I Ride Earth's Burning Carousel. Day In,

It Was My Last Act Of Love (first Words To Her Mother In The Hospital After Her First Major Suicide Attempt)

But Writing Poems And Letters Doesn't Seem To Do Much Good.

You Cannot Regard Your Own Life With Objective Curiosity All The Time.

I Want So Obviously, So Desperately To Be Loved, And To Be Capable Of Love.

The Trouble About Jumping Was That If You Didn't Pick The Right Number Of Stories, You Might Still Be Alive When You Hit Bottom.