From quite early on, I had this idea of compartmentalized identities - 'this is how you are when you are with your mum, and this is how you are when you are with your dad' - so it seemed like I could never absolutely be myself. And the image of myself as compromised and inconsistent made me want to withdraw from the world even further. I had a sense of formulating a paper-mache version of myself to send out in the world, while I sat controlling it remotely from some smug suburban barracks.

I'm buying things for people I don't even know. I'm like Willy Wonka, but more manipulative. Imagine if Willy Wonka had a devious goal.

Tumbling into a dark, Lewis Carroll labyrinth of filth, pursuing a white rabbit of smut!

For me happiness occurs arbitrarily: a moment of eye contact on a bus, where all at once you fall in love; or a frozen second in a park where it's enough that there are trees in the world.

Turns out it was mostly a lie. But, at least for a short while, it was a beautiful one.

How we treat the vulnerable is how we define ourselves as a species.

I've come off heroin twice, and the worst part is laying in bed kicking and not being able to keep still. The physical withdrawal doesn't last that long, but then it's just all psychological. I think it's worse than cigarettes.