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The real motivation was purely selfish. I was on a quest to help myself. I believe the same is true for most people who go into mental health. We are drawn to this profession because we are damaged—we study psychology to heal ourselves.
The development of our personalities doesn’t take place in isolation, but in relationship with others—we are shaped and completed by unseen, unremembered forces; namely, our parents.
Somehow grasping at vanishing snowflakes is like grasping at happiness: an act of possession that instantly gives way to nothing.
It’s odd how quickly one adapts to the strange new world of a psychiatric unit. You become increasingly comfortable with madness—and not just the madness of others, but your own. We’re all crazy, I believe, just in different ways.
Unexpressed emotions will never die. They are buried alive, and will come forth later, in uglier ways.
Time caught up with itself with a jolt. Suddenly I was no longer stoned. I was horribly, painfully sober.
“Choosing a lover is a lot like choosing a therapist. We need to ask ourselves, is this someone who will be honest with me, listen to criticism, admit making mistakes, and not promise the impossible?”
“About love. About how we often mistake love for fireworks—for drama and dysfunction. But real love is very quiet, very still. It’s boring, if seen from the perspective of high drama. Love is deep and calm—and constant. I imagine you do give Kathy love—in the true sense of the word. Whether or not she is capable of giving it back to you is another question.”
one of the hardest things to admit is that we weren’t loved when we needed it most. It’s a terrible feeling, the pain of not being loved.”
Remember, love that doesn’t include honesty doesn’t deserve to be called love.”
I mustn’t put strangeness where there’s nothing. I think that is the danger of keeping a diary: you exaggerate everything, you are on the lookout, and you continually stretch the truth. —JEAN-PAUL SARTRE
Though I am not naturally honest, I am sometimes so by chance. —WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, The Winter’s Tale
The aim of therapy is not to correct the past, but to enable the patient to confront his own history, and to grieve over it.
Perhaps some of us are simply born evil, and despite our best efforts we remain that way.
