Not Found

No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.

Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.

She exists as in dreams. She has no sense of reality. She gets nervous because people are always interrupting her daydreams.

It’s so difficult to describe depression to someone who’s never been there, because it’s not sadness. I know sadness. Sadness is to cry and to feel. But it’s that cold absence of feeling— that really hollowed-out feeling.

When people say ‘I don’t get out much anymore,’ they don’t just mean out the door. They mean outside their own skin. They’re sewed up in their hides. They’re trapped in there.

The only thing worse than the thought that it may all come tumbling down is the thought that we may go on like this forever.

a retrospective of notes i’ve woken up and scrawled in my phone in the middle of the night that appeared unintelligible in the morning