Sometimes ideas just come to me. Other times I have to sweat and almost bleed to make ideas come. It’s a mysterious process, but I hope I never find out exactly how it works.
You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you’ll have no sense of self anymore, no memory. There’s no chance at all of recovery. You’ll just exist as an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever, lost.
I have never been remotely ashamed of having been depressed. Never. What’s to be ashamed of? I went through a really rough time and I am quite proud that I got out of that.
