Easy Crafts for the Insane: A Mostly Funny Memoir of Mental Illness and Making Things

I isolate because I can’t think of anything except my own pain and self-disgust, and those who can’t think of anyone but themselves aren’t the best company.

People sometimes say they worry medication will make them less of themselves. Of course, I can only speak to my own experience, but to me, it makes me more of myself. I feel happy when good things happen and sad when bad things happen.

I face whatever chaos is afoot with optimism because it sure beats the alternative.

She was so funny but so serene. Her mantra, which I now have tattooed on my body, is “Everyone does their best; some people’s best is shitty.”

It never occurred to me that maybe the question I should ask wasn’t “Why is he being so loud?” but rather “Why am I being so quiet?”

Nothing in the world is too small or insignificant that I don’t have the most strongly held opinions on it.

Instead of telling people what’s wrong, I just disappear. Better for them not to see me because then they might worry about me. Calls and texts go unanswered, which doesn’t make people assume I’m unwell; it makes them assume I don’t have time for them or think I’m too good for them.