Quotes About Mental health

T]he accumulation of things not spelled out, not properly articulated, may result in neurosis.

Passion makes most psychiatrists nervous

Thank heaven, I have given up smoking again!... God! I feel fit. Homicidal, but fit. A different man. Irritable, moody, depressed, rude, nervy, perhaps; but the lungs are fine.

And how are you?" said Winnie-the-Pooh. Eeyore shook his head from side to side. "Not very how," he said. "I don't seem to have felt at all how for a long time.

The difficult child is the child who is unhappy. He is at war with himself; and in consequence, he is at war with the world.

She is afraid of depression. It skulks around her house like a shadow: a giant, slow and remorseless. It will be like leaving the door wide-open if she keeps on like this, messing up her routines. So all the giant has to do is crouch down, step inside and get her.

Was he actually losing it now, that he talked to himself all the time? Was all of this in his head? But he needed to talk to someone, and without anyone else around, talking to himself would have to do. At

If you lose track of time, you lose track of your mind. You don't go crazy necessarily, but your thoughts wander. They go on permanent vacations.

B3 could cure schizophrenia. You would think

Mental health needs a great deal of attention. It's the final taboo and it needs to be faced and dealt with.

My mind can rest. Which is when my situation becomes obvious. There is no getting better. There is love I cannot bear, which has kept me from drifting entirely loose. There are the medicines I can take that flood my mind without discrimination, slowing the monster, moving the struggle underwater, where I then must live in the murk. But there is no killing the beast. Since I was a young man, it has hunted me. And it will hunt me until I am dead. The older I become, the closer it gets.

There is so much drivel about psychoactive meds, so much corruption, bad faith, over- and underprescription, vagueness, profiteering, ignorance, and hope, that it's easy to forget they sometimes work, alleviating real suffering, at least for a time. This was such a time. I

I had received an invisible and highly effective surgery to the mind, administered by a pale yellow tablet scored down the middle and no larger than an aspirin. There is so much drivel about psychoactive meds, so much corruption, bad faith, over- and underprescription, vagueness, profiteering, ignorance, and hope, that it's easy to forget they sometimes work, alleviating real suffering, at least for a time.

There is no getting better. There is love I cannot bear, which has kept me from drifting entirely loose. There are the medicines I can take that flood my mind without discrimination, slowing the monster, moving the struggle underwater, where I then must live in the murk. But there is no killing the beast. Since I was a young man, it has hunted me. And it will hunt me until I am dead. The older I become, the closer it gets.

Winnicott once referred to depression as the 'fog over the battlefield'.

I've seen people where it rules their lives, you know, who want to be thinner or have bigger boobs, and how it wears them down, and I just don't want that in my life.

But I also found my depression tedious—tedious to live through, tedious to explain, tedious to be around. I was bored by my own relentless loop and felt sure I was boring everyone around me.

The worker can unionize, go out on strike; mothers are divided from each other in homes, tied to their children by compassionate bonds; our wildcat strikes have most often taken the form of physical or mental breakdown.

I remember that in the past I was overwhelmed with the mystery of anxiety, or the mystery of depression, but now when you feel that feeling coming on you no longer go into fight-or-flight mode. You go: 'Oh, I know what this is' and you ride it out.

There is an element in which anxiety co-represents with aspects of my personality I wouldn't want to give up. It allows you to have foresight. I may not be as empathetic. It's hard to figure out the difference between pathology and personality.

A person being patient with an insane person is my favorite thing in the world.

In November, 1964 when I was a patient at the Mayo Clinic I though seriously about killing myself.

Perhaps 10 percent of patients who are prescribed antidepressants are really benefiting from the drugs' active ingredients.

The more choices we give patients affected by depression, the better we will serve them.