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“People say, ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead,’ as they hasten that very death, both literally and figuratively. They trade their health for a few more working hours. They trade the long-term viability of their business or their career before the urgency of some temporal crisis. If we treat sleep as a luxury, it is the first to go when we get busy. If sleep is what happens only when everything is done, work and others will constantly be impinging on your personal space. You will feel frazzled and put upon, like a machine that people don’t take care of and assume will always function.”
— Ryan Holiday, Stillness is the Key (Page 230)
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I can never find the right words to tell people what I’m thinking. Telling them I’m tired doesn’t work, but I can’t seem to vocalize that I’m mentally exhausted and sick of existing. Telling them I’m sad doesn’t work either, but I can’t explain that I’m struggling not to kill myself and that the joy in everything in my life is gone and when I wake up to the sun in my eyes, I have to struggle to get myself out of bed because most of me didn’t even want to wake up at all. I can’t tell them I’m numb because what I’m feeling is so much more complex than numb and I don’t have the vocabulary to tell them that I feel like I’m drowning and it terrifies me that I feel nothing as it’s happening, and that my insides want to scream but I can’t even find it in me to shed a tear anymore, that every single aspect of my life feels like it’s shaded in grey because someone sucked out all the colors but I can hardly even remember what colors are because I can no longer remember a time I didn’t feel like this. No, I don’t know how to say that. So I just whisper “I’m fine.”
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And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.
— Haruki Murakami
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“She will always be my one true north the brightest star at my sky who guides me through all I’m worth. Thousands of maps people gave me in search for the girl of my safest dreams and nothing compares to the feeling of drawing impossible lines each day for someone I already know is real. She will always be my one true north the angel who’s taught me the honesty of death becoming birth. Signs are everywhere, she says if you choose to open your heart to the sadness that washes away the pain of hanging on to the happiness that’s not meant to be yours, and only then can you see infinity without suffering. She will always be my one true north, my home for every road I take and my greatest blessing for each time I wake.”
— Juansen Dizon, My One True North
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