Quotes About Depression

It's hard to be sad when you're being useful. And he liked that idea. That service to others brought happiness. It was self-involvement that led to depression, to spiraling questions about the meaning of things.

The day I sobered up, I stopped talking," he says. "What was there to say? You need hope to form a thought. It takes—I don't know—optimism to speak, to engage in conversation. Because, really, what's the point of all this communicating? What difference does it really make what we say to each other? Or what we do, for that matter?" "There's a name for that," she says. "It's called depression.

It's hard to be sad when you're being useful. And he liked that idea. That service to others brought happiness. It was self-involvement that led to depression, to spiraling questions about the meaning of things. This

It takes—I don't know—optimism to speak, to engage in conversation. Because, really, what's the point of all this communicating? What difference does it really make what we say to each other? Or what we do, for that matter?" "There's a name for that," she says. "It's called depression.

I was always asking myself why. Why am I feeling this? Thinking that if I knew the cause I could find the cure. But of course there was no reasonable why, at least not in the present. I was awash in an accumulation of past feelings and future dreads, all similar, at least as far as my brain was concerned, and so, lumped together as one. But nobody can handle a lifetime of experience in one moment. That's why depression crushes you.

Did I need medication? Or did I need someone to talk to? Someone, that is, who would do more than charge the going rate for nodding and whip out a prescription pad before the first fifty minutes were up. Was I physiologically depressed? At an innate biochemical disadvantage? Or was reaching for the pad just the way things were done because the doc had been well patronized by the drug reps and had plenty of samples in her file cabinet?

THE SECOND SPEAKER, ANITA SALTMARCHE, focused specifically on studies of light therapy used for traumatic brain injury, stroke, and depression.

You can sell more pills if you can convince people that being sad is a disease.

Selim, insan?n yarat?c? hayal gücünü öldürüyordu. Kambur duru?u, da??n?k saçlar? ve ütüsüz elbisesiyle Selim, insan? can s?k?nt?s? ve ümitsizli?e sürüklüyordu. ?nsan ona bak?nca, gerçi bir süre kendinden memnun oluyordu; fakat sonunda can? s?k?l?yordu.

Clay was slowly deciding to kill himself. It was slow because, in spite of everything Clay did not want to die. He was just becoming less and less able to tolerate the pain of living.

But if all I had to look forward to was marriage to him and babies and poverty that just keeps getting worse, I think I'd kill myself.

When apparent stability disintegrates, As it must— God is Change— People tend to give in To fear and depression, To need and greed. When no influence is strong enough To unify people They divide. They struggle, One against one, Group against group, For survival, position, power.

If all I had to look forward to was marriage to him and babies and poverty that just keeps getting worse, I think I'd kill myself.

No, I wasn't going to refer to cowardice. What I was going to say was, that a man contemplating suicide should bear in mind that his act is usually paid for by others. It is not just his personal affair. Everyone who takes his or her own life increases the fear in all his progeny of committing the same act during a period of depression. In fact, every blood relation he possesses gets a drop of the same poison. Nice parting gift.

She paints a pretty picture, but the story has a twist Her paintbrush is a razor, her canvas is her wrist. She paints a pretty picture in a colour that's blood red. While using her sharp paintbrush, she ends up finally dead. The pretty picture is fading quite slowly on her arm. Blood no longer runs through her, she can no longer do harm. Yes, she painted a pretty picture but the story has a twist, you see, her mind was her razor, and her heart was her wrist.

Music can lift us out of depression or move us to tears - it is a remedy, a tonic, orange juice for the ear. But for many of my neurological patients, music is even more - it can provide access, even when no medication can, to movement, to speech, to life. For them, music is not a luxury, but a necessity.

Most women have only to lay eyes on you to want to be doing something for you so badly they can't stand it … You're always so timid and yet you're funny … Sometimes you get terribly lonesome and depressed, but that only makes a woman's heart itch all the more for you.

And I was incapable of living all by myself in those lodgings where I didn't know a soul. It terrified me to sit by myself quietly in my room. I felt frightened, as if I might be set upon or struck by someone at any moment.

Oh, life is too painful, the reality that confirms the universal belief that it is best not to be born.

Disqualified as a human being. I had now ceased utterly to be a human being.

I drew with extremely excessively depressed emotions, deliberately penning each line, only to earn money for drink.

no thought in the world is worse than the realization that, "My life is a nuisance to others. I am useless.

Around that time, I lost interest in college. I could only see blackness

Of late a gloomy rain has been falling almost incessantly. Whatever I do depresses me.