I compare myself with my former self, not with others. Not only that, I tend to compare my current self with the best I have been, which is when I have been midly manic. When I am my present "normal" self, I am far removed from when I have been my liveliest, most productive, most intense, most outgoing and effervescent. In sort, for myself, I am a hard act to follow.

Who would not want an illness that has among its symptoms elevated and expansive mood, inflated self-esteem, abundance of energy, less need for sleep, intensified sexuality, and- most germane to our argument here-"sharpened and unusually creative thinking" and "increased productivity"?

Somehow, like so many people who get depressed, we felt our depressions were more complicated and existentially based than they actually were.

I think wanting to write is a fundamental sign of disease and discomfort. I don't think people who are comfortable want to write.

I think people don't understand how intimately tied suicide is to mental illness, particularly to depressive illness and bipolar illness.

I wish I could explain it so someone could understand it. I'm afraid it's something I can't put into words. There's just this heavy, overwhelming despair - dreading everything. Dreading life. Empty inside, to the point of numbness. It's like there's something already dead inside. My whole being has been pulling back into that void for months. (81)

Love, like life, is much stranger and far more complicated than one is brought up to believe.