Dark Places

Libby Day:
I was not a lovable child, and I'd grown into a deeply unlovable adult. Draw a picture of my soul, and it'd be a scribble with fangs.

Libby Day:
I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ. Slit me at my belly and it might slide out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor so you could stomp on it.

Libby Day:
The truly frightening flaw in humanity is our capacity for cruelty - we all have it.

Libby Day:
It was surprising that you could spend hours in the middle of the night pretending things were okay, and know in thirty seconds of daylight that simply wasn't so.

Libby Day:
I felt something loosen in me, that shouldn't have loosened. A stitch come undone.

Libby Day:
I am, I guess, depressed. I guess I've been depressed for about twenty-four years. I can feel a better version of me somewhere in there - hidden behind a liver or attached to a bit of spleen within my stunted, childish body - a Libby that's telling me to get up, do something, grow up, move on. But the meanness usually wins out.

Libby Day:
Don't be discouraged - every relationship you have is a failure, until you find the right one.

Libby Day:
I am not angry or sad or happy to see you. I could not give a sh*t. You don't even ripple.

Libby Day:
I was raised feral, and I mostly stayed that way.

Libby Day:
There are few phrases that annoy me more than "I won't bite". The only line that pisses me off faster is when some drunk, ham-faced dude in a bar sees me trying to get past him and barks: "Smile, it can't be that bad!" Yeah, actually, it can, jackwad.

[last lines]

Libby Day:
Ben learned something in his prison that I never learned in mine. Forgiveness. My mom told us to make a useful life. Nothing big. Nothing grand. Just a start. Finally, a start.