I’ve always loved the night, when everyone else is asleep and the world is all mine. It’s quiet and dark—the perfect time for creativity.

You’ve got to reach bedrock to become depressed enough before you are forced to accept the reality and enormity of the problem.

You know what is beautiful? A real conversation with a real person.

No, Ben. What I’m asking is: Are you the vehicle, and Georgie rides around in you? That is why Ben’s the driver, right?

The drug I take is called schizophrenia, among other labels, which I desperately want to put away. I want to put the drug of schizophrenia down, and I want to put down the stigma surrounding its label.

Pessimists try to convince you the world sucks, optimists already know it does and smile anyway.

I have schizophrenia. I am not schizophrenia. I am not my mental illness. My illness is a part of me.

We all have problems, but let's not kid ourselves: it's how we deal with them that makes the difference.

How simple it is to acknowledge that all the worry in the world could not control the future. How simple it is to see that we can only be happy now, and that there will never be a time when it is not now.

Thoughts. Thoughts bombard my head, my brain. My psyche

The strongest people are not those who show strength in front of the world but those who fight and win battles that others do not know anything about.

You can’t be beaten by something you laugh at.

I keep moving ahead, as always, knowing deep down inside that I am a good person and that I am worthy of a good life.

Forget about being impressive and commit to being real. Because being real is impressive!

Sometimes I return back to the state of mind I had as a child when I believed nothing was impossible.

Sadly enough, the most painful goodbyes are the ones that are left unsaid and never explained.

I’d wish it were easier to not allow other people’s pasts to create my own present.

I wanted a complicated life.

There is something about being loved and protected by a parent (or guardian) knowing that I can be loved for who I am, not what I can do, or might one day become. Unfortunately it’s not usually like this in every single situation. From time to time, my parents made mistakes during my childhood. Possibly I was the mistake, or unwanted. But I don’t know. I had every material thing that I could have ever wanted, but there was still something missing, as if I felt distanced from my parents, or misunderstood, in the ways that they treated me. At times, I had felt completely loved and accepted by my parents, but for one reason or another, they were unable to care for me, provide for me, in some ways that would have been very important. Sometimes I feel like I am trying to make up for the experiences in life that were absent when I was a child.

What if you had such severe schizophrenia that your life was just one hallucination after another? And what if people kept trying to drag you back out of those hallucinations, to prove that you weren't living in reality and that reality was nothing more than a psych hospital? Would you go?