#depress

I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow, the million moving shapes and cul-de-sacs of shadow. There was shadow in bureau drawers and closets and suitcases, and shadow under houses and trees and stones, and shadow at the back of people's eyes and smiles, and shadow, miles and miles and miles of it, on the night side of the earth. ↗

— Sylvia Plath

#beauty

But whichever form it took it brought with it, in those moments of bitter anguish, such a desperate surge of hope that it was almost untouchable, and flitted away like a golden butterfly into the bright blue sky - beautiful, unreachable and completely transistent. ↗

— Tabitha Suzuma

#depression #hope #beauty

For every(spiritual)community there is an object of discord,tension and diorder(fitnah),and for my community,this object is money ↗

— Anonymous

#beautiful #community #daily-life #depression #discord

It weren’t too loo long before I seen something in me, had changed. A bitter seed was planted inside of me. And I just didn’t feel so, accepting, anymore. ↗

— Kathryn Stockett

#depression #sadness #change

When things get unbearable, I wrap myself into a tight ball and shut my eyes. Every muscle in my body is tense. I open my eyes and I'm still where I was when I closed them to escape. Nothing's changed. ↗

— Elizabeth Wurtzel

#change

My mind’s terrain has become exceedingly rough. Emotional scars are changing my internal geography faster than the mapmaker can keep pace. Wrong turns and dead ends abound, and I’m afraid someday I’ll drown in a river I didn’t know was there. ↗

— D.H. Mondfleur

#change

If suffering like hers had any use, she reasoned, it was not to the sufferer. The only way that an individual's pain gained meaning was through its communication to others. ↗

— Diane Wood Middlebrook

#helping-others #mental-illness #relating #self-disclosure #suffering

I am diagnosed with not having enough insanely-addictive drugs coursing through my body. ↗

— Sarah Silverman

#medicine #courage

Everything was usual. That was depression: being stuck, clinging to an out-of-date version of oneself. ↗

— Edward St. Aubyn

#dating

Her eyes were of different colors, the left as brown as autumn, the right as gray as Atlantic wind. Both seemed alive with questions that would never be voiced, as if no words yet existed with which to frame them. She was nineteen years old, or thereabouts; her exact age was unknown. Her face was as fresh as an apple and as delicate as blossom, but a marked depression in the bones beneath her left eye gave her features a disturbing asymmetry. Her mouth never curved into a smile. God, it seemed, had withheld that possibility, as surely as from a blind man the power of sight. He had withheld much else. Amparo was touched—by genius, by madness, by the Devil, or by a conspiracy of all these and more. She took no sacraments and appeared incapable of prayer. She had a horror of clocks and mirrors. By her own account she spoke with Angels and could hear the thoughts of animals and trees. She was passionately kind to all living things. She was a beam of starlight trapped in flesh and awaiting only the moment when it would continue on its journey into forever.” (p.33) ↗

— Tim Willocks

#apple #asymmetry #atlantic #autumn #blind-man