Somehow, Like So Many People Who Get

I Think You Have Waves Of Awareness And One Of The Things That I Found With Grief Was Actually - I Was Well Prepared For It By The Cyclicality Of My Manic Depressive Illness Because I Was Used To Things Coming And Going And So Forth.

Knowledge Is Marvelous, But Wisdom Is Even Better.

Suicide Is A Particularly Awful Way To Die: The Mental Suffering Leading Up To It Is Usually Prolonged, Intense And Unpalliated. There Is No Morphine Equivalent To Ease The Acute Pain, And Death, Not Uncommonly, Is Violent And Grisly. The Suffering Of A Suicidal Is Private And Inexpressible, Leaving Family Members, Friends And Colleagues To Deal With An Almost Unfathomable Kind Of Loss, As Well As Guilt. Suicide Carries In Its Aftermath A Level Of Confusion And Devastation That Is, For The Most Part, Beyond Description.

But, With Time, One Has Encountered Many Of The Monsters, And One Is Increasingly Less Terrified Of Those Still To Be Met.

The Intensity, Glory, And Absolute Assuredness If My Mind's Flight Made It Very Difficult For Me To Believe Once I Was Better, That The Illness Was One I Should Willingly Give Up....moods Are Such An Essential Part Of The Substance Of Life, Of One's Notion Of Oneself, That Even Psychotic Extremes In Mood And Behavior Somehow Can Be Seen As Temporary, Even Understandable Reactions To What Life Has Dealt....even Though The Depressions That Inevitably Followed Nearly Cost Me My Life.