I know you're upset, I know you're scared, but don't walk away.

I think you've got to get out whatever's hurting you through your art, so it doesn't twist you up inside.

I hate my body Hate what it remembers. Hate what it let him do.

I was focused before - obsessed, really - with the appearance of perfection. But what did that ever bring me but pain? Pain and not seeing people for who they really are. If I ever get out of here, I'll look at people differently. I'll look for their true selves beneath the mask of their bodies. I'll look at soul.

My scars show pain and suffering, but they also show my will to survive. They're part of my history that'll always be there.

If I don’t do what feels right to me, what I need and want to do, then am I really living?

You can see when someone's been hurt the way I was. It's obvious. Something changes in their eyes; pain becomes their center, even when they try to hide it.