journals of madness: tales from the inside pt1

All the romantic nonsense about depression somehow making one into a creature of unique sensibilities is easy to agree with when I feel good. Then I’m sharper, superior for having weathered something terribly difficult, or just plain pleased at having narrowly gotten away with something once again—like the snow day after the night’s homework I didn’t do. All of it stands up in the light, but it’s bullshit in the shadows. I don’t care about unique sensibilities. All I care about is surviving. My goal in life is just to get through the days