Since I was a teenager, I have lived an inner life that was so beautiful. I was what I wanted to be, because the reality of my life was so rotten. It became a coping mechanism, I suppose.

I still live inside my mind, where my life is wonderful. I know now it’ll never happen. A beautiful life was never on the cards for me. It’s something I have a lot of bitterness about, but it is what it is. If anything else, I keep living so I can pretend to have that life. It’s a strange motivational tool.