Jacqueline Novak Quotes

No matter how good you are with words, it’s inevitable that meaning is lost between your mind and someone else’s. Trying to communicate is like throwing a cup of water at a thirsty person’s face. It’s better than nothing, sure, and a teaspoon of water might hit their lips, but oh, God, there’s just so much water in the grass.

I look at my friends who don't suffer from depression and compare their healthy habits to my own dysfunction (a great practice in and of itself) and I think, who are these people?

I've tried to use sex in place of language, but no one yet has been capable of processing the imagery, references, and metaphors I imbue into my thrusts, so I've returned to common English.

The "kill me now" chat is the only conversation I recall having with God as a child. Not a ton of prayer.

College campuses are populated by and endless throng of happy, dancing, fully conversational creatures who seem to exist from the sole purpose of reinforcing your utter alienation. I tried to take comfort in the fact that hell is other people and ultimately we are alone anyway.

You want your agony to have a certain sophistication, no? You don’t want people to think you’re some simpleton who just suddenly realized life is hard, do you? Well, then, first you need to build a solid foundation, and that is what the following chapters are all about: bringing out the little turtlenecked French nihilist in you as a child. You need to cultivate your neuroses. Even if you only have one mental breakdown later in life, this early work will make it easier for you to “lose it” with gusto when the time is right.

All depressives should at least consider getting a wise, spiritually advanced geriatric cat. It’s an easy way to be “of service” without moving much. The shelters are very happy when people adopt the elderly creatures.

As for ideas about God, my mom said something about it being a helpful idea to those who believed. My dad said that God was everywhere—and, yes, that included my ear—and that God, along with Mom and Dad, had "made" me. Ew, like a threesome with a polyamorous zealot.

When you feel like life is so overwhelming that you have no choice but to cry, simply stop in your tracks and bend over like you're catching your breath after a run. Then, let the tears fall straight down out of your eyes to the ground. Aim for perpendicularity. Your tears will avoid contaminating your cheeks, and you will not have to desperately swipe at your face, which is what leaves the irritation and telltale red marks. Consider enacting a few vomitous heaves. It may seem like extra drama, but people will assume you are merely hungover after some all-night rager you attended with your million friends, rather than standing alone in the street, sobbing into the sidewalk, watering the dried gum on the ground.

School is, if nothing else, a place where the sensitive go to be misunderstood.

But the depression isn't gone. Part of doing better is learning not to freak out every time I feel depression nudging its boner against my backside.* *Crass, sexual metaphors will be used liberally throughout the book to lighten the mood, but you will get used to it. And if you think that's cheap, let me remind you that so are caramels, and they are delicious.

God dipped the Jews in a substance called fear to protect them. God probably dipped the males by the foreskin, and this is why circumcision is so important. It chops off the one little body part that isn't coated in protective fear.

So there I was, deep in dreamland, fighting for my family's honor against a battalion of past lovers. The battle lasted for days, and in the dream I woke up and shared the dream with friends, not realizing I was still in it. I tried to write it down, certain it would make a great movie plot, but when I looked at the pen I discovered it was full of... ew, semen? No doubt a reminder from the subconscious of the potency of my literary potential.

If you're a sweating beast or currently coaching an athlete's foot, I guess you'll have to wash your sheets regularly. But honestly, those sound like the kind of problems that afflict the more active set. You're probably more like me: nice and dry, a potato with ideas.

If you're a sweating beast or currently coaching an athlete's foot, I guess you'll have to wash your sheets regularly. But honestly, those sound like the kind of problems that afflict the more active set. You're probably more like me: nice and dry, a potato with ideas.

I'll think about how I'll wear this week's favorite tee, even though it tugs across the love handles. I make peace with love handles, because they are American. Then I remember the tee has an undeniably hued barbecue sauce stain up near the neck, evidence of the cause of the love handles below. Maybe I could wear it anyway but crack a joke about it at the beginning of every conversation I have tonight.

In general, I just find it really strange that people are able to make a plan and then execute it at some later date. It feels as oppressive to me as a wedding betrothal at age three.

The first step to reconnect with your body is to breathe into its lungs. This one is still a tough pill for me to swallow, but people who get in the habit of breathing regularly report great things. Since it only takes a few minutes without oxygen to straight-up die, it seems reasonable that even a small increase in the amount of air you consumer might make you feel vaguely less dead. Now don't be a hero and try for the long, deep breath. Experiencing that "good God, I'm alive" feeling so suddenly might cause you to recoil like a vampire from the light. At first just try a wee puff, as from a questionable doobie.

No matter how good you are with words, it’s inevitable that meaning is lost between your mind and someone else’s. Trying to communicate is like chucking a cup of water at a thirsty person’s face. It’s better than nothing, sure, and a teaspoon of water might hit their lips, but oh, God, there’s just so much water in the grass.