I very rarely reblog posts. But when I do, its from Sam Dylan Finch.
I don’t know, in actuality, what it’s like to be set on fire.
The closest thing I have – which I am convinced must be similar to burning alive – is my most recent bout of depression, in which I was in such agonizing and relentless pain that I became the emotional equivalent of a rotisserie chicken.
I felt certain that this would be the episode that pushed me to end my life. And then before I knew it, I was in the emergency room (again).
I had spent the weeks leading up to my hospitalization confined to my bed, promising my friends that tomorrow would be the day I found the strength to stand up – responding to Facebook invitations with a “maybe” and the determination that, yes, I would be at that brunch, I would bring orange juice, I would get better.
But I couldn’t.
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