It is easy to identify a shallow person by the attention he gives to what will do him absolutely no good.
I wondered whether I had gone insane. If so, I thought, then this is what it feels like; I would never have guessed the world would still appear so sharp and vivid, the streets the same, the clouds the same, nothing different except your mind has come unhinged, its cogs whirling loose and wild and hazardous.
If only everyone could know and live with their inner craziness. Would the world be a worse place for it? No, people would be fairer and happier.
It is sometimes an appropriate response to reality to go insane.
They may think I’m insane because I left my wonderful job. I may think they are insane because they don’t know the value of life.
Bipolar robs you of that which is you. It can take from you the very core of your being and replace it with something that is completely opposite of who and what you truly are. Because my bipolar went untreated for so long, I spent many years looking in the mirror and seeing a person I did not recognize or understand. Not only did bipolar rob me of my sanity, but it robbed me of my ability to see beyond the space it dictated me to look. I no longer could tell reality from fantasy, and I walked in a world no longer my own.
I rolled my eyes. “He’s talking to himself. My vote is he’s crazy.”
He thought about this. “Maybe he’s normal and we’re the crazy ones. Maybe everyone should talk to themselves. Maybe we’re all just afraid of what we’d say.
for he had acquired, as time went on, the firm conviction that any thought, even the most audacious, that any fiction, even the most insane, can one day materialize and see its fulfillment in space and time.
It’s regrets that make painful memories. When I was crazy I did everything just right.
The reason I talk to myself is because I’m the only one whose answers I accept.