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

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

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.

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.

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

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.