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"This is the most enlightening book I've read in quite a while. Anyone who's ever been accused of being "highly sensitive" in a negative manner, or anyone who accesses others of the same, should definitely read this book. It's a life changer." — Jan 29, 2017 09:34AM
"This is the most enlightening book I've read in quite a while. Anyone who's ever been accused of being "highly sensitive" in a negative manner, or anyone who accesses others of the same, should definitely read this book. It's a life changer." — Jan 29, 2017 09:34AM
“You've got to have someone who loves your body. Who doesn't define you, but sees you. Who loves what he sees. Who you don't have to struggle to be good enough for.”
― The Secret Life of Prince Charming
― The Secret Life of Prince Charming
“Painting is so poetic, while sculpture is more logical and scientific and makes you worry about gravity.”
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“I didn't realize there was a ranking." I said. "Sadie frowned. "What do you mean?" "A ranking," I said. "You know, what's crazier than what." "Oh, sure there is," Sadie said. She sat back in her chair. "First you have your generic depressives. They're a dime a dozen and usually pretty boring. Then you've got the bulimics and the anorexics. They're slightly more interesting, although usually they're just girls with nothing better to do. Then you start getting into the good stuff: the arsonists, the schizophrenics, the manic-depressives. You can never quite tell what those will do. And then you've got the junkies. They're completely tragic, because chances are they're just going to go right back on the stuff when they're out of here." "So junkies are at the top of the crazy chain," I said. Sadie shook her head. "Uh-uh," she said. "Suicides are." I looked at her. "Why?" "Anyone can be crazy," she answered. "That's usually just because there's something screwed up in your wiring, you know? But suicide is a whole different thing. I mean, how much do you have to hate yourself to want to just wipe yourself out?”
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“The doctor’s words made me understand what happened to me was a dark, evil, and shameful secret, and by association I too was dark, evil, and shameful. While it may not have been their intention, this was the message my clouded mind received. To escape the confines of the hospital, I once again disassociated myself from my emotions and numbed myself to the pain ravaging my body and mind. I acted as if nothing was wrong and went back to performing the necessary motions to get me from one day to the next. I existed but I did not live.”
― Letters from a Bipolar Mother
― Letters from a Bipolar Mother
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