Jag kan inte klara det här. Det kommer inte att gå. Det är omöjligt.
Jag är så förvirrad, saker virvlar omkring mig och försöker hitta öppningar och jag kommer inte klara det. Jag vill bara slita mig till bitar. Jag klarar inte att bli frisk. Det kommer inte att fungera. Och om jag ställer mig själv frågan ifall jag vill bli frisk är svaret för mig glasklart. Jag vill inte. Det här är redan ett helvete. Hurfan ska jag klara det ensam? Nu har jag iallafall min sjukdom att klänga fast vid. Jag orkar inte bli ensammare än såhär. Jag klarar inte att gå på mina egna ben för under tiden jag har klängt mig fast på min sjukdoms rygg har de blivit så svaga att om jag skulle släppa honom skulle jag ramla ihop i en benhög och vittra sönder och blåsa iväg som ett fint damm.
"Depression is a rather rude houseguest; Depression rarely calls ahead to see if it's a good time, and Depression never arrives alone. Depression brings its friends - Despair, Self-Injury, and Suicide - wherever it goes, and it doesn't check in advance to insure that extra beds are made up and waiting, for they will take YOUR bed and leave you lying on the floor you haven't had the will to scrub in months. Depression doesn't have its valet bring over an extra supply of tea and biscuits in anticipation of its arrival. No, Depression and its friends will barge right into your quiet, cozy home, spill your tea, smash your best teacups, devour all of your favorite biscuits, and then vomit them up again because Depression has no appetite, Depression and its friends would become weak, shrivel up, and die; you could then pass them out of your body much as you would an early-term miscarriage - something hardly noticed. You may experience some heavy cramping of the abdomen, or perhaps, in this case, the mind or the heart, but then you would see the blood flowing, the blood that serves to pass that which is to be expelled. You see the blood flowing to within an inch of your life, and you think, "Yes, oh god, yes! That which i do not want within me is washed out, cleansed away, and soon I will belong to myself again!" But there is always something you are not supposed to see - something that gets in the way and dirties things up just a little. Actually, you are supposed to see it, but you're really not supposed to SEE it. I'm talking, of course, about the remains. Blood and membrane. Tissue. Me. And not me. These are the remnants of Depression and its bedfellows, and the thing is that you have to check yourself, your underthings, your bedsheets, just to make sure they've gone. But that's just it: You have to see them on the way out, and that's just too much for some people. Some people take so long saying goodbye to depression and its friends that they get used to having them around. They have begun to enjoy cooking for their guests, sectretly enjoying the spontaneous (or not so spontaneous) get-togethers, and have completely lost the desire to sleep in their own beds, the floor having been quite as comfortable as they feel they deserve, which isn't very much, as it turns out. So, then, when you feel the blood pouring out of you, and you begin to see the things you are supposed to look for, you become frightened at being alone. You haven't had a moment's peace in months, but now you're afraid to be alone. Ridiculous, isn't it? If you don't spend a Sunday night curled up in a ball and crying on the bathroom floor, what on earth will you do with it? It's simply too daunting."
"Depression is a rather rude houseguest; Depression rarely calls ahead to see if it's a good time, and Depression never arrives alone. Depression brings its friends - Despair, Self-Injury, and Suicide - wherever it goes, and it doesn't check in advance to insure that extra beds are made up and waiting, for they will take YOUR bed and leave you lying on the floor you haven't had the will to scrub in months. Depression doesn't have its valet bring over an extra supply of tea and biscuits in anticipation of its arrival. No, Depression and its friends will barge right into your quiet, cozy home, spill your tea, smash your best teacups, devour all of your favorite biscuits, and then vomit them up again because Depression has no appetite, Depression and its friends would become weak, shrivel up, and die; you could then pass them out of your body much as you would an early-term miscarriage - something hardly noticed. You may experience some heavy cramping of the abdomen, or perhaps, in this case, the mind or the heart, but then you would see the blood flowing, the blood that serves to pass that which is to be expelled. You see the blood flowing to within an inch of your life, and you think, "Yes, oh god, yes! That which i do not want within me is washed out, cleansed away, and soon I will belong to myself again!" But there is always something you are not supposed to see - something that gets in the way and dirties things up just a little. Actually, you are supposed to see it, but you're really not supposed to SEE it. I'm talking, of course, about the remains. Blood and membrane. Tissue. Me. And not me. These are the remnants of Depression and its bedfellows, and the thing is that you have to check yourself, your underthings, your bedsheets, just to make sure they've gone. But that's just it: You have to see them on the way out, and that's just too much for some people. Some people take so long saying goodbye to depression and its friends that they get used to having them around. They have begun to enjoy cooking for their guests, sectretly enjoying the spontaneous (or not so spontaneous) get-togethers, and have completely lost the desire to sleep in their own beds, the floor having been quite as comfortable as they feel they deserve, which isn't very much, as it turns out. So, then, when you feel the blood pouring out of you, and you begin to see the things you are supposed to look for, you become frightened at being alone. You haven't had a moment's peace in months, but now you're afraid to be alone. Ridiculous, isn't it? If you don't spend a Sunday night curled up in a ball and crying on the bathroom floor, what on earth will you do with it? It's simply too daunting."
