I know he did horrible things in the jungle. Things no amount of alcohol or pills could erase. War stains soldiers, all the way through their psyches, into their souls. I understand that, and could almost forgive him for taking his own life, to quiet the ghosts. But I can never forgive him for taking my mother with him.

Only by confronting your demons can you ever hope to conquer them.

I still care for you, you know.. That phrase again. Everyone cares for me. They just don't know how to love me.

Once ...Why ...lie? ...when ...truth is ...the easier path

Starving for a high, a place to hang out inside my own head. Starving for touch. Pain, even. A way to feel. I need to feel.

Anger is easier than forgiveness.

I don't need more pain in my life. Why did I invite it in? Do I have to feel pain to believe I feel anything at all?