Long, but if you're interested, it might give you a brighter insight of my innerworld. I've ended psychiatric treatment for a long while now, but sometimes, I wonder if I'm really out of it, whether I've truly left it behind.
I thought depression was the part of my character that made me worthwhile. I thought so little of myself, felt that I had such scant offerings to give to the world, that the one thing that justified my existence at all was my agony.
Sometimes I think that I was forced to withdraw into depression because it was the only rightful protest I could throw in the face of the world that said it was alright for people to come and go as they please, that there were simply no real obligations left. Certainly deceit and treachery in both romantic and political relationships is nothing new, but at one time, it was bad, callous, and cold to hurt somebody. Now it's just the way things go, part of the growth process.
I start to think there really is no cure for depression, that happiness is an ongoing battle, and I wonder if it isn't one I'll have to fight for as long as I live. I wonder if it's worth it.
That's the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it's impossible to ever see the end. The fog is like a cage without a key.
Prozac Nation, Elizabeth Wurtzel
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