I come from a family of screamers. If they are trying to express any emotion or idea beyond pass the salt, it comes in shrieks.

I need the thing that happens when your brain shuts off and your heart turns on.

Pick a man, any man. Every guy I fall for becomes Jesus Christ within the first twenty-four hours of our relationship. I know that this happens, I see it happening, I even feel myself, sometimes, standing at some temporal crossroads, some distinct moment at which I can walk away and keep it from happening, but I never do. I grab at everything, I end up with nothing, and then I feel bereft. I mourn for the loss of something I never even had.

I'm the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receding farther and farther into the background. Because with every day that goes by, I feel myself becoming more and more invisible

I come from a family of screamers. If they are trying to express any emotion or idea beyond pass the salt, it comes in shrieks.

Years of depression have robbed me of that—well, that give, that elasticity that everyone else calls perspective.

So many more cycles of elation of the first kiss, and devastation when it's over.