I start to feel like I can't maintain the facade any longer, that I may just start to show through. And I wish I knew what was wrong. Maybe something about how stupid my whole life is. I don't know. Why does the rest of the world put up with the hypocrisy, the need to put a happy face on sorrow, the need to keep on keeping on?...
I don't know the answer, I know only that I can't. I don't want any more vicissitudes, I don't want any more of this try, try again stuff. I just want out. I've had it. I am so tired. I am twenty and I am already exhausted...
In a strange way, I had fallen in love with my depression. Dr. Sterling was right about that. I loved it because I thought it was all I had. I thought depression was the part of my character that made me worthwhile. I thought so little of myself, felt that I had such scant offerings to give to the world, that the one thing that justified my existence at all was my agony...
I have studiously tried to avoid ever using the word 'madness' to describe my condition. Now and again, the word slips out, but I hate it. 'Madness' is too glamorous a term to convey what happens to most people who are losing their minds. That word is too exciting, too literary, too interesting in its connotations, to convey the boredom, the slowness, the dreariness, the dampness of depression...
I'm the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receding farther and farther into the background. Just like the Cheshire cat, someday I will suddenly leave, but the artificial warmth of my smile, that phony, clownish curve, the kind you see on miserably sad people and villains in Disney movies, will remain behind as an ironic remnant. I am the girl you see in the photograph from some party someplace or some picnic in the park, the one who is in fact soon to be gone. When you look at the picture again, I want to assure you, I will no longer be there. I will be erased from history, like a traitor in the Soviet Union. Because with every day that goes by, I feel myself becoming more and more invisible...
That's the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it's impossible to ever see the end. The fog is like a cage without a key...
Occasionally I wished I could walk through a picture window and have the sharp broken shards slash me to ribbons, so I could finally look like I felt.
~Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation
"Good morning, Eeyore," said Pooh. "Good morning, Pooh Bear," said Eeyore gloomily. "If it is a good morning, which I doubt," said he. "Why, what's the matter?" "Nothing, Pooh Bear, nothing. We can't all, and some of us don't. That's all there is to it." "Can't all what?" said Pooh, rubbing his nose. "Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush."
A. A. Milne From book Winnie the Pooh
They say you need to pray, if you want to go to heaven. But they don't tell you what to say when your whole life has gone to Hell.-Brand New
The closer I get to feeling the further that I'm feelin' from alright.-Something Corporate
"In depression...faith in deliverance, in ultimate restoration, is absent. The pain is unrelenting, and what makes the condition intolerable is the foreknowledge that no rememdy will come, not in a day, an hour, a month, or a minute. It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul." -William Styron
Hear me, my chiefs! I am tired. My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever. Chief Joseph, on his surrender to Gen. Howard, October 5, 187
"One writes of scars healed, a loose parallel to the pathology of the skin, but there is no such thing in the life of an individual. There are open wounds, shrunk sometimes to the size of a pin-prick but wounds still. The marks of suffering are more comparable to the loss of a finger, or of the sight of an eye. We may not miss them, either, for one minute in a year, but if we should there is nothing to be done about it." — F. Scott Fitzgerald (Tender Is the Night)
And you do come out of it, that's true. After a year, after five. But you don't come out of it like a train coming out of a tunnel, bursting through the downs into sunshine...you come out of it as a gull comes out of an oil-slick. You are tarred and feathered for life." — Julian Barnes (Flaubert's Parrot)
Sometimes it hurts more to smile in front of everyone than to cry all alone. The darkness that surrounds us cannot hurt us. It is the darkness in our own hearts that we should fear. Darkness never really goes away, once you've seen it. Just when I thought my life was coming together, I realized it was just starting to fall apart.