The Complexities Of What We Are Given

I Was Late To Understand That Chaos And Intensity Are No Subsitute For Lasting Love, Nor Are They Necessarily An Improvement On Real Life. Normal People Are Not Always Boring. On The Contrary. Volatility And Passion, Although Often More Romantic And Enticing, Are Not Intrinsically Preferable To A Steadiness Of Experience And Feeling About Another Person.

Which Of My Feelings Are Real? Which Of The Me's Is Me? The Wild, Impulsive, Chaotic, Energetic, And Crazy One? Or The Shy, Withdrawn, Desperate, Suicidal, Doomed, And Tired One? Probably A Bit Of Both, Hopefully Much That Is Neither.

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)

I Think Psychotherapy Saves Lives And Is Hugely Meaningful And I Think That One Of The Unfortunate Aspects Of Prescription Drugs Working Well Is That People Tend To Think That's Enough.

Others Would Say To Me, 'it Is Only Temporary, It Will Pass, You Will Get Over It,' But Of Course They Had No Idea How I Felt, Although They Were Certain That They Did. Over And Over And Over I Would Say To Myself, If I Can't Feel, If I Can't Move, If I Can't Think, And I Can't Care, Then What Conceivable Point Is There In Living?