“Sometimes I'm so deeply buried under self-reproaches that I long for a word of comfort to help me dig myself out again.”

“I have packed myself into silence so deeply and for so long that I can never unpack myself using words. When I speak, I only pack myself a little differently.”

“...you merely look at me and I want to confess, but don't - I've buried my heart under the floor boards, but you always dig it up...”

“I've buried all the hatchets. But I know where I've buried them and I can dig them up again if necessary.”

“Because that’s the thing about depression. When I feel it deeply, I don’t want to let it go. It becomes a comfort. I want to cloak myself under its heavy weight and breathe it into my lungs. I want to nurture it, grow it, cultivate it. It’s mine. I want to check out with it, drift asleep wrapped in its arms and not wake up for a long, long time.”

“Thought I appear unaware of my surroundings, I hear her words. They're cruel and hurt me deeply...I know the state I'm in, but I also know that I didn't bring it on myself and I can't get out of it. (103)”