Thoughts are only thoughts. They are not you. You do belong to yourself, even when your thoughts don't.

Illness is a story told in the past tense.

There is hope, even when your brain tells you there isn't.

Anybody can look at you. It's quite rare to find someone who sees the same world you see.

Everyone wanted me to feed them that story—darkness to light, weakness to strength, broken to whole. I wanted it, too.

The thing about a spiral is, if you follow it inward, it never actually ends. It just keeps tightening, infinitely.