Whatever you think you can do or believe you can do, begin it. Action has magic, grace and power in it.
When you have spent long years in the dark, there is joy in seeing the light and pleasure, above all, in the ordinary.
Try never to abandon hope for if you do, hope will surely try to abandon you.
Letting go is not getting rid of. Letting go is letting be.
Only by acceptance of the past will you alter its meaning.
Believe nothing. Try everything.
If our minds can hold us back, then they can push us forwards too.
I believe, completely, that life is about connection; that nothing else truly matters.
I often find myself grateful for the comfort of strangers; a man who gave up his seat for me on the bus, a woman who helped me out with a heavy shopping bag. Remembering small acts of kindness puts th...
Everyone else has a work party,'Kate said. 'So why shouldn't we? We're working hard at not being mad.
It is two years since I emerged from depression and I no longer want myself dead. I want myself alive. I am no longer my own enemy. Depression is the enemy. The monster lives at my gate. My hope is th...
I would not wish depression on anybody. And yet, it taught me a lot. I have not become suddenly mawkishly grateful for my life but I am more interested in it, more engaged you might say. When you have...
I find it easy to spot a depressive. The illness is scrawled across them like graffiti.
The terrible truth about depression, and the part of its nature that terrifies me the most, is that it appears to operate beyond reason; feelings happen to you for no apparent cause. Or rather, there...
A part of my depression lies, I think, in my unanswered question: Where is home? I feel a sense, always, of trying to find my way back to a place that doesn't exist.
Wanting to die (or 'suicidal ideation'as the experts would have it) goes hand in hand with the illness. It is a symptom of severe depression, not a character failing or moral flaw. Nor is it, truly, a...
I had carried on when all I wanted was to be dead. I had stayed alive for other people. I never stayed alive for myself. I cannot begin to describe the intensity of that effort.
Sometimes I think depression should be called the coping illness. So many of us struggle on, not daring or knowing how to ask for help. More of us, terribly, go undiagnosed.
Bad enough to be ill, but to feel compelled to deny the very thing that, in its worst and most active state, defines you is agony indeed.
As to whether the depression will come back, it is every depressive's fear.
