Things are rough all over.

All of a sudden it felt like people were peering over my shoulder, wondering what I would write next. I was blocked for four years.

nothing can wear you out like caring about people

I wish I was a kid again, when I had all the answers.

I go straight from thinking about my narrator to being him.

It was too vast a problem to be just a personal thing. There should be some help, someone should tell them before it was too late. Someone should tell their side of the story, and maybe people would understand then, and wouldn’t be so quick to judge a boy by the amount of hair oil he wore.

You know what the crummiest feeling you can have is? To hate the person you love the best in the world.