In Depression, Your Capacity To Feel Just

Love Has, At Its Best, Made The Inherent Sadness Of Life Bearable, And Its Beauty Manifest.

Never Once, During Any Of My Bouts Of Depression, Had I Been Inclined Or Able To Pick Up A Telephone And Ask A Friend For Help. It Wasn't In Me.

I Think Wanting To Write Is A Fundamental Sign Of Disease And Discomfort. I Don't Think People Who Are Comfortable Want To Write.

There Is An Assumption, In Attaching Puritan Concepts Such As 'successful' And 'unsuccessful' To The Awful, Final Act Of Suicide, That Those Who 'fail' At Killing Themselves Not Only Are Weak, But Incompetent, Incapable Even Of Getting Their Dying Quite Right.

The Awareness Of The Damage Done By Severe Mental Illness—to The Individual Himself And To Others—and Fears That It May Return Again Play A Decisive Role In Many Suicides