Don’t ask me those questions! Don’t ask me what life means or how we know reality or why we have to suffer so much. Don’t talk about how nothing feels real, how everything is coated with gelatin and shining like oil in the sun. I don’t want to hear about the tiger in the corner or the Angel of Death or the phone calls from John the Baptist.

Why I am opposed to antidepressants. Because I think depression has something to tell me. Because often depression is an appropriate reaction.Because I am terrified of changing the functioning of my brain in any way.Because I believe depression is "me", and that without it I would not be "me".Because I can't imagine my life without the time off I get from periodic depression.These are the typical idiotic reasons people give for not wanting to feel better. So in this respect, I am quite normal.

It never stopped, even at night, it was our lullaby. It was our metronome, our pulse. It was our lives measured out in doses slightly larger than those famous coffee spoons. Soup spoons, maybe? Dented tin spoons brimming with what should have been sweet but was sour, gone off, gone by without our savouring it: our lives

I would if somebody would want to but of course nobody would want to so I wouldn't want to force anybody to want to.

... now I was safe, now I was really crazy, and nobody could take me out of there.