The Glass Girl

As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.

Every morning when I wake up, I don’t think I’m going to make it. Or maybe I think that I don’t want to make it. I’m heavy with what I did the night before and I’m heavy with everything inside me and sometimes it is just too goddamn much to carry around.

Wherever you are, however dark the journey seems, come back, someone's left the light on for you.

Sometimes it feels like I live in a pinball machine and I’m the scratched-up ball, being knocked from one nook to the next, lights blaring, bells ringing. I can never stop the game because I am the game.

I am the kind of tired that makes your bones feel skeletal and clacky. I am the kind of tired that is cement in your shoes, X-ray vest on your chest, bricks tied to your wrists.

You’ve perfected a mask of powder and black eyeliner and a face for people to look at on the outside and maybe it’s not really who you are on the inside, but who wants to see that? That part is too much and not enough. That part is all hollows and a gray, dying heart.

I believe if you can walk into the darkness…then you have the strength to walk back out.

Every morning when I wake up, I don’t think I'm going to make it. Or maybe I think that I don’t want to make it.

Sometimes I’m so wound up I think my body is going to crack in a million pieces.

You’ll see that person who took your heart and cleaved it in half and stuffed it in their mouth and swallowed and you want it back and you think you’ll never get it and who can live like that?

It’s kind of funny to occupy a body that you actively avoid looking at.

Sometimes you can’t take people to the places you need to go.

I always try to keep all my hurt on the inside and now it’s spread to my outside, where everyone can see.

he says. “Sometimes all that’s left is thorns.

one day I hope I look back at all these photographs and think I was beautiful in my brokenness, in all the pieces I keep gathering up and trying to suture back together.

I am a watercolor. I wash off.

Wherever you are However dark the journey seems Come back Someone left the light on for you

I believe if you can walk into the darkness," Fran says quietly, "then you have the strength to walk back out.

Recovery is not a straight line. Recovery can take years and require many efforts. Relapse happens. Like Fran says in this book, you can have years of sobriety and suddenly the littlest thing will trigger that buried need; something inside you will take over, something you thought you’d successfully outrun.

I don't know why humiliation in the form of public speaking is required and then, to add insult to injury, graded. I don't like people looking at me.

It takes a lot of courage to tell people what we need, even when we know it might hurt their feelings.

I believe if you can walk into the darkness, then you have the strength to walk back out.

All day those bricks of shame and worry have been building inside me, getting heavier each time...do I have a problem am I the problem why doesn't anyone understand why can't I understand.

Everyone is gone and no one understands what that feels like. It feels like a giant hole inside me sucking me in and churning me around as I break into bits until eventually I'll just be nothing... I'll start to crack and I can't crack because if that happens, I don't know if I'll find all of me. There will be too many pieces, too sharp, too tiny, and blood everywhere leaving stains that wont disappear.

believe if you can walk into the darkness,” Fran says quietly, “then you have the strength to walk back out.