Mental illness is so much more complicated than any pill that any mortal could invent

Jesus, I wondered, what do you do with pain so bad it has no redeeming value? It cannot even be alchemized into art, into words, into something you can chalk up to an interesting experience because the pain itself, its intensity, is so great that it has woven itself into your system so deeply that there is no way to objectify or push it outside or find its beauty within. That is the pain I’m feeling now. Its so bad, its useless. The only lesson I will ever derive from this pain is how bad pain can be.

I was so scared to give up depression, fearing that somehow the worst part of me was actually all of me.

Because trying to see all sides, such an instinct is particularly Jewish.

It's like Samson and Delilah: watch your back, because trouble could be the person you're sleeping with.

In my case, I was not frightened in the least bit at the thought that I might live because I was certain, quite certain, that I was already dead.

In the meantime, I could withdraw to my room, could hide and sleep as if I were dead