"No one ever died from being sad… except but they do. And when we see these celebrities who fall victim to depressions lies we think to ourselves, how in the world could they have killed themselves, they had everything? But they didn’t. They didn’t have a cure for an illness that convinced them that they were better off dead. Whenever I start to doubt if I am worth the eternal trouble of medication and therapy I remember those people who let the fog win and I push myself to stay healthy. I remind myself that I am not fighting against me, I am fighting against a chemical imbalance, a tangible thing. I remind myself of the cunning untrustworthiness of the brain both in the mentally ill and in the mentally stable. I remind myself that professional mountain climbers are often found naked and frozen to death with their clothes folded neatly nearby because severe hypothermia can make a person feel confused and hot and convince you to do completely irrational things we would never expect. Brains are like toddlers, they are wonderful and should be treasured, but that doesn’t mean you should trust them to take care of you in an avalanche or to process serotonin effectively. I have never had a full psychotic breakdown, I am seldom delusional. I have never hallucinated anything that did didn’t come from a drug that I shouldn’t have taken anyway. I’m just broken. But in a way that makes me…. Me. My drugs don’t define me. I’m not psychotic. I’m not dangerous. The drugs I take are just a pinch of salt, a little seasoning in life if you will. Your baked potatoes would be fine without it, but everyone would tell you that a pinch of salt can make all the difference. I am your potatoes, and I am better with salt. Okay so this is a bad analogy…"
I actually don't think it's that bad of an analogy, but that's just me. The above hit me hard. Hit me because it's me.
That's all for now.