That is all I want in life: for this pain to seem purposeful.— Elizabeth Wurtzel
The most grateful Elizabeth Wurtzel quotes that are simple and will have a huge impact on you
It seemed like this was one big Prozac nation, one big mess of malaise.
Perhaps the next time half a million people gather for a protest march on the White House green it will not be for abortion rights or gay liberation, but because we're all so bummed out.
I feel like a defective model, like I came off the assembly line flat-out fucked and my parents should have taken me back for repairs before the warranty ran out.
The shortness of life, I keep saying, makes everything seem pointless when I think about the longness of death. When I look ahead, all I can see is my final demise. And they say, But maybe not for seventy or eighty years. And I say, Maybe you, but me, I'm already gone.
I start to get the feeling that something is really wrong.
I admire Bruce Springsteen because he's a heroic person who has lots of integrity and has this incredible body of work that is so vital.
Everything's plastic, we're all going to die sooner or later, so what does it matter.
Depression is about as close as you get to somewhere between dead and alive, and it's the worst.
...occasionally I wished I could walk through a picture window and have the sharp, broken shards slash me to ribbons so I would finally look like I felt.
Insanity is knowing that what you're doing is completely idiotic, but still, somehow, you just can't stop it.
homesickness is just a state of mind for me.
i'm always missing someone or someplace or something, i'm always trying to get back to some imaginary somewhere. my life has been one long longing.
I thought depression was the part of my character that made me worthwhile.
I thought so little of myself, felt that I had such scant offerings to give to the world, that the one thing that justified my existence at all was my agony.
The voices in my head, which I used to think were just passing through, seem to have taken up residence.
In life, single women are the most vulnerable adults. In movies, they are given imaginary power.
I start to get the feeling that something is really wrong.
Like all the drugs put together – the lithium, the Prozac, the desipramine, and Desyrel that I take to sleep at night – can no longer combat whatever it is that was wrong with me in the first place. I feel like a defective model.
It's like Samson and Delilah: watch your back, because trouble could be the person you're sleeping with.
I was meant to date the captain of the football team, I was going to be on a romantic excursion every Saturday night, I was destined to be collecting corsages from every boy in town before prom, accepting such floral offerings like competing sacrifices to a Delphic goddess.
In a strange way, I had fallen in love with my depression.
A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight!
One of the terrible fallacies of contemporary psychotherapy is that if people would just say how they felt, a lot of problems could be solved.
The biggest problem that women have is being ambivalent about their own power, .
.. We should be comfortable with the idea of wielding power. We shouldn't feel that it detracts from our femininity.
Embrace fanaticism. Harness joie de vivre by pursuing insane interests, consuming passions, and constant sources of gratification that do not depend on the approval of others
I start to feel like I can't maintain the facade any longer, that I may just start to show through. And I wish I knew what was wrong. Maybe something about how stupid my whole life is.
I'm the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receding farther and farther into the background. Because with every day that goes by, I feel myself becoming more and more invisible
That's what it's like in my head all the time, constant snow, constant weather patterns of all sorts - blizzards, cyclones.
It is so hard to learn to put sadness in perspective so hard to understand that it is a feeling that comes in degrees, it can be a candle burning gently and harmlessly in your home, or it can be a full-fledged forest fire that destroy almost everything and is controlled by almost nothing. It can also be so much in-between
In a typical mental health catch-22, the alienating nature of depression tends to keep its sufferers from finding their way to the very support groups that might help them.
Feminism is a good venue for getting yourself across as much as for getting your point across.
Ritalin abuse is a big issue in the US.
I start to think there really is no cure for depression, that happiness is an ongoing battle, and I wonder if it isn't one I'll have to fight for as long as I live. I wonder if it's worth it.
My imagination, my ability to understand the way love and people grow over time, how passion can surprise and renew, utterly failed me.
My God, I could raise a family of six children and hold down a full-time job with all the energy I expend on depression!
You know you've completely descended into madness when the matter of shampoo has ascended to philosophical heights.
I wonder if any of them can tell from just looking at me that all I am is the sum total of my pain, a raw woundedness so extreme that it might be terminal. It might be terminal velocity, the speed of the sound of a girl falling down to a place from where she can't be retrieved. What if I am stuck down here for good?
Mental illness is so much more complicated than any pill that any mortal could invent
Sometimes it feels like we're all living in a Prozac nation. The United States of Depression.
Sometimes I wish I could walk around with a HANDLE WITH CARE sign stuck to my forehead.
It was just very interesting to me that certain types of women inspire people's imagination, and all of them were very difficult women.
And she keeps saying, how can you do this to me? And i want to scream, what do you mean, how can I do this to you? Aren't we confusing our pronouns here? The question, really, is How could I do this to myself?
It's nonverbal: I need love. I need the thing that happens when your brain shuts off and your heart turns on. And I know it's around me somewhere, but I just can't feel it.
No one who had never been depressed like me could imagine that the pain could get so bad that death became a star to hitch up to, a fantasy of peace someday which seemed better than any life with all this noise in my head.
My life's actually been quite dull; it's not all that glamorous.
Why does the rest of the world put up with the hypocrisy, the need to put a happy face on sorrow, the need to keep on keeping on?... I don't know the answer, I know only that I can't.
There is a classic moment in ‘The Sun Also Rises’ when someone asks Mike Campbell how he went bankrupt, and all he can say in response is, “Gradually and then suddenly.” When someone asks how I lost my mind, that’s all I can say too.
People who think that Sylvia Plath was a poor, sensitive poet are not getting that she had great amounts of ambition and anger that moved her along, or she wouldn't have been able to fight against that depression to produce such an incredible body of work by the age of thirty.
They have no idea what a bottomless pit of misery I am.
I wasn't just the madwoman in the attic--I was the attic itself.
The past was all over me, all under me, all inside me.
Age is a terrible avenger. The lessons of life give you so much to work with, but by the time you've got all this great wisdom, you don't get to be young anymore.
I wanted so much to forget the past, but it wouldn't go away, it hung around like an open wound that refused to scar over, an open window that no amount of muscle could shut.
In my case, I was not frightened in the least bit at the thought that I might live because I was certain, quite certain, that I was already dead.