…depressive realism. Depression is not the near death experience described by so many, [Kayla Dunn] suggests, but a rebirth in which the new psyche has removed self-delusion. Compared with so-called healthy individuals, depressives are more realistic in their worldview.
The loss of innocence is inevitable, but the death of innocence disturbs the natural order. The death of innocence causes an imbalance and initiates an internal war that manifests differently in each individual, but almost always includes anger, withdrawal and severe depression.
Unless you are rich and can convalesce in a sanatorium estate (where visitors came down a tiered, oceanside lawn to found you at your easel) you have to keep going when you're depressed. That means phone calls, appointments errands, holidays, family, friends, and colleagues.
Unless you are rich and can convalesce in a sanatorium estate (where visitors came down a tiered, oceanside lawn to find you at your easel) you have to keep going when you're depressed. That means phone calls, appointments, errands, holidays, family, friends, and colleagues.
What people never understand is that depression isn't about the outside; it's about the inside. Something inside me is wrong. Sure, there are things in my life that make me feel alone, but nothing makes me feel more isolated and terrified than my own voice inside my head.
No reason to feel depressed about being depressed. A depression can be a golden opportunity to collect the pieces and build ourselves anew. Global Souls are always on the move, nomads at heart, connected to various cities, commuters between cultures, both from here and everywhere.
I spend a lot of time wondering what dying feels like. What dying sounds like. If I’ll burst like those notes, let out my last cries of pain, and then go silent forever. Or maybe I’ll turn into a shadowy static that’s barely there, if you just listen hard enough.
Do you know that feeling - The feeling of being alive and dead, both at the same time? When it seems like you are just going through with different notions of life, without actually living it. I do, I know that feeling very well. I live with it, eat with it and often sleep with it.
Again, all of life presents us with two basic ways to treat events. We can either label them "god for us" or "bad for us." The event is only an event. It's how we treat the event that determines what it becomes in our lives. The event doesn't make that determination- we do.
I am starting to acceptthat you never loved me.And it's sadbecause I don't think you seehow beautiful you are to me.Your face was the lightthat chased away the shadows,every nightmare, every fear.But you burned out and nowI'm learning to be afraidof the dark once again.
I was moving in a narrow range between busy distractedness and a pervasive sadness whose granules seemed to enter each cell, weighing it down... I ghosted between islands of anxiety... a fatigue that dulled my zest, decanted it. Sorrow felt like a marble coat I couldn’t shed.
Sometimes," says a fellow depressive, "I wish I was in a full body cast, with every bone in my body broken. That's how I feel anyway. Then, maybe, people would stop minimising my illness because they can actually see what's wrong with me. They seem to need physical evidence.
Pessimistische Depressionen sind als schöpferische Pausen zu betrachten, in denen sich die Kräfte wieder herstellen. Wenn man sich hiervon bewusst is, so werden die Depressionen schneller vorübergehen. Man sol sich niet deprimiert fühlen über eine Depression.
The sick in mind, and, perhaps, in body, are rendered more darkly and hopelessly so by the manifold reflection of their disease, mirrored back from all quarters in the deportment of those about them; they are compelled to inhale the poison of their own breath, in infinite repetition.
The problem with making a virtual world of oneself is akin to the problem with projecting ourselves onto a cyberworld: there’s no end of virtual spaces in which to seek stimulation, but their very endlessness, the perpetual stimulation without satisfaction, becomes imprisoning.
