If killing yourself is not an option anymore, you have to sink into the darkness instead, and make something out of it.

It is madness. And if you don't know who you are, or if your real self has drifted away from you with the undertow, madness at least gives you an identity. It's the same with self-loathing. You're probably just normal and normal-looking but that's not a real identity, not the way ugliness is. Normality, just accepting that you're probably normal-looking, lacks the force field of self-disgust. If you don't know who you are, madness gives you something to believe in.

I like the cuts - they comfort me - I can't lie.

But I saw the pain and sadness in everything, and swirled it round my mouth like a fine wine.

Time heals all wounds. And if it doesn't, you name them something other than wounds and agree to let them stay.

He was only twenty-five.He was young enough to miss his youth just as it was slipping away. The worst kind of loss-the one that is happening as you feel it.

I'm in love with someone good and kind and gentle, and he's seen the darkness too, but somehow we've become each other's light.