A memoir of a cutter that portrays not just the pain / pleasure of cutting, but also the daily pain of living an existence exquisitely crafted into a semblance of normality.

“I wanted to be tragic in order to justify simply being unhappy, but knowing that I wanted to be tragic made me suspect the very legitimacy of that unhappiness.”

“I no longer experienced things so much as I experienced them as experiences, a step removed.”

“unhappiness is a kind of narcissism, in which nothing that does not resonate with your unhappiness can interest you.”

“I had become obsessively preoccupied in particular with this disturbing interconnectivity of things, the way the most insignificant of decisions might have ramifications you could never know about when you made them.”

I liked this book. It was really just a memoir, but you know.