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I start to think there really is no cure for depression, that happiness is an ongoing battle, and I wonder if it isn't one I'll have to fight for as long as I live. I wonder if it's worth it.

Elizabeth Wurtzel

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Elizabeth Wurtzel
Age: 52 †
Born: 1967
Born: July 31
Died: 2020
Died: January 7
Autobiographer
Journalist
Lawyer
Writer
New York City
New York
Elizabeth Lee Wurtzel
Really
Fight
Think
Wonder
Prozac
Thinking
Literature
Ongoing
Start
Cure
Fighting
Cures
Happiness
Depression
Live
Battle
Long
Worth

More quotes by Elizabeth Wurtzel

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I come from a family of screamers. If they are trying to express any emotion or idea beyond pass the salt, it comes in shrieks.
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My God, I could raise a family of six children and hold down a full-time job with all the energy I expend on depression!
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I'll see Naomi Wolf on television periodically, I have nothing against her and what she says, but I'll feel that she's a politician, like she's got an agenda to get across and that she doesn't always say what's really true or exactly what she feels.
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Because trying to see all sides, such an instinct is particularly Jewish.
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Getting help for substance abuse can be reduced to the deceptively simple focus of ‘keeping away from the dope.’ But what does getting help with depression mean? Learning to keep away from your own mind?
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Banned! My eyes light up, I think I see stars. Anything that has been banned by anyone must be something I’d like.
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I start to get the feeling that something is really wrong. Like all the drugs put together – the lithium, the Prozac, the desipramine, and Desyrel that I take to sleep at night – can no longer combat whatever it is that was wrong with me in the first place. I feel like a defective model.
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That is all I want in life: for this pain to seem purposeful.
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I am fortunate to have been well paid for an almost pathological honesty.
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Years of depression have robbed me of that—well, that give, that elasticity that everyone else calls perspective.
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It seemed like this was one big Prozac nation, one big mess of malaise. Perhaps the next time half a million people gather for a protest march on the White House green it will not be for abortion rights or gay liberation, but because we're all so bummed out.
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I sit there in my bed staring at the wall, feeling happy, enjoying the way the wall looks, how pink and how white it is. Pink and white, as far as I’m concerned, have never looked quite so pink and white before.
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People who think that Sylvia Plath was a poor, sensitive poet are not getting that she had great amounts of ambition and anger that moved her along, or she wouldn't have been able to fight against that depression to produce such an incredible body of work by the age of thirty.
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Why does the rest of the world put up with the hypocrisy, the need to put a happy face on sorrow, the need to keep on keeping on?... I don't know the answer, I know only that I can't.
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I'd really like to write a book about Timothy McVeigh, but it would only work if he cooperated.
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Belief is a good thing in principle, but an annoying thing in human beings.
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And she keeps saying, how can you do this to me? And i want to scream, what do you mean, how can I do this to you? Aren't we confusing our pronouns here? The question, really, is How could I do this to myself?
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In a strange way, I had fallen in love with my depression.
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I need the thing that happens when your brain shuts off and your heart turns on.
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I'm the girl who is lost in space, the girl who is disappearing always, forever fading away and receding farther and farther into the background. Because with every day that goes by, I feel myself becoming more and more invisible
Elizabeth Wurtzel