crazy

Nothing inspires me greater than the silly behaviour and crazy ideas of my best friends...

You should find something better to do with your time,_ Mandy told him. __ spend my time shooting people, and then I take them to darkrooms and blow them up.___Come again?_ Alecto questioned with a tone of alarm in his voice. __ take photographs and develop them myself, I__e got my own darkroom_ it was a joke,_ Mandy laughed. __ love photography and I__ gonna be a photojournalist someday.___eally?_ Alecto asked. For the first time since she__ met him, he sounded slightly enthusiastic. __I take photographs and I film my own home movies, I have a darkroom as well_ but I can__ be a photojournalist like you_ I can__ be anything_ still, at least I can take photographs, it__ fun.

I'm afraid to go out at night because it's too dark.I'm afraid to try different food because I may not like it.I'm afraid to do something different because what if I fail.I'm afraid to smile at someone because it may lead to a conversation.I'm afraid to make friends because they may end up leaving me one day.I'm afraid to commit to any relationship because what if they're not as committed as I am.I'm afraid to go out because someone may break in while I'm not home.I'm afraid to think differently than everyone else because they may think that I'm crazy.I'm afraid of shadows because what would happen if one of them isn't my own.I'm afraid of being afraid because I'm too scared of everything.I'm afraid...Each of us is afraid of something, but if we let our fears dominate our lives, then we don't have any kind of life at all I'm afraid.

As a kid, I imagined lots of different scenarios for my life. I would be an astronaut. Maybe a cartoonist. A famous explorer or rock star. Never once did I see myself standing under the window of a house belonging to some druggie named Carbine, waiting for his yard gnome to steal his stash so I could get a cab back to a cheap motel where my friend, a neurotic, death-obsessed dwarf, was waiting for me so we could get on the road to an undefined place and a mysterious Dr. X, who would cure me of mad cow disease and stop a band of dark energy from destroying the universe.

If you can't get what you want, you end up doing something else, just to get some relief. Just to keep from going crazy. Because when you're sad enough, you look for ways to fill you up.

People look like crazy, they do crazy things and they love their crazy life; stop inspiring them with your supernatural world and let them be who they chose to be.

You can__ hold it in forever,_ Colton said, apropos of nothing. __es, I can._ I had to. __ou__l go crazy. It__l come out, one way or another._ __etter crazy than broken._ I wasn't sure where that came from, hadn't thought it or meant to say it. __ou__e not broken. You__e hurting.

You__e innocent until proven guilty,_ Mandy exclaimed, unable to hide her gleeful smile. She missed the way people used to have normal conversations, used to be more caring for each other than themselves, back in the Seventies and Eighties. These days, she realized, neighbors kept to themselves, their kids kept to themselves, nobody talked to each other anymore. They went to work, went shopping and shut themselves up at home in front of glowing computer screens and cellphones_ but maybe the nostalgic, better times in her life would stay buried, maybe the world would never be what it was. In the 21st century music was bad, movies were bad, society was failing and there were very few intelligent people left who missed the way things used to be_ maybe though, Mandy could change things. Thinking back to the old home movies in her basement, she recalled what Alecto had told her. __e wanted more than anything else in the world to be normal, but we failed._ The 1960__ and 1970__ were very strange times, but Mandy missed it all, she missed the days when Super-8 was the popular film type, when music had lyrics that made you think, when movies had powerful meanings instead of bad comedy and when people would just walk to a friend__ house for the afternoon instead of texting in bed all day. She missed soda fountains and department stores and non-biodegradable plastic grocery bags, she wished cellphones, bad pop music and LED lights didn__ exist_ she hated how everything had a diagnosis or pill now, how people who didn__ fit in with modern, lazy society were just prescribed medications without a second thought_ she hated how old, reliable cars were replaced with cheap hybrid vehicles_ she hated how everything could be done online, so that people could just ignore each other_ the world was becoming much more convenient, but at the same time, less human, and her teenage life was considered nostalgic history now.Hanging her head low, avoiding the slightly confused stare of the cab driver through the rear view mirror, she started crying uncontrollably, her tears soaking the collar of her coat as the sun blared through the windows in a warm light.

Repression. Her therapist, Dr. Solomon, loved the word. He'd say it slowly, letting it roll off his tongue. Sometimes he'd add a chin stroke for good measure. He always looked pleased when he did this, like he'd discovered the Caramilk secret or something.

Sometimes... the first step to forgiveness is realizing that the other person... is batshit crazy.

I don__ want content. I want slight fear. Anxiety. I want a longing devotion for a twist of absence. The feeling of complete isn__ quite pleasing.

Stop putting yourself in danger. Stop trying to handle everything yourself instead of trusting me to help you._ His gaze wandered, too, lingering on her mouth, her hair, even her breasts, leaving tingling sensations everywhere it touched. Shadows moved along his jaw as muscles tensed. __top making me crazy, Janet.

Policeman says, "Son you can't stay here"I said, "There's someone I'm waiting for if it's a day, a month, a year"Gotta stand my ground even if it rains or snowsIf she changes her mind this is the first place she will go

Life is a crazy mixture of intoxicating cocktails.

People aren't crazy, they__e just reacting normally to an abnormally crazy world.

It's an unfortunate word, 'depression', because the illness has nothing to do with feeling sad, sadness is on the human palette. Depression is a whole other beast. It's when your old personality has left town and been replaced by a block of cement with black tar oozing through your veins and mind. This is when you can't decide whether to get a manicure or jump off a cliff. It's all the same. When I was institutionalised I sat on a chair unable to move for three months, frozen in fear. To take a shower was inconceivable. What made it tolerable was while I was inside, I found my tribe - my people. They understood and unlike those who don't suffer, never get bored of you asking if it will ever go away? They can talk medication all hours, day and night; heaven to my ears.

It's so common, it could be anyone. The trouble is, nobody wants to talk about it. And that makes everything worse.

Why, when you have a mental disease, is it always considered an act of imagination? Why is it that every organ in your body can get sick and you get sympathy except the brain?