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Quote by Stanley Victor Paskavich

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Stanley Victor Paskavich

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“I mean, that's at least in part why I ingested chemical waste - it was a kind of desire to abbreviate myself. To present the CliffNotes of the emotional me, as opposed to the twelve-column read. I used to refer to my drug use as putting the monster in the box. I wanted to be less, so I took more - simple as that. Anyway, I eventually decided that the reason Dr. Stone had told me I was hypomanic was that he wanted to put me on medication instead of actually treating me. So I did the only rational thing I could do in the face of such as insult - I stopped talking to Stone, flew back to New York, and married Paul Simon a week later.”

Mental HealthDrinkingIllnessAlcoholMental IllnessDrunkDrugsAlcoholismMedicationCelebrityBipolarDrug AddictionHyperManicCelebritiesDrug AbuseDrug UseDruggieManic DepressiveHypomanic
Book:Wishful Drinking
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“Her parents, she said, has put a pinball machine inside her head when she was five years old. The red balls told her when she should laugh, the blue ones when she should be silent and keep away from other people; the green balls told her that she should start multiplying by three. Every few days a silver ball would make its way through the pins of the machine. At this point her head turned and she stared at me; I assumed she was checking to see if I was still listening. I was, of course. How could one not? The whole thing was bizarre but riveting. I asked her, What does the silver ball mean? She looked at me intently, and then everything went dead in her eyes. She stared off into space, caught up in some internal world. I never found out what the silver ball meant.”

PsychologyDepressionMental IllnessBipolarManicManiaMental DisorderBipolar DisorderPsychopathologyManic Depression
Book:An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness
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“But you do believe, don’t you," Rose implored him, "you think it’s true?" "Of course it’s true," the Boy said. "What else could there be?" he went scornfully on. "Why," he said, "it’s the only thing that fits. These atheists, they don’t know nothing. Of course there’s Hell. Flames and damnation," he said with his eyes on the dark shifting water and the lightning and the lamps going out above the black struts of the Palace Pier, "torments." "And Heaven too," Rose said with anxiety, while the rain fell interminably on. "Oh, maybe," the Boy said, "maybe.”

ReligionFictionCatholicism
Book:Brighton rock
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“Когато Ленард оставаше насаме, потокът информация, който го заливаше, беше още по-пълноводен. Нямаше кой да го разсейва. Докато крачеше сам, мислите в главата му се сгъстиха като самолети над бостънското летище "Лоугън". Имаше един-два презокеански лайнера, пълни с големи идеи, флотилия от "Боинг 707", натежали от товар сензитивни усещания (цветът на небето, мирисът на морето), както и по-малки самолетчета, превозващи откъслечни импулси, предпочели да пътуват инкогнито. Всички тези самолети искаха разрешение за незабавно кацане. От контролната кула в главата си Ленард комуникираше със самолетите по радиото, като едни от тях инструктираше да продължават да кръжат над летището, а други отклоняваше към други летища. Трафикът не спираше нито за миг; задачата му беше да координира постоянния поток от кацащи летателни апарати от мига на събуждането си до лягането за сън. Но сега, след две седмици, прекарани на международното летище "Маниакална енергия", вече минаваше за ветеран. Като проследяваше движението на радара пред себе си, Ленард можеше да приземи всеки самолет по разписание, като в същото време пускаше по някоя попържня към колегата на съседния стол, който безгрижно си ядеше сандвича. Всичко това си беше обичайна част от служебните му ангажименти.”

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Author:Jeffrey Eugenides
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