All I have are negative thoughts.

I was getting depressed. My life wasn’t going anywhere. I needed something, the flashing of lights, glamour, some damn thing. And here I was, talking to the dead. I finished my first drink. The second was ready.

I killed four flies while waiting. Damn, death was everywhere. Man, bird, beast, reptile, rodent, insect, fish didn’t have a chance. The fix was in. I didn’t know what to do about it. I got depressed. You know, I see a boy at the supermarket, he’s packing my groceries, then I see him sticking himself into his own grave along with the toilet paper, the beer and the chicken breasts.

Hey, what’s wrong? Why do you look all depressed now?

It’s not like I’m against it or anything. I’m just…depressed I guess? Or worried. Though it’s probably a little late for that.

I’ve never been lonely. I’ve been in a room — I’ve felt suicidal. I’ve been depressed. I’ve felt awful — awful beyond all — but I never felt that one other person could enter that room and cure what was bothering me…or that any number of people could enter that room. In other words, loneliness is something I’ve never been bothered with because I’ve always had this terrible itch for solitude. It’s being at a party, or at a stadium full of people cheering for something, that I might feel loneliness. I’ll quote Ibsen, “The strongest men are the most alone.” I’ve never thought, “Well, some beautiful blonde will come in here and give me a fuck-job, rub my balls, and I’ll feel good.” No, that won’t help. You know the typical crowd, “Wow, it’s Friday night, what are you going to do? Just sit there?” Well, yeah. Because there’s nothing out there. It’s stupidity. Stupid people mingling with stupid people. Let them stupidify themselves. I’ve never been bothered with the need to rush out into the night. I hid in bars, because I didn’t want to hide in factories. That’s all. Sorry for all the millions, but I’ve never been lonely. I like myself. I’m the best form of entertainment I have. Let’s drink more wine!

Yet for all that I have had more joy than any of them, they were positive and depressed, and I am negative and happy.

When I was young I was depressed all the time. But suicide no longer seemed a possibility in my life. At my age there was very little left to kill. It was good to be old, no matter what they said. It was reasonable that a man had to be at least 50 years old before he could write with anything like clarity.

she was consumed by 3 simple things:
drink, despair, loneliness; and 2 more:
youth and beauty.

They say I’m immature, I say that they’re depressed. I talk to unicorns, I’m wearing a uniform of a n**ga that don’t give a f**k about time. You live your life all serious while I’m enjoying mine.

Even when you’re depressed, remember to keep your head up.

I suffer from depression. Severe cases of it. Not one case of depression, not a severe case, but severe cases of depression. Music is my only outlet, it’s therapeutic to me. It’s a release. It’s how I vent emotionally.

The energy in the daytime is so different because everyone is so unhappy and depressed, and you can pick up on that energy psychokinetically. So I like to come out at night. Everything’s settled; you can see more.

In order to gain something or learn something, maybe you have to sacrifice something or hurt something, no matter how depressing that might be.

Anybody that’s borderline brilliant — they’re gonna suffer with depression. Cause you don’t see the world how other people see the world. You see it for what it is. You see it different.

Music’s the most therapeutic thing for me. Because I suffer with depression, and it’s my only form of releasing it. Just as you do with your recorder, I record my thoughts. I vent. It’s a channel. I’m an introvert when it comes to displaying my emotion. And because I’m such an introvert, the best thing for me to do is to talk to the mic.

(…) one of the most unendurable aspects of such an interlude was the inability to sleep (…) the disruption of normal sleep patterns is a notoriously devastating feature of depression (…). It had become clear that I would never be granted even a few minutes’ relief from my full-time exhaustion.

I’ve got a bad case of the 3:00 am guilts – you know, when you lie in bed awake and replay all those things you didn’t do right? Because, as we all know, nothing solves insomnia like a nice warm glass of regret, depression and self-loathing.

It was impossible to sleep. Anxiety stopped me from falling asleep; depression woke me up.

Just like that, the journey is over, depression is finished, and you’re on your way back to the world of the living, smiling, regular people. The road has been paved with dickheads, backstabbers, and pains in the f**kin’ ass but memories were made, allies were had, pole smokers were toppled, and the truth was discovered.

Like all weddings it had left the strange feeling of futility, the slight sense of depression that comes to English people who have tried, from their strong sense of tradition, to be festive and sentimental and in high spirits too early in the day. The frame of mind supposed to be appropriate to an afternoon wedding can only be genuinely experienced by an Englishman at two o’clock in the morning.

Depression tends to turn us away from the everyday things of God’s creation. But whenever God steps in, His inspiration is to do the most natural, simple things- things we would never have imagined God was in, but as we do them we find Him there.

The good thing about getting over depression is, well, you can start to see your enemies more clearly. Suddenly, everyone isn’t an obstacle, just some people are – and it might be someone that you find is in your bloodline, distant and as brown as their skin can be, they still are part of you.