As Best I Could Make Out, Having

One Is What One Is, And The Dishonesty Of Hiding Behind A Degree, Or A Title, Or Any Manner And Collection Of Words, Is Still Exactly That: Dishonest.

Everything Previously Moving With The Grain Is Now Against - You Are Irritable, Angry, Frightened, Uncontrollable, And Enmeshed Totally In The Blackest Caves Of The Mind. You Never Knew Those Caves Were There. It Will Never End, For Madness Carves Its Own Reality.

Others Imply That They Know What It Is Like To Be Depressed Because They Have Gone Through A Divorce, Lost A Job, Or Broken Up With Someone. But These Experiences Carry With Them Feelings. Depression, Instead, Is Flat, Hollow, And Unendurable. ... You're Frightened, And You're Frightening, And You're 'not At All Like Yourself But Will Be Soon,' But You Know You Won't.

No Amount Of Love Can Cure Madness Or Unblacken One's Dark Moods. Love Can Help, It Can Make The Pain More Tolerable, But, Always, One Is Beholden To Medication That May Or May Not Always Work And May Or May Not Be Bearable

I Remember Sitting In His Office A Hundred Times During Those Grim Months And Each Time Thinking, What On Earth Can He Say That Will Make Me Feel Better Or Keep Me Alive? Well, There Never Was Anything He Could Say, That's The Funny Thing. It Was All The Stupid, Desperately Optimistic, Condescending Things He Didn't Say That Kept Me Alive; All The Compassion And Wamrth I Felt From Him That Could Not Have Been Said; All The Intelligence, Competence, And Time He Put Into It; And His Granite Belief That Mine Was A Life Worth Living.