I crave white on white and black, but my thoughts race in glorious technicolour, prodding me awake, whipping away the warm blanket of invisibility every time it sears to smother my mind in nothing.

It is myself I have never met whose face is pasted on the underside of my mind

A small girl became increasingly paralysed by her parents' frequently violent rows. Sometimes she would spend hours standing completely still in the toilet, simply because that was where she happened to be when the fight began. Finally, in moments of calm, she would take bottles of milk from the fridge or doorstep and leave them in places where she may later become trapped. Her parents were unable to understand why they found bottles of sour milk in every room in the house.

She's talking about herself in the third person because the idea of being who she is, of acknowledging that she is herself, is more than her pride can take.

Death is my lover and he wants to move in.

Once you have perceived that life is very cruel, the only response is to live with as much humanity, humour and freedom as you can.

What I sometimes mistake for ecstasy is simply the absence of grief.