Your friends, they don't love you how a father and brother does, women, they aren't your mother or sister, they don't love the way a woman should, they're women, they suffer the atrocity of being women, your body doesn't love you because it doesn't match your brain, you're unhappy and unmarried, the more downcast you are, the farther away you hide from everyone.
It's unbelievably awful to want to go away and go absolutely nowhere. I'm dead to almost everyone now, even though I gave them a field of flowers, gentle words, sunrise and sunsets, rainstorms and a blizzard of encouragement, open palms on your face, I do not speak, I think I am mad sometimes.