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Rickey Henrickson

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“I saw a meme the other day with a picture of Marilyn Manson and Robin Williams. It said about the former, this isn’t the face of depression, and about the latter, this is. This really struck a chord and it’s been on my mind since then. As someone who has continuously dipped in and out of chronic depression and anxiety for close to three decades now, and I’ve never previously spoken about the subject, I finally thought it was time I did.
These days it’s trendy for people to think they’re cool and understanding about mental illness, posting memes and such to indicate so. But the reality is far different to that. It seems most people think if they publicly display such understanding then perhaps a friend will come to them, open up, and calmly discuss their problems. This will not happen. For someone in that seemingly hopeless void of depression and anxiety the last thing they are likely to do is acknowledge it, let alone talk about it. Even if broached by a friend they will probably deny there is a problem and feel even more distanced from the rest of the world.
So nobody can do anything to help, right? No. If right now you suspect one of your friends is suffering like this then you’re probably right. If right now you think that none of your friends are suffering like this then you’re probably wrong. By all means make your public affirmations of understanding, but at least take on board that an attempt to connect on this subject by someone you care about could well be cryptic and indirect.
When we hear of celebrities who suffered and finally took their own lives the message tends to be that so many close friends had no idea. This is woeful, but it’s also great, right? Because by not knowing there was a problem there is no burden of responsibility on anyone else. This is another huge misconception, that by acknowledging an indirect attempt to connect on such a complex issue that somehow you are accepting responsibility to fix it. This is not the case. You don’t have to find a solution. Maybe just listen. Many times over the years I’ve seen people recoil when they suspect that perhaps that is the direct a conversation is about to turn, and they desperately scramble for anything that can immediately change the subject. By acknowledging you’ve heard and understood doesn’t mean you are picking up their burden and carrying it for them.
Anyway, I’ve said my piece. And please don’t think this is me reaching out for help. If this was my current mindset the last thing I’d ever do is write something like this, let alone share it.”
― R.D. Ronald

Joseph A. Anderson
“At that time, her core burned relentlessly with passion, desire, and complete disorientation. Their union was officiated by a queen she’d only heard of in folklore, and the people of the valleys reached for her and clamored to see the bride like she was their elixir. All of this only intensified the yearnings pulsing through her body and soul. She remembers one young lady, a commoner really, who pushed in from a crowd, sweaty and pregnant, to grab Lylitte’s hand. She locked eyes with her and saw the fever raging inside; it was in all the people in those days, the shamelessness, and a lust for all things of the new world. It was like a hurricane for life that no one could understand who hadn’t felt it.
“Only when we experience true loss are we pulled back into our own dreaming,”
― Joseph A. Anderson, Eden 2:b

Jennifer Wizbowski
“Even whispers were not tolerated in the Pietà when someone else was speaking.”
― Jennifer Wizbowski, Poinsettia Girl: The Story of Agata della Pieta

Robert         Reid
“Munro reached out towards Raimund and took the orb from him, clasping it between his hands. As soon as the orb was covered, the red fire died. The girls’ chanting reached a crescendo. Munro squeezed his hands together, and as he did so a sudden wind blew from the west. The shadow from the single stone reached out to touch Munro’s shoulder.”
― Robert Reid, The Thief

Behcet Kaya
“I wasn’t sure Turner was still listening to me. Then again, he was the one concentrating on driving through this mess. It felt eerie. There wasn’t a single car on the road except us. No snowplows, nothing. Everything was buried under a layer of white. It was as if we’d been dropped in the middle of some alien planet.”
― Behcet Kaya, Murder at Tutley Brewery: A Jack Ludefance Novel

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