Depending on the reality one must face, one may prefer to opt for illusion.

The small seed of despair cracks open and sends experimental tendrils upward to the fragile skin of calm holding him together.

Depending on the reality one must face, one may prefer to opt for illusion.

With my friends, I don't feel pressure to be someone other than who I am.

Make notes—I’ve lost more material than I’ve ever written. Contrary to popular opinion, it’s not still up there in one’s brain. It’s in outer space and it ain’t coming back.

Haven't lost your sense of humor after all but your sense of identity is what seems to have been misplaced. No. Wrong. You don't lose what you never had.

Depression is not sobbing and crying and giving vent, it is plain and simple reduction of feeling.