I buried my head under the darkness of the pillow and pretended it was night. I couldn't see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.

I’ll never speak to God again.

Sometimes I feel like I'm not solid. I'm hollow. There's nothing behind my eyes. I'm a negative of a person. All I want is blackness, blackness and silence.

God, it was good to let go, let the tight mask fall off, and the bewildered, chaotic fragments pour out. It was the purge, the catharsis.

I need the reality of other people, work, to fulfill myself. Must never become a mere mother and housewife.

My flesh winced, in cowardice, from such a death.

Let me sit in a flowerpot, The spiders won't notice. My heart is a stopped geranium.