Truly, a life in constant pain is the life of the damned.

Yet, ironically, it is her very wretchedness that makes me pity her so. I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know what to do!

‎When you point your finger at someone, anyone, it is often a moment of judgement. We point our fingers when we want to scold someone, point out what they have done wrong. But each time we point, we simultaneously point three fingers back at ourselves.

Why am I talking about all this? Who am I talking to? I send out these words, these thoughts, simply because it is time. Time for what, I do not know and it does not matter because it is what I want and that is always reason enough for me.

Most of all I grieve for my soul because even though I do, finally, believe there is a God, and that I have met him, I do not know if he has given me an immortal soul, but only one that was to last me as long as my body lasted. I do not know if when the last page of my book is closed, that will be the end of me.

We all die. It's just a question of when and how horrible it's going to be.

Slow down. The party won't start until I get there - Jo, Remember me. Page 43.