In life, single women are the most vulnerable adults. In movies, they are given imaginary power.

Occasionally I wished I could walk through a picture window and have the sharp, broken shards slash me to ribbons so I would finally look like I felt.

I'm a huge Springsteen fan, and yet if either he or Bob Dylan had to be erased from the world's hard drive, I would save Bob Dylan's work for sure -- he's the greater talent, and by leaps and bounds and skyscrapers and rocket blasts. But Bob Dylan is an alien to his public.

When things get unbearable, I wrap myself into a tight ball and shut my eyes. Every muscle in my body is tense. I open my eyes and I'm still where I was when I closed them to escape. Nothing's changed.

Divorce has taught us how to sleep with friends, sleep with enemies, and then act like it's all perfectly normal in the morning.

Belief is a good thing in principle, but an annoying thing in human beings.

My God, I could raise a family of six children and hold down a full-time job with all the energy I expend on depression!

Some people just seem like they are up to no good. Like, in high school, I was a good student and got straight As. It was very strict, and you couldn't do well there unless you studied very hard, but every time there was any trouble, I was the first person they would be talking to.

I don't want any more of this try, try again stuff. I just want out. I’ve had it. I am so tired. I am twenty and I am already exhausted.

If you are chronically down, it is a lifelong fight to keep from sinking.

All I want to talk about is the oncoming apocalypse in my brain.

And she keeps saying, how can you do this to me? And i want to scream, what do you mean, how can I do this to you? Aren't we confusing our pronouns here? The question, really, is How could I do this to myself?

I wasn't just the madwoman in the attic -- I was the attic itself. The past was all over me, all under me, all inside me.

I don't want any more vicissitudes, I don't want any more of this try, try again stuff. I just want out. I've had it. I am so tired. I am twenty and I am already exhausted.

In a typical mental health catch-22, the alienating nature of depression tends to keep its sufferers from finding their way to the very support groups that might help them.

I want to explain how exhausted I am. Even in my dreams. How I wake up tired. How I'm being drowned by some kind of black wave.

I am baffled by men. When they want me, I don't want them; when I want them, they don't want me.

In the meantime, I could withdraw to my room, could hide and sleep as if I were dead.

The voices in my head, which I used to think were just passing through, seem to have taken up residence.

As soon as I was out in the street, I realized I didn't want to be alone after all, I realized I didn't want to be anything at all.