Arabic

“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.”
― Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness

“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..”
― احمد خالد توفيق__ يوتوبيا

“I had tried years earlier to kill myself, and nearly died in the attempt, but did not consider it either a selfish or a not-selfish thing to have done. It was simply the end of what I could bear, the last afternoon of having to imagine waking up the next morning only to start all over again with a thick mind and black imaginings. It was the final outcome of a bad disease, a disease it seemed to me I would never get the better of. No amount of love from or for other people0and there was a lot-could help. No advantage of a caring family and fabulous job was enough to overcome the pain and hopelessness I felt; no passionate or romantic love, however strong, could make a difference. Nothing alive and warm could make its way in through my carapace. I knew my life to be a shambles, and I believed-incontestably-that my family, friends, and patients would be better off without me. There wasn't much of me left anymore, anyway, and I thought my death would free up the wasted energies and well-meant efforts that were being wasted on my behalf.”
― Kay Redfield Jamison, Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide

“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.”
― Kay Redfield Jamison, Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide