It's not what happens to us that defines us. It's what we choose to do with what happens to us that defines us.

I feel helpless, hopeless, too low to call out, too weak to think. Impotent tears dribble down.

There was a point that I stopped crying. It's not just because I didn't feel pain anymore, not because I didn't feel sorrow. It was just to keep going. I mean, it just was to survive, to live.

You have to have short fingernails or they'd just break off, and you can't wear red polish - it looks like your fingers are bleeding.

O I know they make war because they want peace; they hate so that they may live; and they destroy the present to make the world safe for the future. When have they not done and said they did it for that?

Knowing it can always get worse, I try to be grateful for whatever good I have.

Sleep tries to seduce me by promising a more reasonable tomorrow.