'I don’t want a shoulder to lean on. I don’t need it. The whole idea of “Someone, that special someone!” is for me, a load of shit. I must be fully contained. No leakage, no spillover. Dependency is weakness. It’s such a lie. Lying there in bed, in your lover’s arms. 'She’s behind me, she believes in me!' No one is behind me. I am behind me. I believe in me. I don’t need any support group to keep my head together. I know what I have to do, so I should shut up and do it.' 
Sometimes you meet someone, and it’s so clear that the two of you, on some level belong together. As lovers, or as friends, or as family, or as something entirely different. You just work, whether you understand one another or you’re in love or you’re partners in crime. You meet these people throughout your life, out of nowhere, under the strangest circumstances, and they help you feel alive. I don’t know if that makes me believe in coincidence, or fate, or sheer blind luck, but it definitely makes me believe in something.
People miss you more when they see how much happier you are without them.
I want the numbness to go away. I want to stop loving you. I want to stop spending eight hours in the bathrooms of fancy hotels, I want to stop crying in the fucking glass showers. It’s an endless battle of pride, and frankly, I’m losing. I don’t have an ounce of dignity left. Is this what you do when you love a person that doesn’t love you back? You start to forget who you are, you start to forget that you were completely fine before you met him. My mouth feels like some kind of fucking reminder on how you used to fuck it. You were pouring gasoline over my body and you didn’t even leave me your favourite lighter, the one with a red dragon that you always used to play, you just clicked it open and walked away. That’s what you did to me. That’s what you’ve always done to me. And what makes me raving mad is that I volunteered to give my body and soul and you didn’t want my soul. You only wanted my body while you wanted to give her a diamond ring.
You’re allowed to want to kill yourself,
but you’re not allowed to do it.
You’re allowed to fight with your mother,
but you’re not allowed to to leave her crying on your bedroom floor.
You’re allowed to miss your ex boyfriend,
but you’re not allowed to say the scars all over your arms are his fault.
You’re allowed hate the girl who almost got you suspended,
but you’re not allowed to tell her that the world would be better off without her.
You’re allowed to stand on the edge of that bridge,
but you’re not allowed to jump.
You’re allowed to be mad at the world,
but you’re not allowed to blame it for the state you’ve put yourself in.
You’re allowed to be sad,
but you’re not allowed to give up.