I can't imagine just dusting my pants off and going about my life like, "Phew! I sure made it through a tough spot, now where am I headed?" I feel more of an obligation to be helpful.

I didn't know whether I'd be attractive to anybody.

I didn't just want to be the one who was always looking around at the weird family members. I wanted to make my mistakes.

I am just at tragedy right now.

I was talking and playing pranks and skipping school, failing pretty much every class I took.

I start crying when certain things come up, certain memories, certain feelings, and it's intense. But I think it's good for me - and therapeutic.

I think every person and place is interesting, and there's an interesting story behind every door.