Nothing Good Comes Out Of Depression.

The Ancient Dialogue Between Reason And The Senses Is Almost Always More Interestingly And Passionately Resolved In Favor Of The Senses.

I Compare Myself With My Former Self, Not With Others. Not Only That, I Tend To Compare My Current Self With The Best I Have Been, Which Is When I Have Been Midly Manic. When I Am My Present "normal" Self, I Am Far Removed From When I Have Been My Liveliest, Most Productive, Most Intense, Most Outgoing And Effervescent. In Sort, For Myself, I Am A Hard Act To Follow.

I Had Been Simply Treating Water, Settling On Surviving And Avoiding Pain Rather Than Being Actively Involved In Seeking Out Life.

I Am Reminded Of The Importance Of Small Kindnesses.

No Amount Of Love Can Cure Madness Or Unblacken One's Dark Moods. Love Can Help, It Can Make The Pain More Tolerable, But, Always, One Is Beholden To Medication That May Or May Not Always Work And May Or May Not Be Bearable