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

The complete bottom has fallen out of my life.

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

I pretend I've got lots of confidence and I'm a big jock and like that but deep inside I'm a frightened, insecure, can't-make-it failure.

This morning when I left Mom's parting words were, "Come straight home after school." Wow! Like I'm going to get stoned at 3:30—it doesn't sound so bad at that.

I guess I'll never measure up to anyone's expectations. I surely don't measure up to what I'd like to be.

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