You live without walls for too long. It all runs together like raw scrambled eggs. Each part of you bleeds into the other. Your feelings turn into things, shoved into one goddamn, cheap Woolworth bag. You don't even know what's in the bag after a while and you stop caring. All you know is it's heavy and you've got to take it everywhere you go, cos there's no place that wants it. No place that will let you keep it there. And one night you just say fuck it, fuck the bag, and you leave it. And when you go out, you come back after two days and it's gone. You act like you're really pissed off. Who did it, who took my fucking bag. But deep down, you're relieved cos it's gone, and after that, you're gone too in a way, and it feels better. Kind of.
-- from Ladies by Eve Ensler, excerpted in The Great Monologues from The Women's Project