A Cliche Is Everything You've Ever Heard

Who Can Judge Another Man's Suffering?

Panic Was The Worst Thing. When You Panicked, You Couldn't See Possibilities. Then Came Despair.

Who Was I, Really? I Was The Sole Occupant Of My Mother's Totalitarian State, My Own Personal History Rewritten To Fit The Story She Was Telling That Day. There Were So Many Missing Pieces. I Was Starting To Find Some Of Them, Working My Way Upriver, Collecting A Secret Cache Of Broken Memories In A Shoebox.

Reading Love Junkie Is Like Watching A Sleepwalker Taking A Stroll On A Freeway. All You Can Do Is Pray. Gorgeously Written, Piercingly Honest.

It Wasn't Awful To Be Dead. The Stillness Would Almost Be A Relief. She Wouldn't Want Pain, She Wouldn't Want To Be Wounded Or Mutilated. She Could Never Shoot Herself Or Jump Off A Building. But Being Dead Wasn't Unthinkable.