Without Science, There Would Be No Such

Suicide Is A Particularly Awful Way To Die: The Mental Suffering Leading Up To It Is Usually Prolonged, Intense And Unpalliated. There Is No Morphine Equivalent To Ease The Acute Pain, And Death, Not Uncommonly, Is Violent And Grisly. The Suffering Of A Suicidal Is Private And Inexpressible, Leaving Family Members, Friends And Colleagues To Deal With An Almost Unfathomable Kind Of Loss, As Well As Guilt. Suicide Carries In Its Aftermath A Level Of Confusion And Devastation That Is, For The Most Part, Beyond Description.

The Intensity, Glory, And Absolute Assuredness If My Mind's Flight Made It Very Difficult For Me To Believe Once I Was Better, That The Illness Was One I Should Willingly Give Up....moods Are Such An Essential Part Of The Substance Of Life, Of One's Notion Of Oneself, That Even Psychotic Extremes In Mood And Behavior Somehow Can Be Seen As Temporary, Even Understandable Reactions To What Life Has Dealt....even Though The Depressions That Inevitably Followed Nearly Cost Me My Life.

There Is A Particular Kind Of Pain, Elation, Loneliness, And Terror Involved In This Kind Of Madness. When You're High It's Tremendous. The Ideas And Feelings Are Fast And Frequent Like Shooting Stars....but, Somewhere, This Changes. The Fast Ideas Are Far Too Fast, And There Are Far Too Many; Overwhelming Confusion Replaces Clarity. Everything Previously Moving With The Grain Is Now Against-you Are Irritable, Angry, Frightened, Uncontrollable....it Will Never End, For Madness Carves Its Own Reality.

I Am Reminded Of The Importance Of Small Kindnesses.

I Think That When You're Depressed, You Can't Concentrate Long Enough And Well Enough To Read For The Most Part; Some People Can, But By And Large People - That's One Of The First Things That Goes, Is The Capacity To Read Meaningful Literature. With Grief, That's Not True. For A While You Can't Read, But Then You Really Are Amenable To Solace.