Quotes For Depression Novels & Stories

I know I can do better, she thought sourly. “What’s up with you, Heather? You’ve been acting all gloomy lately. Come on, you should be more upbeat. You’re Heather Langston for God’s sake! You were iconic on campus, and everyone wanted to be like you. You shouldn’t think less of yourself,” Leon cheered presently. He could tell how dejected and unsure she was of herself these days. If this carried on, it would only be a matter of time before she spiraled into depression. Presently, Heather stretched out like a starfish on the bed and mused woefully, “Oh, how meaningless life has become!” She had no qualms about dwelling in sadness, not when she had Leon next to her.

In Amber’s experience, rich and beautiful people were often the most lonely and depressed of all. Just like death itself, depression didn’t discriminate. It didn’t give a fuck about how old or young you were, your economic status, or where you came from. But it usually fucked up where you were going, without the proper support and treatment. Amber had seen many people in her life suffering from it. She had experienced the horror and devastation of post- partum depression herself, compounded by the pain of giving her son up. Even on her darkest days, Amber really didn’t want to die, she only wanted to stop the pain, and death seemed like the only way back then.

Summer held her cell phone to her ear, furrowing her brows and kneading her forehead with her hand. Sherman was crying again. “Summer, things have been peaceful recently until now. I have been trying my best to forget the incident and not to talk about it. I am calm; so calm that I started to be surprised by myself. I am actually depressed and feeling horrible. I feel like my head is going to explode. I feel like drinking. Where are you? Can you come out and drink with me?” Sometimes, getting too depressed is not a good thing, as it could manifest as a superficial calmness.

She would keep going into severe depression since Deuta’s death. “The small hole his glabella keeps coming back,” she would often say. The anti-depressants she took would make her restless, often leading her into never-ending yelling sprees. In those moments she would tell the entire world what household chores Nisim and I could have learnt doing better in the time we spent with our individual pursuits. Nisim and I would remain quiet, often trying to find something to do, like doing the dishes or dusting the living room.

“All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. That's how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day.” Never in my life did I believe there would be a day when a quote from a comic would relate so closely to me. But recently, I started feeling that the bad days in my life are far more than the good. I was so tired of fighting to keep my sanity. To fight to stay afloat of the sea of misery that was pulling me to its depths with every passing day. I didn’t think I had more strength to swim. I gave up.

“I appreciate that.” “It’s what I’m here for. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I understand depression. I’ve experienced some severe cases of it, and I understand that not everyone’s experience with it is the same. We’ll take it one day at a time, and never forget, we’re in this together.” ***** The Next Day

Then he looked at Yut. "Does he drink?" Yut immediately remembered the night they met. The endless shots. The empty look in Pat's eyes. "Yes, doctor." The doctor nodded knowingly. "Increased alcohol consumption as a coping mechanism isn't healthy. It's often associated with depression." He sighed softly. "The medication will help physically, but emotionally, he needs support." A brief pause. "Most importantly, he needs to come out of that state of depression for his own sake." The doctor offered a reassuring smile before leaving.

“She’s not worth it. She’s nothing. You’re everything. You hear me? You’re still here. We’re still here.” But I wasn’t. Not really. The depression hit like a truck after that. Days blurred into weeks, hospital to home, home to couch, couch to bed. Rowan was a saint cooking terrible soup , massaging my feet when they cramped from lying around too much, bringing me tea I didn’t drink, telling stupid jokes that made me want to punch him and hug him at the same time. But inside it was just black. Heavy. Endless.

I slow down when I enter a small dustbowl town and creep through at twenty-five miles an hour as the speed sign dictates. I'm sleepy, and a few hours ago, a sense of melancholy descended. It happens from time to time. It's another reason I fight. When you're someone like me, there's nowhere to go for depression. Hell, I don't need some fucking head shrink to call a spade a spade. My wiring is fucked up and fighting cures all my evils.

“Thanks for the help and message.” “Anything for you, I will hang up now, OK? Take care,” Manu bade and hung up. I became even more restless. I was simply depressed, Mother had tried her best to keep me up with the best hope quotes but nothing seems to cheer me up now. I just want to see Sidd. I wish to see him. Oh God, please help me.