99+ Kay Redfield Jamison Quotes on An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness, Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide and An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness - Quotes.pub

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Parents also seriously underestimate the extent of depression in their adolescent children.

Melancholic, although often sardonic, mixtures of emoitions-foreboding, aloneness, regret, and a dark sense of lost destiny and ill-used passions-are woven throughout Byron’s most autobiographical poems, especially Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Lara, and Manfred. Perturbed and constant motion, coupled with a brooding awareness of life’s impermanence, also mark the transient and often bleak nature of Byron’s work.

Grief, however, creates a strange sensitivity. The world is too intense to tolerate: a veil, a drink, another anesthetic is required to blot out the ache of what remains. One sees too much and feels it, as Robert Lowell puts it, “with one skin-layer missing.

It is true that I had wanted to die, but that is peculiarly different from regretting having been born. Overwhelmingly, I was enormously glad to have been born, grateful for life, and I couldn’t imagine not wanting to pass on life to someone else.

I am by temperament an optimist, and I thought from the beginning that there was much to be written about suicide that was strangely heartening.

Then, suddenly, I was unpredictably and uncontrollably irrational and destructive. This was not something that could be overcome by protocol or etiquette. God, conspicuously, was nowhere to be found.

Part of my stubbornness can be put down to human nature. It is hard for anyone with an illness, chronic or acute, to take medications absolutely as prescribed. Once symptoms of an illness go away, it becomes even more difficult.

Profound melancholia is a day-in, day-out, night-in, night-out, almost arterial level of agony.

Most people don’t have the advantage of being able to evaluate their doctor in advance.

One of the advantages of science is that one’s work, ultimately, is either replicated or it is not.

While she might not have opted for this illness, neither does she entirely regret it; she prefers, as she writes so movingly, a life ofpassionate turbulence to one of tedious calm.

I understood very little of what was going on, and I felt as though only dying would release me from the overwhelming sense of inadequacy and blackness that surrounded me.

In some cases, some people do get depressed in the middle of their grief and they really need to be treated for depression.

I think that for thousands of years people have made the observation that there are certain kinds of extreme depressive states that seem to be more likely to produce philosophers, people in the arts, unusually brilliant scientists.

The great imaginative artists have always sailed “in the wind’s eye,” and brought back with them words or sounds or images to “counterbalance human woes.” That they themselves were subject to more than their fair share of these woes deserves our appreciation, understanding, and very careful thought.

I realized that it was not that I didn’t want to go on without him. I did. It was just that I didn’t know why I wanted to go on.

I think wanting to write is a fundamental sign of disease and discomfort. I don’t think people who are comfortable want to write...

The simultaneous existence and shared residence of such opposite moods and feelings is well-illustrated by Franz Schubert’s assertion that whenever he sat down to write songs of love he wrote songs of pain, and whenever he sat down to write songs of pain he wrote songs of love.

Mood disorders are terribly painful illnesses, and they are isolating illnesses. And they make people feel terrible about themselves when, in fact, they can be treated.

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.

From a public health point of view, still the overwhelming problem is that people are not treated enough for depression; depression remains under treated.

Nature is the first tutor. No one remains untouched or unschooled by the earth, seasons, and heavens.

Nothing good comes out of depression.

That such a final, tragic, and awful thing is suicide can exist in the midst of remarkable beauty is one of the vastly contradictory and paradoxical aspects of life and art.

As best I could make out, having never heard the term until I arrived in California, being a WASP meant being mossbacked, lockjawed, rigid, humorless, cold, charmless, insipid, less than penetratingly bright, but otherwise – and inexplicably – to be envied.

Madness is easy to overdramatize and thereby underestimate; it is less easy to convey its capacity to erode identity, disfigure love, and violate trust. The real horror of madness is more subtle and corrosive than its caricature.

When I am high I couldn’t worry about money of I tried. So I don’t. The money will come from from somewhere; I am entitled; God will provide. Credit cards are disastrous, personal checks worse. Unfortunately, for manics anyway, mania is a natural extension of the economy.

I don’t think grief of grief in a medical way at all. I think that I and many of my colleagues, are very concerned when grief becomes pathological, that there is no question that grief can trigger depression in vulnerable people and there is no question that depression can make grief worse.

But money spent while manic doesn’t fit into the Internal Revenue Service concept of medical expense or business loss. So after mania, when most depressed, you’re given excellent reason to be even more so.

Grief comes and goes, but depression is unremitting.

I look back over my shoulder and feel the presence of an intense young girl and then a volatile and disturbed young woman, both with high dreams and restless, romantic aspirations.

Everything previously moving with the grain is now against – you are irritable, angry, frightened, uncontrollable, and enmeshed totally in the blackest caves of the mind. You never knew those caves were there. It will never end, for madness carves its own reality.

I am a huge advocate of prescription drugs given wisely and for the right reasons and the right diagnosis and also psychotherapy.

People are more impulsive and they get slightly less impulsive as they get older and the impulsiveness interacting with the depression is particularly devastating and lethal, potentially lethal.

In fact, many features of hypomania – such as outgoingness, increased energy, intensified sexuality, increased risk-taking, persuasiveness, self-confidence, and heightened productivity – have been linked with increased achievement and accomplishment.

Prolonged cocaine use, which diminishes dopamine functioning, gives support to the general rule that external sources of exuberance are ultimately overruled by the brain’s inclination to seek out equilibrium.

It was a tribute to my ability to present an image so at variance with what I felt that few noticed I was in any way different.

Mental exhaustion had taken a long, terrible toll, but, strangely, it was only in feeling well, energetic, and high-spirited again that I had any true sense of the toll taken.

Because the privacy of my nightmare had been of my own designing, no one close to me had any real idea of the psychological company I had been keeping.

As a child I had been quiet and invisible when troubled; as an adult, I had hidden my mental illness behind an elaborate construction of laughter and work and dissembling.

Patient reluctant to be with people when depressed because she feels her depression is such an intolerable burden on others”;.

There are relatively few things that kill people that are young other than car accidents and suicide.

There is an assumption, in attaching Puritan concepts such as ‘successful’ and ‘unsuccessful’ to the awful, final act of suicide, that those who ‘fail’ at killing themselves not only are weak, but incompetent, incapable even of getting their dying quite right.

Anyone who suggests that coming back from suicidal despair is a straightforward journey has never taken it.

The awareness of the damage done by severe mental illness – to the individual himself and to others – and fears that it may return again play a decisive role in many suicides.

It is the history of our kindnesses that alone makes this world tolerable,” wrote Robert Louis Stevenson. “If.

Madness, on the other hand, most certainly can, and often does, kill love through its mistrustfulness, unrelenting pessimism, discontents, erratic behavior, and, especially, through its savage moods. The sadder, sleepier, slower, and less volatile depressions are more intuitively understood and more easily taken in stride. A quiet melancholy is neither threatening nor beyond ordinary comprehension; an angry, violent, vexatious despair is both.

No amount of love can cure madness or unblacken one’s dark moods.

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.

Who would not want an illness that has among its symptoms elevated and expansive mood, inflated self-esteem, abundance of energy, less need for sleep, intensified sexuality, and- most germane to our argument here-“sharpened and unusually creative thinking” and “increased productivity”?

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