suicide

If killing yourself is not an option anymore, you have to sink into the darkness instead, and make something out of it.

You used to give yourself over to endless sessions of doubt. You would claim to be an expert on the subject. But doubting would tire you so much that you would end up doubting doubt itself. I saw you one day at the end of an afternoon of solitary speculation. You were unmoving and petrified. Running several kilometers in a deep forest full of ravines and pitfalls would have exhausted you less.

Some people can__ keep fighting. Some people want to escape. Some people are not ready__re not able__o find a way to deal with what__ in front of them. Sometimes there__ no one to help them. Sometimes they don__ know how to ask for help. Sometimes it feels like there__ no choice but to end it. No other way out. And sometimes it__ impossible to see past that.

She would let a speeding automobile hit her to show them all how unloved she was.

Time is ungovernable, but grief presents us with a choice: what do we do with the savage energies of bereavement? What do we do with the memory - or in the memory - of the beloved? Some commemorate love with statuary, but behavior, too, is a memorial, as is a well-lived life. In death, there is always the promise of hope. The key is opening, rather than numbing, ourselves to pain. Above all, we must show our children how to celebrate existence in all its beauty, and how to get up after life has knocked us down, time and again. Half-dead, we stand. And together, we salute love. Because in the end, that's all that matters. How hard we loved, and how hard we tried.

My New Year's Eve is always 2 July, the night before my birthday. That's the night I make my resolutions. And this year scares the life out of me, because no matter how successful, how good things appear, there is always a deep core of failure within me, although I am trying to deal with it. My biggest fear, this coming year, is that I will be waking up alone.It makes me wonder how many bodies will be fished out of the Thames, how many decaying corpses will be found in one-room flats. I'm just being realistic.

The problem with making a virtual world of oneself is akin to the problem with projecting ourselves onto a cyberworld: there__ no end of virtual spaces in which to seek stimulation, but their very endlessness, the perpetual stimulation without satisfaction, becomes imprisoning.

The light in that room was a glow; I seem to remember the color green, or perhaps flowers. A pale green sheet covered his inert body but not his head, which lay (eyes closed, mouth set in a tense and terrible grimace) unmoving. Gianluca. Barely able to see, barely able to stand - my knees kept buckling _ and breathing so quietly I thought that I, too, might die; that out of shock, I would just drift away, the shell of my body cracking open. No longer anchored by my brother__ love, I would be reabsorbed by sky. Gianluca. If there was never another sound in the world, I would understand _ yes, that would be appropriate, it would be fitting. This was the antithesis of music, the antithesis of noise. My brother__ death seemed to demand silence of all the world. Gianluca.

It was Chelsea who captures our plummet before it reaches the deepest parts of our vulnerability.

We don't speak of it, or react to it. Paralyzed in a reality of uncertainty and madness,this is where we are.

Depression, is like trying to find a light switch in pitch darkness. Defeating it takes much assistance and resource. First, it's letting in loved ones that are reaching out, when light will begin to shine.

The parts of my mind that apply logic and understanding had somehow abandoned me, and something primitive and instinctual took control.

A night of crying has silenced me. This morning it seems the whole world is against me. I've never before felt so barren, so empty. I've never before thought the daylight to be ... my enemy. My enemy.

I would die for you. You know that. I would die without you. If it were not for you, I would be dead a hundred times over these past five years.

Misery loves companyTragically

Sometimes you have to cross the boundaries of Death in order to discover the meaning of Life.

Here in the bathroom with me are razor blades. Here is iodine to drink. Here are sleeping pills to swallow. You have a choice. Live or die. Every breath is a choice. Every minute is a choice. To be or not to be. Every time you don't throw yourself down the stairs, that's a choice. Every time you don't crash your car, you reenlist.

Being depressed and suicidal doesn't mean wanting to kill yourself every moment of every day. It may be a fixed obsession, but sometimes it gets relegated to the back of your head. Rather, it means the world takes on the very cut and dry, black and white, unilateral aspect of a flowchart.