Yes, I think, any minute now [...] the insight will come. Clarity. [...]. Of course it never happens. Years of therapy and it never happens. [...]That’s the problem with reality, that’s the fallacy of therapy: [...] It assumes that insight alone is a transformative force. But the truth is, it doesn’t work that way. [...] In all likelihood you’re going to keep on doing the same old things. You’ll be the same old person. [...] I want an angel to swoop down on me and talk me out of suicide. because at this point, that’s what it’s going to take.
From a book I found while digging through a crate of books behind my desk, Elizabeth Wurtzel’s Prozac Nation. Oh the books I own. I can’t recommend it or anything since I don’t remember it. Not a good sign, isn’t it. In my head I can’t distinguish it from Coover’s Gerald’s Party. No idea why. Very different books aren’t they. This passage is nice though. Here’s another one, from the same book:
And his upbeat mood, rather than having the contagious effect he’d probably hoped for, made me resist him, made me more defiant in my depression. I hated him for not being depressed. He seemed a fool – everyone who didn’t feel like me was a fool. I alone knew the truth about life, knew, that it all was a miserable downward spiral that you could either admit or ignore, but sooner or later we were all going to die.