Junkies are liars. They have to be professionally.

You need an entire drama to construct your life around to avoid living it.

I always figured I myself would never be lucky enough to die, I'd just live on and on in this increasingly dreary spiral.

For me there was never a lot of glamor involved in being a junkie, it was about trying to hide the puke and bloodstains on my shirt.

You may think you don't want to throw your life away for mere fleeting euphoria. But, once you get a taste, it doesn't feel so mere. From then on the planet becomes a waiting room. The rest of your life devolves to no more than the time between highs.

Nothing ever turns me on so much in a woman as unhappiness.

I always tell myself, when I remember the non-stop self-generated hell party that used to be my life, I wouldn't be here if I didn't go there.