There are all kinds of addicts, I guess. We all have pain. And we all look for ways to make the pain go away.

How much do we remember of what hurts us most? I've been thinking about pain, how each of us constructs our past to justify what we feel now. How each successive pain distorts the preceding.

This is who I am. This is who I have always been. I am in pain. I am always in pain. But I always find my way to the story. And I always find my way home.

Pain is never added to pain. It multiplies.

They wanted to help me with my pain.

She was in pain and I loved her, sort of loved her, I guess, so I kind of had to love her pain, too.