1
" I realise now that the pain Kevin felt - that night, and for nearly eighteen months beforehand, since his suicide attempt - was no less real, no less urgent, than a heart attach, a stroke, a seizure. Than the sensation of running too hard or running too fast, keeling over, grasping for air. Wishing for something to fill your lungs - to rush in and then revive you - except nothing ever does, and maybe nothing ever can.
It is unpleasant, of course, to sympathise with suicide. It is unpleasant to believe in a reality in which death is the only option. And it is problematic, certainly, to compare suicide to running, to cardiac arrest, to terminal cancer. But this is precisely the problem: There is no fair parallel that can be drawn between those who felt the dark pull of suicide and those who never have. "
― Amy E. Butcher , Visiting Hours: A Memoir of Friendship and Murder
2
" Summer is, ostensibly, the safest time to drive on the Dalton Highway, truckers would later tell me. After all, it is always light, and there is no ice, no snow, no darkness to hide the sharp curves or steep summits that wind between mountains. In Prudhoe Bay's summer, truckers tell me, you can see everything, protect yourself from everything. But more truckers die that time of year than any other, because when we talk about safety on the Dalton Highway, we are always talking about illusion.
We are talking about delusion.
We are talking about what is and always is the most dangerous highway in America. "
― Amy E. Butcher , Mothertrucker: Finding Joy on the Loneliest Road in America
8
" But I think of the brain now and it’s not that image I once imagined. I picture apartment buildings—poorly constructed and impossibly built. I picture homes stacked above other homes, people cooking omelets on broken burners, heaters plugged in and oscillating. Most days, the residents of these homes live peacefully with one another—they take showers, sing songs, and watch television—but one day, an oven’s left on, or someone forgets to unplug the iron. Or maybe that’s not it, either—maybe the people have nothing to do with it at all. But still come these chemical explosions, far too small and too complex to see, sending red and sparking embers into the drywall of our minds. “Fire!” we say. “Fire!” But still we stand there and watch it burn. "
― Amy E. Butcher , Visiting Hours: A Memoir of Friendship and Murder
18
" This is the difficult truth of being abused: you come to expect abuse everywhere, and certainly from any person who resembles your abuser in any way. The generosity flees; the kindness inside you flees. There is no benefit of the doubt, no opportunity for pleasure. The mind tries to anticipate, to outwit, outsmart, and flee. It is a fight-or-flight behavior that encourages an antagonistic approach to the world, and it is not fulfilling, not empowering. It makes me feel, instead, very small. "
― Amy E. Butcher , Mothertrucker: Finding Joy on the Loneliest Road in America
