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That's what it's like in my head all the time, constant snow, constant weather patterns of all sorts - blizzards, cyclones.

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
Weather
Snow
Patterns
Constant
Head
Blizzards
Time
Cyclones
Like
Blizzard
Sorts

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I am fortunate to have been well paid for an almost pathological honesty.
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I don't think it matters how many parents you've got, as long as those who are around make their presence a good one.
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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 biggest problem that women have is being ambivalent about their own power, ... We should be comfortable with the idea of wielding power. We shouldn't feel that it detracts from our femininity.
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I know I can do so much more than this, I know that I could be a life force, could love with a heart full of soul, could feel with the power that flies men to the moon. I know that if I could just get out from under this depression, there is so much I could do besides cry in front of the TV on a Saturday night.
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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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I start to feel like I can't maintain the facade any longer, that I may just start to show through. And I wish I knew what was wrong. Maybe something about how stupid my whole life is.
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It's nonverbal: I need love. I need the thing that happens when your brain shuts off and your heart turns on. And I know it's around me somewhere, but I just can't feel it.
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Pick a man, any man. Every guy I fall for becomes Jesus Christ within the first twenty four hours.
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Taking a hypersensitive approach to life had come to seem so much more pure and honest then joining the ranks of the numb masses who could let it all slide by. What I stopped realizing was that if you feel everything intensely, ultimately you feel nothing at all. Everything registers at the same decibel.
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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.
Elizabeth Wurtzel
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Even if I remember the first time perfectly, I don't remember the beginning at all. I mean: the beginning of addiction. It's hard to say when it becomes a problem it sneaks up on you like a sun shower.
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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
Elizabeth Wurtzel
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I'd really like to write a book about Timothy McVeigh, but it would only work if he cooperated.
Elizabeth Wurtzel
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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 need the thing that happens when your brain shuts off and your heart turns on.
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You don't even have to hate to have a perfectly miserable time.
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Everything's plastic, we're all going to die sooner or later, so what does it matter.
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I was meant to date the captain of the football team, I was going to be on a romantic excursion every Saturday night, I was destined to be collecting corsages from every boy in town before prom, accepting such floral offerings like competing sacrifices to a Delphic goddess.
Elizabeth Wurtzel