“I want to go to sleep and not wake up, but I don't want to die. I want to eat like a normal person eats, but I need to see my bones or I will hate myself even more and I might cut my heart out or take every pill that was ever made.”

“Another page turns on the calendar, April now, not March..........I am spinning the silk threads of my story, weaving the fabric of my world...I spun out of control. Eating was hard. Breathing was hard. Living was hardest.I wanted to swallow the bitter seeds of forgetfulness...Somehow, I dragged myself out of the dark and asked for help.I spin and weave and knit my words and visions until a life starts to take shape.There is no magic cure, no making it all go away forever. There are only small steps upward; an easier day, an unexpected laugh, a mirror that doesn't matter anymore.I am thawing.”

“Brain: You don’t want this.Hormones: Dude, this is EXACTLY what I want.B: No, not like this—she's wasted.H: What's your point?B: She won't remember this, and if she does, she'll be angry.H: Do you see where her hand is? God, that feels good. Can't you feel that?B: She's drunk. You can't do this. It's wrongH: I want to do this.B: Really? You want to go to school and say you scored with Bethany Milbury when she was so drunk she barely knew her name?H:H:H: You're an asshole. I hate you.B: She needs to eat something and drink some water. Don't let her drink anymore beer.H:H: Yeah, I knowB: She'll love you for taking care of her. She'll love that you respected her.H: Five more minutes? Just five?B: Now.H: I can't believe you're making me do this.”

“The cops say that thing:'anything you say will be used against you.' Self-incrimination. I looked it up. Three-point vocab word. So why does everyone make such a hairy deal about me not talking? Maybe I don't want to incriminate myself. Maybe I don't like the sound of my voice. Maybe I don't have anything to say.”

“I live in the borderlands. The word ghost sounds like memory. The word therapy means exorcism. My visions echo and multiplymultiply. I don't know how to figure out what they mean. I can't tell where they start or if they will end. But I know this. If they shrink my head any more, or float me away on an ocean of pills, I will never return.”

“I know my head isn't screwed on straight. I want to leave, transfer, warp myself to another galaxy. I want to confess everything, hand over the guilt and mistake and anger to someone else. There is a beast in my gut, I can hear it scraping away at the inside of my ribs. Even if I dump the memory, it will stay with me, staining me. My closest is a good thing, a quiet place that helps me hold these thoughts inside my head where no one can hear them.”

“Do I want to die from the inside out or the outside in?”