I will please shut the hell up the day you please drop the hell dead
My mother began to go crazy. Not in a 'Let's paint the kitchen red!' sort of way. But crazy in a 'gas oven, toothpaste sandwhich, I am God' sort of way
You deserve to need me, not to have me
I am prone to envy. It is one of my three default emotions, the others being greed and rage. I have also experienced compassion and generosity, but only fleetingly and usually while drunk, so I have little memory
It’s a wonder I’m even alive. Sometimes I think that. I think that I can’t believe I haven’t killed myself. But there’s something in me that just keeps going on. I think it has something to do with tomorrow, that there is always one, and that everything can change when it comes
We were young. We were bored. And the old electroshock therapy machine was just under the stairs in a box next to the Hoover
Doctor, if being a bitch is healthy, then I am the healthiest damn woman on the face of the earth
I just look at her and she creeps me out. She looks like she would eat a baby. Not that she's fat. She just looks hungry in some dangerous way that can't be explained. She's always so nice and friendly. Exactly the disposition of a baby killer.
Everybody in recovery smokes. If you don't like smoking, don't even bother trying to get sober. Just stay drunk
I couldn't help but think, This car is taking me to a mental hospital and my mother is treating it like open-mic night at a Greenwich Village café.
Other people sound flat to my ear; their words just hang in the air. But when my mother says something, the ends curl.
The line between normal and crazy seemed impossibly thin. A person would have to be an expert tightrope walker in order not to fall.
I felt deeply tricked. Stunned. And furious. I also felt my default emotion: numbness
Our lives are one endless stretch of misery punctuated by processed fast foods and the occasional crisis or amusing curiosity
I did not consider him to be any kind of a genius. I considered him deeply lacking in the area that mattered most in life. Star quality
My brother was born without taste or the desire to be professionally lit
It was not uncommon to walk in the door of their home and find my mother sitting on the sofa reading over a manuscript with shampoo horns sculpted into her hair. Anne Sexton's voice would be blasting from the speakers. A woman who writes feels too much...
Nobody's trying to kill you, Deirdre. You're killing yourself