Quotes About Depression

I don't even go to the grocery store anymore. I hardly do anything anymore. I'm like a hobbit in a hole. I just don't do anything anymore.

I was copeless. Not just hopeless, but copeless. I tried to keep on working because I was ashamed of acknowledging the fact that I was depressed. You don't use that word.

I've had friends who've had depression or been on medication because their pituitary glands aren't giving out enough hormones - so I've been around a lot of people who've had problems like that. I've always been open to talk about that.

BoJack Horseman' would make sense in the world of 'Rick and Morty,' but it's hard to imagine Rick and Morty in the world of BoJack.

I can't even remember how many times I tried to kill myself.

I think most human beings go through some sort of depression in their life. And if they don't, I think that's weird.

I get the feeling that my songs aren't that dark. There is a cynicism but humour also - it's not depression upon depression upon depression. It's a blend.

I am, I guess, depressed. I guess I've been depressed for about twenty-four years. I can feel a better version of me somewhere in there - hidden behind a liver or attached to a bit of spleen within my stunted, childish body - a Libby that's telling me to get up, do something, grow up, move on. But the meanness usually wins out. (2)

I don't feel like Nick's wife. I don't feel like a person at all: I am something to be loaded and unloaded, like a sofa or a cuckoo clock. I am something to be tossed into a junkyard, thrown into the river, if necessary. I don't feel real anymore. I feel like I could disappear.

Depression to me is urine yellow. Washed out, exhausted miles of weak piss.

What an indulgence it would be, to just blow off my head, all my mean spirits disappearing with a gun blast, like blowing a seedy dandelion apart.

They always call depression the blues, but I would have been happy to waken to a periwinkle outlook. Depression to me is urine yellow. Washed out, exhausted miles of weak piss.

They always call depression the blues, but I would have been happy to waken to a periwinkle outlook. Depression to me is urine yellow. Washed out, exhausted

On a September morning, just after school started, I'd gotten Diane's .44 Magnum and held it, babylike, in my lap for hours. What an indulgence it would be, to just blow off my head, all my mean spirits disappearing with a gun blast, like blowing a seedy dandelion apart.

IT WAS MISERABLE, wet-bone March and I was lying in bed thinking about killing myself, a hobby of mine.

I'd come to find the morning depressing, to know it would come again and again.

I guess I've been depressed for about twenty-four years.

It was miserable, wet-bone March and I was lying in bed thinking about killing myself, a hobby of mine. Indulgent afternoon daydreaming: A shotgun, my mouth, a bang and my head jerking once, twice, blood on the wall. Splatter, splatter.

They always call depression the blues, but I would have been happy to waken to a periwinkle outlook. Depression to me is urine yellow.

postwar managers: if you want to avoid depression, spend money on war. No one told them that the same money spent on the country's infrastructure would have saved us debt, grief, blood.

All right. All right.' He thought: am I taking to drink too? It seemed to him that he had no shape left, nothing you could touch and say: this is Scobie.

Her perpetual despondency preserved forever in black and white.

somewhat sad mill city north of Seattle that seemed always on a futile hunt for a lasting jolt of optimism.

I wonder now how much of her depression was chemical and how much was caused by me.