Abraham Lincoln:

I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on earth. Whether I shall ever be better, I cannot tell; I awfully forebode I shall not. To remain as I am is impossible. I must die or be better, it appears to me.(9)

An English novelist who had made two serious attempts at suicide:

I don't know how much potential suicides think about it. I must say, I've never really thought about it much. Yet it's always there. For me, suicide's a constant temptation. It never slackens. Things are all right at the moment. But I feel like a cured alcoholic: I daren't take a drink because I know that if I do I'll go on it again. Because whatever it is that's there doesn't alter. It's a pattern of my entire life. I would like to think that it was only brought on by certain stresses and strains. But in fact, if I'm honest and look back, I realize it's been a pattern ever since I can remember.

My parents were very fond of death. It was their favorite thing. As a child, it seemed to me that my father was constantly rushing off to do himself in. Everything he said, all his analogies, were to do with death. I remember him once telling me that marriage was the last nail in the coffin of life. I was about eight at the time. Both my parents, for different reasons, regarded death as a perfect release from their troubles. They were very unhappy together, and I think this sunk in very much. Like my father, I have always demanded too much of life and people and relationships--far more than exists, really. And when I find that it doesn't exist, it seems like a rejection. It probably isn't a rejection at all; it simply isn't there. I mean, the empty air doesn't reject you; it just says, 'I'm empty.' Yet rejection and disappointment are two things I've always found impossible to take...When I'm not working, I'm capable of sleeping through most of the morning. Then I start taking sleeping pills during the day to keep myself in a state of dopiness, so that I can sleep at any time. To take sleeping pills during the day to sleep isn't so far from taking sleeping pills in order to die. It's just a bit more practical and a bit more craven. You only take two instead of two hundred...

In the afternoons my mother and father both retired to sleep. That is, they retired to death. They really died for the afternoons...But during those afternoons I used to be alive and lively. It was a great big house but I never dared to make a sound. I didn't dare pull a plug in case I woke one of them up. I felt terribly rejected. Their door was shut, they were absolutely unapproachable. Whatever terrible crisis had happened to me, I felt I couldn't go and say, 'Hey, wake up, listen to me.' And those afternoons went on a long time. Because of the war I went back to live with them, and it was still exactly the same. If I ever bumped myself off, it would be in the afternoon. Indeed, the first time I tried was in the afternoon. The second time was after an awful afternoon. Moreover, it was after an afternoon in the country, which I hate for the same reasons as I hate afternoons. The reason is simple: when I'm alone, I stop believing I exist.(10)

A California woman:

I am 49 years old. All my life I've been a very functional, active person, totally community-involved. I have three children, aged 20, 23 and 29. I was married for five years and divorced, then married 20 years and divorced and remarried once more.

I was a dancer, an Arthur Murray instructor. I did stitchery. I did mosaics. I attended night courses--psychology, architecture and theater classes, I was totally involved and doing.

In April, l976, I was employed selling real estate in an office where my husband, Eddie, was boss. I was totally functioning and happy. But he hated his job so he resigned. When he resigned they said, "Take Gloria with you. You're a team." That was a blow to my self-esteem at the time. I think that's where the clinical depression, the illness itself, was setting in...

I totally lost myself during this clinical depression. I didn't know who this other person was and felt I was going crazy. Where was Gloria? Where was this once-confident person?...

...The worst for me was sleep disturbance-- the inability to get any rest at all, not even one hour's sleep at night. In regular life, I'm not an eight-hour sleeper, I only need four hours of good sleep.

During the clinical depression I thought my husband should get a divorce and marry a young woman and live in a tract house and raise little children. So that's what I told him to do...

As my depression wore on, I stopped talking to my friends. I didn't want to tell them I was depressed because I didn't want them to worry about me.(11)

An English writer:

My wife, who visited me nobly at least twice a week for the whole eleven months of my confinement ...was the only person to whom I dared confide my horrors, and I tried hard to show my train of reasoning. Roughly it was that I was a sort of opposite of Jesus Christ. Satan's job had been to catch a man, get him to sell his soul to him completely and utterly, like Faust, and then take him down alive into the pit. That was a sort of necessary counterweight to the resurrection of Jesus and the elect. I was the man. But if I could only kill myself, it might blow up the whole Universe, but at least I would get out of eternal torture and achieve the oblivion and nothing- ness for which my soul craved. I did in fact make three attempts at suicide, the most serious of which was when I tore myself from my attendant and threw myself in front of a car, with my poor wife, who was visiting me, looking on.