“My phone is on my bed, whispering in my ear like a bottle of scotch to a recovering alcoholic, while the rain continues cackling at me through my window.”

“My jealousy is a living thing. Shifting, changing, growing. Like my rage and my mother's regret.”

“...my closet and I are on my own. My closet is of no use to me. It may actually be laughing at me. It's true, I hear it.”

“Then, I'll find an empty restroom and check my hair and fix my lipstick, or as we cowards like to call it, hide.”

“Everyone wants to fix me. Myparents want to fix me. My brother wantsto fix me. My therapists want to fix me.You’re supposed to be the person whodoesn’t want to fix me.”

“I reach up to brush my hair back out of my eyes so I can look around and attempt to determine what the hell is going on. The only three things that I know for certain took place last night are that one -- small elves climbed up my body and tied my hair into a mass of tiny knots, two -- I must have slept with my mouth open because something crawled into it and died and three -- I was sucked through a vortex into some animated world where an anvil was dropped on my head.”

“It's all my fault! Everything is my fault and no one knows it more than me. We're all in hell and I'm the one that put us here.”