“I know some words floated through my ears, but my mind refused to absorb their meaning. I just shook my head slowly as the wall of pain washed over me, leaving me submerged and broken in the flood.”

“Pain is the enemy. It is a ghost. I will allow it to wash over me, through me, leaving nothing in its wake.”

“There. My ears are all dead. Now you try."Three times I repeated the movements she'd made. Slowly, carefully, but nothing left me with the impression that my ears had died. The wine was rapidly circulating through my system."I do believe that my ears aren't dying properly, " I said, disappointed.She shook her head. "That's okay. If your ears don't need to die, there's nothing wrong with them not dying.”

“The waves of pain that had only lapped at me before now reared high up and washed over my head, pulling me under. I did not resurface.”

“I write the word solitude on my wall and then below it: Do you know me at all? Are my words just air? Is my heart easy to spare?”

“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.”