No one who had never been depressed like me could imagine that the pain could get so bad that death became a star to hitch up to, a fantasy of peace someday which seemed better than any life with all this noise in my head.

My life's actually been quite dull; it's not all that glamorous.

I was so scared to give up depression, fearing that somehow the worst part of me was actually all of me.

Everything's plastic, we're all gonna die.

In the meantime, I could withdraw to my room, could hide and sleep as if I were dead

They can give you all the pills on earth and do whatever - and you're still yourself.

The most likely person to kill you is your wife, but that probably won't happen. What probably will happen is a million little betrayals of varying degrees of pain, brought on by people you love, the only ones who really can hurt you.