It’s humbling, to become the very thing you once mocked.

I've suffered betrayal with all five senses. For over a year.

I just think some women aren't made to be mothers. And some women aren't made to be daughters.

There’s something disturbing about recalling a warm memory and feeling utterly cold.

They always call depression the blues, but I would have been happy to waken to a periwinkle outlook. Depression to me is urine yellow, washed out, exhausted miles of weak piss.

I feel like I need to give people a note with the book that says, 'I'm OK, no worries!'

My mother had always told her kids: if you're about to do something, and you want to know if it's a bad idea, imagine seeing it printed in the paper for all the world to see.