Quotes About Mental health

Miltown, Librium, Valium,

Christians become friends with the world when they follow its psychological theories to understand themselves and others and to change behavior. They are friends of the world when they call sinful behavior "mental illness" and sinful habits "diseases.

It's easier to get your high school diploma, become a police inspector, or get your master's degree in literature than to commit suicide. The success rate is less than eight percent.

[Psychology] should be just as concerned with building strength as with repairing damage.

Ten years ago, when I was on an airplane and I introduced myself to my seatmate, and told them [I was a psychologist], they'd move away from me. … And now when I tell people what I do, they move toward me.

It's unthinkable not to love --you'd have a severe nervous breakdown. Or you'd have to be Philip Larkin.

My psychiatrist told me I'm going crazy. I told him .... If you don't mind I'd like a second opinion. He said .... Alright.... you're ugly too!

I don't fell good.

Gratitude is way of thanks giving and appreciation in return for support and honoring one's virtue. But gratitude should not be only an utter word but one should live by it. Gratitude can motivate others, builds social ties and increases self esteem. Gratitude is the essence of good mental health and spirituality.

You can live through most anything as long as you have the right tranquilizers on hand.

Back when we were kids, the experts thought kids were protected if they couldn't access their most damaging memories. But now they know suppressed memories can cause all kinds of problems as an adult- anxiety, depression, PTSD, amnesia...

Long ago they lowered insane persons into snake pits; they thought that an experience that might drive a sane person out of his wits might send an insane person back into sanity.

But I'm not ready to stop listening to the screwed-up inner voice that's been ordering me around for a lifetime. My head thinks it can kill me... and go on living without me.

A STUDY shows that if an American schizophrenic hears voices, they tell him to commit violence. And if a schizophrenic in India hears voices, they tell him to clean the house.

Alexander)'Sometimes I forget all this for months on end. Sometimes I think of it day and night. Sometimes I think, unless I find out the truth of it, I shall go mad.' (Hephaistion)'That's stupid. You've got me now. Do you think I'd let you go mad?

By November, you wish you were dead. You want nothing more. Every day, every fucking day, you run up the steps of the house, breathing hard, swing open the cupboards, thinking: You pitiful little bitch. Fucking cow. Greedy pig. All day, your stomach pinches and spits up its bile. You sway when you walk. You begin to get cold again.

Madness strips you of memory and leaves you scrabbling around on the floor of your brain for the snatches and snippets of what happened, what was said, and when.

Because I'm not, in fact, depressed, Prozac makes me manic and numb - one of the reasons I slice my arm in the first place is that I'm coked to the gills on something utterly wrong for what I have.

I began to feel like I was wearing a sign on my forehead that said FUCKED UP in big neon letters.

I know how this feels: the tightening of the chest, the panic, the what-have-I-done-wait-I-was-kidding. Eating disorders linger so long undetected, eroding the body in silence, and then they strike. The secret is out. You're dying.

For me, the first sign of oncoming madness is that I'm unable to write.

Crazy isn´t always what they say it is. It´s not always the old woman wearing sneakers and a skirt and a scarf, wandering around with a shopping cart, hollering at no one, nothing, tumbling through years in her head. No. Sometimes it is a girl wearing boots and jeans and a sweater, arms crossed in front of her, shivering, wandering through the streets at night, all night, murmuring to no one, nothing, tumbling through the strange unreal dimensions in her head.

My brain sometimes departs from the agreed-upon reality, and my private reality is a very lonely place. But in the end, I'm not sure I wish I'd never gone there.

I mean, we all know the dangers of starving, but bulimia? That can't be that bad. It's only bad when you get really thin. Who worries about bulimics? They're just gross.