Status Updates From I Never Promised You A Rose...

Suddenly she saw herself as they must be seeing her: lank hair, dirty, flabby from inactivity, wearing an old ward bathrobe over her own miserable pajamas (they had thought that she might stay at St. Agnes', and dressing was a nuisance), the Crazy Look maybe. She could never tell what the mask might look like. And then it struck her: here it was—what Doris Rivera had faced and what Carla might soon face—the World.

For many years words had come out of her mouth for which her mind could not remember giving the order. Sometimes only a feeling would sweep over her. The feeling would be given voice, but the logic behind it, by which the world might have been convinced, remained mute, and so she lost faith in her own desires. It made her defend them all the more blindly.