Depression is a state during which the world disappears. Language itself. One has nothing to say. Nothing. No small talk, no anecdotes. Nothing can be risked on the board of talk. Because the inner voice is so urgent in its own discourse: How shall I live' How shall I manage the future' Why should I go on'.
Depression is a cowardly craving to want to become dizzy in the emptiness and to seek the final diversion in this dizziness.
Depression is being in terrible and unceasing pain whereby a component and a contributing factor of the horror is the impossibility of sharing or articulating this pain.
Depression is a sickness whose seat, and possibility its nourishment, is in the power of the imagination.
Depression is a pessimistic sense of one's own capabilities, and despondent lack of energy.
Depression is a surfeit of empathy a killing empathy that makes depressives great friends to everyone but themselves. Having a self is a rough business, and depressives can empathize with others who have to deal with it, but not with themselves.
I've often wanted to drown my troubles . . .but I can't get my wife to go swimming