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Anxiety is terrible, you could be having an attack and no one would even know because it’s an inward thing. it feels like you’re malfunctioning and you can’t process your own thoughts. you get a knot in your stomach and you can’t take a full breath but outwardly you can literally just sit there and look completely normal as long as no one tries to speak to you.

… what is my life for and what am I going to do with it? I don’t know and I am afraid. I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and all the lives I want. I can never train my self in all the skills I want. And what do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones, and vibrations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited… I have much to live for and yet I am sick and sad. Perhaps you could trace my feeling back to my distaste at having to choose between alternatives. Perhaps that’s why I want to be everyone - so no one can blame me for being I. So i wont have to take the responsibility for my own character development and philosophy. People are happy - - - if that means being content with your lot: feeling comfortable as the complacent round peg struggling in a round hole, with no awkward or painful edges - no space to wonder or question in. I am not content, because my lot is limiting, as are all others. People specialize; people become devoted to an idea; people “find themselves.” But the very content that comes from finding yourself is over-shadowed by the knowledge that by doing so you are admitting you are not only a grotesque, but a special kind of grotesque.

Depression does not always mean Beautiful girls shattering at the wrists A glorified, heroic battle for your sanity Or mothers that never got the chance to say good-bye Sometimes depression means Not getting out of bed for three days Because your feet refuse to believe That they will not shatter upon impact with the floor Sometimes depression means That summoning the willpower To go downstairs and do the laundry Is the most impressive thing you accomplish that week Sometimes depression means Lying on the floor staring at the ceiling for hours Because you cannot convince your body That it is capable of movement Sometimes depression means Not being able to write for weeks Because the only words you have to offer the world Are trapped and drowning and I swear to God I’m trying Sometimes depression means That every single bone in your body aches But you have to keep going through the motions Because you are not allowed to call in to work depressed Sometimes depression means Ignoring every phone call for an entire month Because yes, they have the right number But you’re not the person they’re looking for, not anymore.

The worker receives a part of the available means of subsistence from the capitalist. For what purpose do these means of subsistence serve him? For immediate consumption. As soon, however, as I consume the means of subsistence they are irretrievably lost to me unless I use the time during which I am kept alive by them in order to produce new means of subsistence, in order during consumption to create by my labour new values in place of values which perish on being consumed. But it is just this noble reproductive power that the worker surrenders to the capitalist in exchange of means of subsistence received. He has, therefore, lost it for himself.

"He(worker) does not even reckon labour as part of his life, it is rather a sacrifice of his life"

When the potential source of workers' humanization becomes the actual source of their dehumanization, workers may undergo a major psychological crisis. They start feeling like hamsters on a hamster wheel, going nowhere