I know that things get worse before they get better because that’s what my psychiatrist says, but this is a worse that feels too big.

The inside jokes weren't jokes anymore. they had become stories

"I hate you." My sister said it different than she said it to my dad. She meant it with me.She really did. "I love you," was all I could say in return. "You're a freak, you know that? Everyone says so. They always have." "I'm trying not to be.” Then, I turned around and walked to my room and closed my door and put my head under my pillow and let the quiet put things where they are supposed to be.

My sister was the one who told me where babies come from. My sister was also the one who laughed when I immediately asked her where babies go to.

Well, I think that part of being young is not exactly knowing why you do some of the things that you do. And it's by exploring your life or experimenting or making mistakes and learning from them hopefully that you start to forge an identity.

I really think that everyone should have watercolors, magnetic poetry, and a harmonica.

When I was driving home, I just thought about the word 'special'. And I thought the last person who said that about me was my Aunt Helen. I was very grateful to have heard it again. Because I guess we all forget sometimes. And I think everyone is special in their own way. I really do.