…I hate myself for not being able to go downstairs naturally and seek comfort in numbers. I hate myself for having to sit here and be torn between I know not what within me.

I felt wise and cynical as all hell.

The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.

Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.

I do not know who I am, where I am going - and I am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions.

I was supposed to be having the time of my life.

I do not know who I am tonight.