I learned to forgive myself, and that enabled me to forgive my mother as a person.

I was intelligent enough to make up my own mind. I not only had freedom of choice, I had freedom of expression.

I felt like a rich vagabond who had passed through the world paving my way with gold fairy dust, then realizing too late that the path disintegrated as soon as I passed over it.

Whenever I'm with my mother, I feel as though I have to spend the whole time avoiding land mines.

So sad! This is the saddest part when you lose someone you love- that person keeps changing. And later you wonder, Is this the same person I lost?

And now I have to stop. Because every time I remember this, I have to cry a little by myself. I don't know why something that made me so happy then feels so sad now. Maybe that is the way it is with the best memories.

Among writers, if you don't have a therapist, it's like saying you don't keep a journal or use the thesaurus. It's a natural accompaniment.