“I knew so many people who were afraid that if they took medication or even agreed to see a therapist that they were is some way admitting failure or defeat. Or they had been told by their boyfriend or their mother or their best friend that they should buck up and get over it, and that asking for help was a sign of weakness. Well then, let me be weak. Let me be a failure. Because being over here on this side, where I can see and think clearly, where I was happy to greet my child in the morning, where I could logically maneuver my way over tiny obstacles that would have previously been the end of the world, over here being a failure was a hell of a lot more enjoyable than the constant misery of suffering alone.”
— Heather B. Armstrong, It Sucked and Then I Cried
