I wouldn't know what to do with another chance if you gave it to me.

Home is where my habits have a habitat

I got into therapy in the fifth grade because I said in a sarcastic way that I was going to kill myself, and they didn't get it then. Nothing's changed.

I had really bad obsessive-compulsive disorder. At its worst, I was compelled to leave my house at three o'clock in the morning and go out in the alley because I just knew that the paper-towel roll I threw in the recycling bin was uncomfortable, like it was lying the wrong way, and I would be down in the garbage.

Men are my bread and butter. It's what I live for! I have no shame about that.

The early cars already are drawing deep breaths past my door. And last night's phrases sick with lack of basis are still writhing on my floor.

For a while after the rape, I was afraid of my own sexuality, because I got raped right about the time when I started developing physically.