‘From the time I woke up in the morning until the time I went to bed at night, I was unbearably miserable and seemingly incapable of any kind of joy or enthusiasm. Everything — every thought, word, movement — was an effort. Everything that once was sparkling now was flat. I seemed to myself to be dull, boring, inadequate, think brained, unlit, unresponsive, chill skinned, bloodless, and sparrow drab. I doubted, completely, my ability to do anything well. It seemed as though my mind had slowed down and burned out to the point of being virtually useless. The wretched, convoluted, and pathetically confused mass of gray worked only well enough to torment me with a dreary litany of my inadequacies and shortcomings in character, and to taunt me with the total, the desperate, hopelessness of it all.’
—— Kay Redfield Jamison, “An Unquiet Mind”
For the past 10 years, I’ve asked myself, what is the point for being alive if I cannot feel the joy — if I don’t even want to exist?
“Living with depression” — it’s like there is a tall, thick wall built in front of my heart, and nothing can pass through. Sunlight, happiness, and hopes are blocked out. Darkness, dread, and desperation are locked in. It’s like living in a Black Hole, and I don’t know how long I still need to stay.
At times, I begin to see the stars. Even though there are not many, and they are so tiny, they are bright and stunning, right there, shining on me. You, each one of you, are the stars in my firmament, are the stars that keep me alive.