I knew that I was gay, I knew it. I just couldn't see myself as a gay woman, even though that's where my heart was.

I love body parts, especially hands.

People might find me attractive, but it's also my job to prove that I can be intelligent.

I wondered if that's what aging felt like. That desire and reality were dueling until the day you die, that nobody every got to a place of peace. I had always wanted to get old so I didn't have to care anymore, but I began to think that it would be best just to skip the getting older part and just die.

When it’s quiet in my head like this, that’s when the voice doesn’t need to tell me how pathetic I am. I know it in the deepest part of me. When it’s quiet like this, that’s when I truly hate myself.

She'd tell me how she'd handle the backhanded compliment by smiling and pretending she was receiving a genuine compliment all the while ignoring their attempt to be insulting. After all, it's the way an insult is received that makes it an insult. You can't really give offense unless someone takes it.

Normal" isn't an adjective you wish to hear after putting that much effort into making sure it was spectacular.