I repeat one of my mantras. 'This is not happening. This is not real. This did not happen to you. That was someone else.

— Emily Andrews

I used to pray you know, pray to God that He would somehow stop it. All the nights of listening to my mother scream and things breaking. Of holding my brother and sister and listening to them cry and begging me to stop it.' My voice is slow and steady like a freight train at night.' I was too young, and we were always told that they'd put us in foster homes where people would rape us if we ever said anything. So we explained away the bruises and my mom wore big sunglasses whenever she left the house. And we invented car accidents if the bruising was too bad to cover with make-up.

— Emily Andrews

My mother's mouth drops. 'Emmy...don't say those things Emmy. Remember, we don't talk about those things.'' Yes Mom. I remember. That's why I'm here, looking like this.'An orderly knock on the door and announces that visiting time is over. My mother and I look at each other awkwardly, and hug.' I love you,' she says.' I love you too, Mom.'' You aren't telling them too much are you?' she asks, afraid. I sign. 'No Mommy, I'm not.' She's visibly relieved. She leaves the room. The orderly comes back and escorts me back into the main room. I just sit and laugh to myself." (after Emmy's suicide attempt) ~ The Finer Points of Becoming Machine

— Emily Andrews

Oh, God! just looks at me now... one night opens words and utters pain... I cannot begin to explain to you... this... I am not here. This is not happening. Oh wait, it is, isn't it? I am a ghost. I am not here, not really. You see skin and cuts and frailty...these are symptoms, you have known, of a ghost. An unclear image with unclear thoughts whispering vague things... If I told you what was really in my head, you'd never let me leave this place. And I have no desire to spend time in hell while I'm still, in theory, alive.

— Emily Andrews

Ricky just listens. He isn't shocked. He isn't surprised. Furthermore, he listens to me because he knows. Furthermore, he knows the shame and the guilt and the sorrow and the rage. And he does not judge me. He just listens.

— Emily Andrews