“Standing there, I loved myself and I hated myself. That's what the black Mary did to me, made me feel my glory and my shame at the same time.”

“When I did finally speak, I surprised myself by saying exactly what was on my mind.
“You must hate me.”She stared a long time at me.I did,” she said slowly, “But it’s mostly myself I hate.”Don’t,” I said.And why the hell shouldn’t I hate myself? Everybody else hates me.”

“I made up my mind to keep my feelings to myself since they did not seem to matter to anyone else but me.”

“But what I did was the kind of thing you'd do and the kind of thing you've done: I felt bad for him and for myself and I went on with my week and then my summer and I started telling my story to whoever would listen. And my story was this: I survived camp. I survived my brother. I survived my own bad feelings. Love me for being so sad about it. Love me for knowing what I did. Love me for being in the lifeboat after everyone else went under. And my story made me feel better and it made me feel worse. And it worked.”

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

“The doctor’s words made me understand what happened to me was a dark, evil, and shameful secret, and by association I too was dark, evil, and shameful. While it may not have been their intention, this was the message my clouded mind received. To escape the confines of the hospital, I once again disassociated myself from my emotions and numbed myself to the pain ravaging my body and mind. I acted as if nothing was wrong and went back to performing the necessary motions to get me from one day to the next. I existed but I did not live.”