“Depression is awful beyond words or sounds or images...it bleeds relationships through suspicion, lack of confidence and self-respect, the inability to enjoy life, to walk or talk or think normally, the exhaustion, the night terrors, the day terrors. There is nothing good to be said for it except that it gives you the experience of how it must be to be old, to be old and sick, to be dying; to be slow of mind; to be lacking in grace, polish and coordination; to be ugly; to have no belief in the possibilities of life, the pleasures of sex, the exquisiteness of music or the ability to make yourself and others laugh.”
― An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness
― An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness
“Bipolar robs you of that which is you. It can take from you the very core of your being and replace it with something that is completely opposite of who and what you truly are. Because my bipolar went untreated for so long, I spent many years looking in the mirror and seeing a person I did not recognize or understand. Not only did bipolar rob me of my sanity, but it robbed me of my ability to see beyond the space it dictated me to look. I no longer could tell reality from fantasy, and I walked in a world no longer my own.”
― Letters from a Bipolar Mother
― Letters from a Bipolar Mother
“يمكن أن يتحمل المرء الحياة بلا مأوى..
بلا مأكل..
بلا مشرب(ربما بضعة أيام)..
بلا ثياب..
بلا سقف..
لا حبيبة..
بلا كرامة..
بلا أسرة(باستثناء صفية)..
بلا ثلاجة..
بلا جهاز هاتف..
بلا جهاز تلفزيون..
بلا ربطة عنق..
بلا اصدقاء..
بلا حذاء..
بلا سروايل..
لا فلوجستين..
بلاو واق ذكرى..
بلا أقراص للصداع..
بلا مؤشر ليرز..
لكنه لا يتحمل الحياة بلا أحلام..
منذ طفولتى لم أجرب الحياة بلا احلام..
أن تنتظر شيئاً..أن تحرم من شئ..أن تغلق عينيك ليلاً وان تأمل فى شئ..أن تتلقى وعداً بشئ..
فقط فى سن العشرين أدركت الحقيقة القاسية،وهى أن على أن أحيا بلا أحلام..”
―
بلا مأكل..
بلا مشرب(ربما بضعة أيام)..
بلا ثياب..
بلا سقف..
لا حبيبة..
بلا كرامة..
بلا أسرة(باستثناء صفية)..
بلا ثلاجة..
بلا جهاز هاتف..
بلا جهاز تلفزيون..
بلا ربطة عنق..
بلا اصدقاء..
بلا حذاء..
بلا سروايل..
لا فلوجستين..
بلاو واق ذكرى..
بلا أقراص للصداع..
بلا مؤشر ليرز..
لكنه لا يتحمل الحياة بلا أحلام..
منذ طفولتى لم أجرب الحياة بلا احلام..
أن تنتظر شيئاً..أن تحرم من شئ..أن تغلق عينيك ليلاً وان تأمل فى شئ..أن تتلقى وعداً بشئ..
فقط فى سن العشرين أدركت الحقيقة القاسية،وهى أن على أن أحيا بلا أحلام..”
―
“Life ... is a burden. The day about to begin is an oppressive weight.... The erect penis is heavy, even heavier the hanging one. Even the most tender breast has to be dragged along.”
― On Suicide: A Discourse on Voluntary Death
― On Suicide: A Discourse on Voluntary Death
“The horror of profound depression, and the hopelessness that usually accompanies it, are hard to imagine for those who have not experienced them. Because the despair is private, it is resistant to clear and compelling description. Novelist William Styron, however, in recounting his struggle with suicidal depression, captures vividly the heavy, inescapable pain that can lead to suicide:
What I had begun to discover is that, mysteriously and in ways that are totally remote from normal experience, the gray drizzle of horror induced by depression takes on the quality of physical pain. But it is not an immediately identifiable pain, like that of a broken limb. It may be more accurate to say that despair, owing to some evil trick played upon the sick brain by the inhabiting psyche, comes to resemble the diabolical discomfort of being imprisoned in a fiercely overheated room. And because no breeze stirs this cauldron, because there is no escape from this smothering confinement, it is entirely natural that the victim begins to think ceaselessly of oblivion.”
― Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide
What I had begun to discover is that, mysteriously and in ways that are totally remote from normal experience, the gray drizzle of horror induced by depression takes on the quality of physical pain. But it is not an immediately identifiable pain, like that of a broken limb. It may be more accurate to say that despair, owing to some evil trick played upon the sick brain by the inhabiting psyche, comes to resemble the diabolical discomfort of being imprisoned in a fiercely overheated room. And because no breeze stirs this cauldron, because there is no escape from this smothering confinement, it is entirely natural that the victim begins to think ceaselessly of oblivion.”
― Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide
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