"There's no rush, no relief. Just a keen, pulsing pain. I drop the pie plate and grasp my wrist with my other hand, dimly aware even as I'm doing it that it's something I've never done before. Never tried to stop the blood.."

“Ama wipes her hands on her apron, looks up at our old roof with new eyes, and lifts the baby from his basket. She twirls him in the air, her skirts flying around her ankles the way the clouds swirl around the mountain cap--her laughter fresh and strange and musical to my ears.”

Except on nights when the moon is full. On those nights, the hillside and the valley below are bathed in a magical white light, the glow of the perpetual snows that blanket the mountaintops. On those nights I lie restless in the sleeping loft, wondering what the world is like beyond my mountain home.”

i wish i wasnt me

"There's no rush, no relief. Just a keen, pulsing pain. I drop the pie plate and grasp my wrist with my other hand, dimly aware even as I'm doing it that it's something I've never done before. Never tried to stop the blood.."

“Then I placed the blade next to the skin on my palm. A tingle arced across my scalp. The floor tipped up at me and my body spiraled away. Then I was on the ceiling looking down, waiting to see what would happen next. What happened next was that a perfect, straight line of blood bloomed up from under the edge of the blade. The line grew into a long, fat bubble, a lush crimson bubble that got bigger and bigger. I watched from above, waiting to see how big it would get before it burst. When it did, I felt awesome. Satisfied, finally. Then exhausted.”

ice a day we have Group. Group therapy, according to the brochure they give you at the admissions office, is the 'keystone of the treatment philosophy' here at Sick Minds. The real name of the place is Sea Pines, even though there is no sea and there are no pines. My roommate, Sydney, who has a nickname for everything, calls it Sick Minds. Her nickname for me is S. T, for silent treatment.... And this place is called a residential treatment facility. It is not called a loony bin."

Callie cuts herself. Never too deep, never enough to die. But enough to feel the pain. Enough to feel the scream inside

“Then I place the blade next to the skine on my palm. A tingle arced across my scalp. The flood tipped up at me and my body spiraled away. Then I was on the ceiling looking down, waiting to see what would happen next. What happened next was thet a perfect, straight line of blood bloomed from under the blade.The line grow into a long, Fat bubbel, A lush crimson bubbel that got bigger and bigger. I watch from above, waiting to see how big it would get before it burst. when it did, I felt awesome. Satisfied, finally. Then exhausted.”

“I imagine you working on me as an algebra problem, reducing me to fractions, crossing out common denominators, until there's nothing left on the page but a line that says x = whatever it is that is wrong with me.”