Another person's illness is often harder to bear than one's own.
There is no human relationship more intimate than that of nurse and patient, one in which the essentials of character are more rawly revealed.
Others imply that they know what it is like to be depressed because they have gone through a divorce, lost a job, or broken up with someone. But these experiences carry with them feelings. Depression, instead, is flat, hollow, and unendurable. ... You're frightened, and you're frightening, and you're 'not at all like yourself but will be soon,' but you know you won't.
Everything previously moving with the grain is now against - you are irritable, angry, frightened, uncontrollable, and enmeshed totally in the blackest caves of the mind. You never knew those caves were there. It will never end, for madness carves its own reality.
Illness is the opposite of freedom. It makes everything impossible.
Nature alone cures. ... what nursing has to do ... is to put the patient in the best condition for nature to act upon him.
diseases, as all experience shows, are adjectives, not noun substantives.
Illness is regarded as a crime, and crime is regarded as illness.
Disease may score a direct hit on only one member of a family, but shrapnel tears the flesh of the others.
There's some herb that's good for everybody, except for them that thinks they're sick when they ain't.
The romantic treatment of death asserts that people were made singular, made more interesting, by their illnesses.
Ours is an age which consciously pursues health, and yet only believes in the reality of sickness.
Illnesses have always been used as metaphors to enliven charges that a society was corrupt or unjust.
Fatal illness has always been viewed as a test of moral character, but in the nineteenth century there is a great reluctance to let anybody flunk the test.
Any disease that is treated as a mystery and acutely enough feared will be felt to be morally, if not literally, contagious.
Right there is the usefulness of migraine, there in that imposed yoga, the concentration on the pain. For when the pain recedes, ten or twelve hours later, everything goes with it, all the hidden resentments, all the vain anxieties. The migraine has acted as a circuit breaker, and the fuses have emerged intact. There is a pleasant convalescent euphoria.
And I have learned now to live with it, learned when to expect it, how to outwit it, even how to regard it, when it does come, as more friend than lodger. We have reached a certain understanding, my migraine and I.
That no one dies of migraine seems, to someone deep into an attack, an ambiguous blessing.
Nervous breakdowns can be highly underrated methods of spiritual transformation.
No statistical proofs exist that prayer reduces illness and mortality, except perhaps through a psychogenic enhancement of the immune system; if it were otherwise the whole world would pray continuously.
Home is the best place to be sick in.
When mental sickness increases until it reaches the danger point, do not exhaust yourself by efforts to trace back to original causes. Better accept them as inevitable and save your strength to fight against the effects.
I get lots of awards for being mentally ill. Apparently, I am better at being mentally ill than almost anything else I've ever done. Seriously - I have a shelf of awards for being bipolar.
My mom had the breakdown for the family, and I went into therapy for all of us.
People who praise illness as bringing out the best in people ought to have their heads examined. Pain forces you to think about yourself, directs your interest to your own body and what is happening to it. You don't reach out benevolently, filled with good will for others. You don't seem to care enough. Pain makes you a little person, not a big one, and not a nice one, except perhaps in the case of saints, and I've never known one.
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