But I Was Sure Of One Thing.

The More People Pointed At Me In Scorn The More Stubborn I Got And When They Began Calling Me The Bad Girl Of West Seattle High, I Tried To Live Up To It.

There Comes A Point When A Dream Becomes Reality And Reality Becomes A Dream.

For Eight Years I Was An Inmate In A State Asylum For The Insane. During Those Years I Passed Through Such Unbearable Terror That I Deteriorated Into A Wild, Frightened Creature Intent Only On Survival. And I Survived. I Was Raped By Orderlies, Gnawed On By Rats And Poisoned By Tainted Food. I Was Chained In Padded Cells, Strapped Into Strait-jackets And Half-drowned In Ice Baths. And I Survived. The Asylum Itself Was A Steel Trap, And I Was Not Released From Its Jaws Alive And Victorious. I Crawled Out Mutilated, Whimpering And Terribly Alone. But I Did Survive.

I Used To Lie Between Cool, Clean Sheets At Night After I'd Had A Bath, After I Had Washed My Hair And Scrubbed My Knuckles And Finger-nails And Teeth. Then I Could Lie Quite Still In The Dark With My Face To The Window With The Trees In It, And Talk To God.

I Wondered A Little Why God Was Such A Useless Thing. It Seemed A Waste Of Time To Have Him. After That He Became Less And Less, Until He Was... Nothingness.