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Now that he's gone, I feel like I'm a senior citizen who gave away her life savings over the phone. And this is the crux: I never in my life believed in someone as much as I believed in him. The shame is overwhelming.

Emma Forrest

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Emma Forrest
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: December 26
Film Director
Journalist
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
London
England
Like
Gone
Overwhelming
Away
Phone
Someone
Phones
Feel
Saving
Feels
Believed
Crux
Much
Shame
Savings
Never
Gave
Senior
Life
Citizens
Citizen

More quotes by Emma Forrest

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I still believe that you truly find yourself not in travel, but in other human souls.
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I'm in love with someone good and kind and gentle, and he's seen the darkness too, but somehow we've become each other's light.
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There's so much guilt there attached to having a perfectly good life.
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What people don't understand when you've already been a suicide and pulled through is that after the sadness comes fear: Where is my mind going with this? I don't want to die. I do not want to die. When you don't have so much control over your own thoughts, over the myriad voices in your head, you don't know where they could go.
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Cyndi Lauper was hilarious and generous, someone I'd loved from childhood who didn't disappoint.
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My radar, after all these years of sanity, is still off when it comes to what people do or don't mean.
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I think a neurotic learns from their mistakes. A psychotic does not.
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I think that's the function of a lot of psychiatrists and therapists, is keeping people afloat just long enough for them to get older.
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Of course he freaked me out. Of course it's nothing to do with me. But none of that matters. He loved me and now he doesn't. I was everything to him and now I am nothing.
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At least you know where you are with blood. At least other people can see it.
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When you live with voices in your head, you are drawn inextricably to voices outside your head. Very often the voices work to confirm your worst suspicions. Or think of things you could never have imagined! There are only so many hours of the day to hate yourself.
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I would say at the moment the only person who could have played me this past year would have to be Angelina Jolie.
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Someone asked me the other day, Oh your story is like Cameron Crowe's, he has the same thing of having been a teenage journalist, but he was a guy and you just add gender into the mix, it's a 16-year-old girl with adults and rock stars, and it's tough.
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It's all in her walk, a cartoon swagger. Part Jayne Mansfield, part Muhammad Ali. Men never know if it's an invitation upstairs or an invitation outside.
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There is that doll dress-up quality of adorable teenage girl writer, and I never felt either as adorable as I was supposed to be, or as dark as the rumors, you know, She must have slept with the editor, and I was like, Oh my god, I'm still a virgin. It was very strange.
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It's as if he can no longer acknowledge the love he felt or the pain I am in. I have been dismissed. I don't think I was smarter or as beautiful as the other girls he did this to. It's just that I was me. It was all I had.
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Write a page every single day, even if what you put on the page that day is no good - it's the only way to get better.
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The truth is I have had, for whatever reason, several movie-star boyfriends.
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I finally accept that not only do I not understand the death of my relationship, but I do not need to. These men were good and kind to me, they loved me and I loved them back and the shock at the finish holds no wisdom. The revelation is not that I lost them, but that I had them.
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He was a super shiny boy and I liked the shape of him. Under the blanket. In the shower. I liked his shadow on the street and his imprint on the sofa. I hated the smell of hair gel on his head, but I loved it on the pillow. I love the smell of losing someone.
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