“I want to crawl out of my skin, jump in front of a car, and
cry. All at the same time.”
“This is like trying to scale that prison wall in Dark
Knight Rises.”
“This is like swimming through Jell-o. I just want to stop.”
“No writerly stirrings. It's like being cut off from one of
my senses.”
“Donned bright colors to try and lift my mood. Alas, now I'm
just a sad girl in a red dress.”
“Sometimes, handling depression and anxiety is like trying
to leash a lynx. And a hyena. In the middle of rush hour traffic.”
There are a thousand ways to describe mental illness when
you’re a writer, so many metaphors at your disposal and so many adjectives to
try and capture the darkness, the hopelessness, and the exhaustion. But there’s
only one real way to live it: your way.
My way.
My way, as Fezzik says in The Princess Bride, is not very sportsman-like.
