had to remember what and why I hated in order to remind myself to stay away from them.”

“Sometimes I would get invited to a party or to go out to dinner by oneof them and I would decline. Part of me wanted to go, but those kind ofoutings always made me feel even more alienated than usual. Hearing themtalk made me feel lonely and hateful at the same time. Lonely because Ididn't fit in, never did. When I was reminded, it hurt. And hatefulbecause it reaffirmed what I already knew, that I was alone and on theoutside.”

“And I felt more like me than I ever had, as if the years I'd lived so far had formed layers of skin and muscle over myself that others saw as me when the real one had been underneath all along, and I knew writing- even writing badly- had peeled away those layers, and I knew then that if I wanted to stay awake and alive, if I wanted to stay me, I would have to keep writing.”

“I hated him. I hated them all. They made me hate myself even more than I already did.”

“And I have the others in me. Even when I’m far away from them, I am forced to live with them. Even when I’m all alone, crowds surround me. I have no place to flee to, unless I were to flee from myself.”

“I hated myself for going, why couldn't I be the kind of person who stays?”