Why is life so difficult? Why can't we be just ourselves and have everyone accept us the way we are?

They have accepted me as an individual, as a personality, as an entity. I belong! I am important! I am somebody!

I’ve got to sleep. Sleep is my only way to escape.

She didn't know whether she was running away from something or running to something, but she admitted that deep in her heart she wanted to go home.

Sometimes fantasies are better than life.

Nobody's talking to me, but nobody's hassling me either. I guess you can't have everything.

They don’t think “I care,” “I hurt,” or “I have feelings.” It just seems like I’m always “wrong,” always “selfish,” always “self-centered” and everything else that’s negative and destructive.