When I was little, my father used to sell guns and ammo at a sporting goods store, but I always told everyone he was an arms dealer, because it sounded more exciting.

...and whenever I had menstral cramps, I could just pretend that Voldemort was close.

Knock-knock, motherfucker.

A friend is someone who knows where all your bodies are buried. Because they're the ones who helped you put them there." And sometimes, if you're really lucky, they help you dig them back up.

In fact almost everyone in my yearbook wrote the same thing to me: "To weird girl, you're nice." I didn't think it was bad. When I showed my mother she said, "Everyone is different." Being weird became my tool. I'm weird; that's who I am. It was my coping badge.

I wanted to write about my disorders for people like my husband or mother who don't suffer but have saved people. Mentally ill people don't have a choice in who they are. But those that stand by the mentally ill make an enormous difference. Even when I'm healthy enough to take care of myself I face constant battles, especially with insurance companies.

When you're really crazy you don't question it. Being aware of my behaviors stops them. Sure, a lot of people pick their cuticles, but how many people cut big parts of their skin off? It's unfair because I have been judged.