The world is essentially bipolar: driven to extremes but defined by flux. Saints are always just a stumble away from sinners. Nothing is absolute, not even death

But instability like mine needs considerable distance to pass for mere quirkiness.

[ ] manic sex isn’t really intercourse. It’s dicourse, just another way to ease the insatiable need for contact and communication. In place of words, I simply spoke with my skin.

…love is a chemical imbalance, too. That perilous highs and desperate lows and extravagant flurries of mood are not always symptoms of a broken mind, but signs of a beating heart.