Hollowness: that I understand. I'm starting to believe that there isn't anything you
can do to fix it. That's what I've taken from the therapy sessions: the holes in your life are permanent. You have to grow around them, like tree roots around concrete; you mold yourself through the gaps.
I have never understood how people can blithely disregard the damage they do by following their hearts.
There’s something comforting about the sight of strangers safe at home.
I have lost control over everything, even the places in my head.
The holes in your life are permanent. You have to grow around them, like tree roots around concrete; you mould yourself through the gaps.
When did you become so weak?” I don’t know. I don’t know where that strength went, I don’t remember losing it. I think that over time it got chipped away, bit by bit, by life, by the living of it.
There’s nothing so painful, so corrosive, as suspicion.
I want to drag knives over my skin, just to feel something other than shame, but I'm not even brave enough for that.