I'm not really sure which parts of myself are real and which parts are things I've gotten from books.

The voice of every kid hooked on drugs, alcohol or the occult joins the sad chorus "Not me! I didn't think it could ever happen to me. I was sure I could handle it.

one day I'll be old, without ever having really been young

How is it possible for me to be so miserable and embarrassed and humiliated and beaten an function still talk and smile and concentrate?

Alone. The saddest word in the world.

I'm afraid to live and afraid to die.

How can thoughts hurt so much when they aren't even physical?