I didn't know there was something really wrong, because everyone was crazy. It's just that everyone else was still functional. I didn't realize that I was any worse off.

I finally accept that not only do I not understand the death of my relationship, but I do not need to. These men were good and kind to me, they loved me and I loved them back and the shock at the finish holds no wisdom. The revelation is not that I lost them, but that I had them.

There's so much guilt there attached to having a perfectly good life.

I'm not crazy or dangerous, just a bit eccentric and lonely.

Of course he freaked me out. Of course it's nothing to do with me. But none of that matters. He loved me and now he doesn't. I was everything to him and now I am nothing.

Write a page every single day, even if what you put on the page that day is no good - it's the only way to get better.

I do think everything that happens in American pop culture sort of prescribes for England and does end up happening there six months later, maybe a year.