“I think back to the years when I barely left my room, when the pills I took each day for anxiety and depression made the light hurt my skin and my hands tremble too hard to hold a pen. How I devoured books, lying in the fetal position in the dark until my hips hurt against the mattress. How much I needed the desolate predictability, the safeties of stillness and solitude. Beyond distraction or entertainment was just the perfect permanence of the written word and the camaraderie embroidered in its silence.” BooksSolitudeDepressionConnection Book:The Trauma Cleaner: One Woman's Extraordinary Life in the Business of Death, Decay, and Disaster Source: The Trauma Cleaner: One Woman's Extraordinary Life in the Business of Death, Decay, and Disaster