“The worst is knowing I can't tell anybody what's happening -or what's happened- to me. Not even my mom.”

“I learned to tell stories from my mom. "Your dad's not feeling well today," she'd say. I had an accident. She'd say, Remember what happened. You're a clumsy girl. You walk into a door. You tripped and stumbled down a staircase. My favorite story: He doesn't mean to.She was so good at telling stories that I started to believe them after a while. Maybe I was clumsy. Maybe it was my fault for provoking him.Maybe he didn't really mean to.”

“You can't tell me what to feel”

“Don't you get it? You can't tell me what to feel.”

“For a second, I feel a sense of overwhelming grief: for how things change, for the fact that we can never go back. I'm not certain of anything anymore. I don't know what will happen--”

“I don't know whether these feelings - this thing growing inside of me - is something horrible and sick or the best thing that's ever happened to me.Either way, I can't stop it. I've lost control. And the truly sick thing is that despite everything, I'm glad.”

“There is only what you want and what happens. There is only grabbing on and holding tight in the darkness.”