I didn’t want to wake up. I was having a much better time asleep. And that’s really sad. It was almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you’re so relieved. I woke up into a nightmare.
I can’t eat and I can’t sleep. I’m not doing well in terms of being a functional human, you know?
People are screwed up in this world. I’d rather be with someone screwed up and open about it than somebody perfect and ready to explode.
I waste at least an hour every day lying in bed. Then I waste time pacing. I waste time thinking. I waste time being quiet and not saying anything because I’m afraid I’ll stutter.
I don’t know how I can be so ambitious and so lazy at the same time.
I don’t owe people anything, and I don’t have to talk to them any more than I feel I need to.
Dreams are only dreams until you wake up and make them real.
Life’s not about feeling better, it’s about getting the job done.
Sometimes I just think depression’s one way of coping with the world. Like, some people get drunk, some people do drugs, some people get depressed. Because there’s so much stuff out there that you have to do something to deal with it.
I just want to not be me.
I’m smart but not enough – just smart enough to have problems.
So why am I depressed? That’s the million-dollar question, baby, the Tootsie Roll question; not even the owl knows the answer to that one. I don’t know either. All I know is the chronology.
That’s all I can do. I’ll keep at it and hope it gets better.
I work. And I think about work, and I freak out about work, and I think about how much I think about work, and I freak out about how much I think about how much I think about work, and I think about how freaked out I get about how much I think about how much I think about work.