I am not a nurse escorting six lunatics to the ice cream parlor.

Confuse was the nurses' word for abuse.

I needed to be alone, I felt. I wanted to be going on alone to my future.

Mental illness seems to be a communication problem between interpreters one and two.

The debate was wearing me out. Once you've posed that question, it won't go away. I think many people kill themselves simply to stop the debate about whether they will or they won't. Anything I thought or did was immediately drawn into the debate. Made a stupid remark--why not kill myself? Missed the bus--better put an end to it all. Even the good got in there. I liked that movie--maybe I shouldn't kill myself.

Have you ever confused a dream with life? Or stolen something when you have the cash? Have you ever been blue? Or thought your train moving while sitting still? Maybe I was just crazy. Maybe it was the 60's. Or maybe I was just a girl... interrupted.

As far as I could see, life demanded skills I didn't have.