but, soft! what light thru yonder window break

~watching shakespeare in love.
even ben affleck is kinda ok in that movie.
strange days all. mad dreams. waking up with that slightly off feeling. or was it just the dream? or is that how i really feel? bit of a rollercoaster one of those times of change

a friend got it right:
life is crazy
good, and bad, exciting, confusing, and i am enjoying
it.

Yellow sun is shining in the afternoon
I'd really like to tell you, but I feel it's too soon
My actions are dictated by the phase of the moon
The phase of the moon

im not sure where im going but im finally thinking ahead.

Depression is a prison whose foundation stone is the
unquestioned belief that you are intrinsically unacceptable to yourself and others, and that you have to spend you life trying to be good in the way that you define 'good.' Setting yourself impossibly high standards, you become expert in feeling guilty. When a personal disaster befalls you, your ideas about yourself and your life no longer reflect reality.
This feels like your very self is falling apart. You try to hold yourself together by blaming yourself. Now you see yourself as unforgivably wicked. You cut yourself off from other people because they will reject you, from your past where lies the evidence of your wickedness, from your hopeless future, and from society and nature. Thus, unintentionally, you create your prison. The more you hate yourself, the worse your prison becomes."

During those early years in the city, I lived behind the confident outer edifice that had served me so well as a student. But inside, the walls were crumbling; dry rot had set into the brickwork. It was only a matter of time before the whole thing collapsed.

People often ask me when I first became ill, a question I find impossible to answer. There was no single moment like breaking an arm; no malarial mosquito. Mental illness, in my experience, has no beginning as such, but a gnawing inevitability eating through the very foundations of one’s existence — or that’s how it feels.

sometimes i run out of words.

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her maid art far more fair than she