With him everything is a test, affection is measured, that given weighed against that which has been received, and the balance, more often than not, disappointing him.

We’re constantly changing facts, rewriting history to make things easier, to make them fit in with our preferred version of events. We do it automatically. We invent memories. Without thinking. If we tell ourselves something happened often enough we start to believe it, and then we can actually remember it.

I want him to be happy. And I want you to be happy, too. Even if you can only find that happiness without me.

With him everything is a test, affection is measured, that given weighed against that which has been received, and the balance, more often than not, disappointing him.

It's so difficult, isn't it? To see what's going on when you're in the absolute middle of something? It's only with hindsight we can see things for what they are.

Work. Write. Read. Keep putting words on the page, because that's the only way you'll get better.

‎"Is it possible to both want and not want something at the same time? For desire to ride with fear?