I Think A Neurotic Learns From Their

When He Kisses Me, I Cry. I Explain It's Not Because I Wish He Were Someone Else, It's Because It's Such A Shock To The System To Be Desired After Feeling So Completely Abandoned.

I Like The Cuts - They Comfort Me - I Can't Lie.

It Is Madness. And If You Don't Know Who You Are, Or If Your Real Self Has Drifted Away From You With The Undertow, Madness At Least Gives You An Identity. It's The Same With Self-loathing. You're Probably Just Normal And Normal-looking But That's Not A Real Identity, Not The Way Ugliness Is. Normality, Just Accepting That You're Probably Normal-looking, Lacks The Force Field Of Self-disgust. If You Don't Know Who You Are, Madness Gives You Something To Believe In.

I Wouldn't Say That My Emotions Are Extreme. I'd Say They Are Committed. My Moods Are The Equivalent Of Madonna's Dancing: Inappropriate But All-out. If I'm Going To Be Sad, I Might As Well Be The Saddest A Girl Can Get. And If I'm Happy, I Want To Be The Happiest. The Trouble Is, I Feel Highs So Ecstatic That Just Being Normal Feels Like A Thousand-mile Drop And Being Unhappy Is Excruciating.

When I Was Younger I Loved Betty Blue, And At The Moment I'm Completely Besotted With Angelina Jolie. But Sometimes I'm Unnerved By The Idea Of Men Liking Her. Because I Think That There Is A Side To Every Man That Really Wants To Watch A Woman Fall Apart.