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

I had no idea how complicated and solitary it could be to write a simple book.

In short? It is exhausting being me. Pretending to be normal is draining and requires amazing amounts of energy and Xanax.

[On acupuncture:] The needles are small and won't hurt at all. In fact, they'll feel good. Ha, ha! Just kidding. They feel like needles. Because they are.

Even at age 10, I already knew that I was different from most people. My anxiety disorder was still years from being diagnosed, but it affected me quite deeply. I was too afraid to speak out in class, too nervous to make real friends.

Writing is my therapy. In addition to my real therapy. God knows where I'd be without it. I'd probably still be at my last job, working in HR at a religious organization. I was horribly miscast.

Have you ever been homesick for someplace that doesn't actually exist anymore? Someplace that exists only in your mind?