There is an objective reality in which my body and mind are one. But I am not here and never have been.

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.

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

They will love me for that which destroys me.

Please. Don’t switch off my mind by attempting to straighten me out. Listen and understand, and when you feel contempt don’t express it, at least not verbally, at least not to me.

I am an emotional plagiarist, stealing other people's pain, subsuming it into my own until I can't remember whose it is any more.

Embrace beautiful lies - the chronic insanity of the sane