Sure, I'll Join Your Cult: A Memoir of Mental Illness and the Quest to Belong Anywhere

by Maria Bamford

I’m not suicidal, but I’m also not particularly psyched.

I will list the suicide hotline at the end like a responsible mental health advocate, even though I myself find that precaution to be slightly condescending. Don’t we all know what the fucking number is at this point? I’m depressed, I’m not a moron.

This is the Maria Bamford version of the Holy Scripture—like the King James version, but with less through line.

Even bitches who live on pickles and cocaine have their limits.

And when your brain is collapsing, you find out who your friends are, by who sticks around and by whom you reach out to—which

The most passionate and unhinged therapist was an older white guy with a beard who opened each group with a Buddhist perspective: “Hey, guys, life is suffering. Discuss!” He was preaching to the choir.

I don’t want to have any boredom or thoughts or feelings or really the experience of being alive.