Whenever I’d over­hear how people found me to be ‘a bit much’ (which is the gentle way of say­ing the word ‘unbear­able’), I under­stood why. To myself I would say: Well, yes of course I’m a bit much — if I weren’t, I would not be lit up by so many lights.

I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour, but heaven knows I'm miserable now.

Even I, as sick as I am, I would never be you. Even I, sick and depraved, a traveler to the grave, I would never be you.

You made me feel less alone; you made me feel not quite so deformed, uninformed and hunchbacked.

Can you squeeze me into an empty page of your diary and psychologically save me?

I used to dream, and I used to vow; I wouldn't dream of it now.

Whenever I’d over­hear how people found me to be ‘a bit much’ (which is the gentle way of say­ing the word ‘unbear­able’), I under­stood why. To myself I would say: Well, yes of course I’m a bit much — if I weren’t, I would not be lit up by so many lights.