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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.

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
Happy
Enjoying
Enjoy
Staring
White
Bed
Feelings
Looked
Looks
Concerned
Way
Wall
Never
Quite
Feeling
Pink

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I believe women who are supported by men are prostitutes, that is that, and I am heartbroken to live through a time where Wall Street money means these women are not treated with due disdain.
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So many more cycles of elation of the first kiss, and devastation when it's over.
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In a strange way, I had fallen in love with my depression.
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My imagination, my ability to understand the way love and people grow over time, how passion can surprise and renew, utterly failed me.
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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.
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That is all I want in life: for this pain to seem purposeful.
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I’ve been looking for a feeling like that everywhere I go. I’ve been waiting for someone to see all the good in me at every truck stop and intersection along the way. I’ve been waiting all my life for the moment to arrive when I can just stop. Stop looking
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No one who had never been depressed like me could imagine that the pain could get so bad that death became a star to hitch up to, a fantasy of peace someday which seemed better than any life with all this noise in my head.
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In the meantime, I could withdraw to my room, could hide and sleep as if I were dead
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The American Dream, coupled with government subsidies of utilities and cheap consumer goods courtesy of slave labour somewhere else, has kept the poor huddled masses from rising up.
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Sometimes it feels like we're all living in a Prozac nation. The United States of Depression.
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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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How can you hide from what never goes away? --Heraclitus
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