I once had a conversation with the little girl with salty Tic Tacs streaming down her face, she said that it had been difficult keeping a tight grip on her sanity in a room filled with lunatics. She said that she was more of a recluse because the voices in her head had demanded to be listened to.
The voice tell her all sorts, funny how she referred to them as "people"  when they were her own thoughts. She said they all wanted to be heard and obeyed and she had been drowning in sermons telling her how to live, how to be better and how to do better, now she's drowning in an ocean of critics, each word reminding her how she would never be perfect.