At the best of times, spring hurts depressives.
There was a week where I was depressed with the rain, and people were telling me to get a light box. But I live on the 14th floor of an apartment complex, and I see the Broadway Bridge and Mount Hood, and it keeps me such company. And like true Oregonians, I don't carry an umbrella anymore.
Winter is the season of alcoholism and despair.
I had slumps that lasted into the winter.
[Christmas] holidays are a heavy, heavy time. We make light of them with our red and green and our stockings and candy canes, but people think heavy thoughts over the holidays because that's when you're thinking about family. Are we close? Or are we not as close as other people?
I don't know what to say, except it's Christmas and we're all in misery.
Nothing is as tedious as the limping days, When snowdrifts yearly cover all the ways, And ennui, sour fruit of incurious gloom, Assumes control of fate’s immortal loom
I love grey. My mom told me that when I was younger, I would get mildly depressed when it was grey all the time. I'd be darker when it was dark out. But as an adult, I really love it.
Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone. But grief returns with the revolving year.
I'm not a big fan of Christmas, and I think there are a lot of people who feel a bit melancholy at the holiday.
If there's no sun, I go batshit crazy.
Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.
It kills me when people talk about California hedonism. Anybody who talks about California hedonism has never spent a Christmas in Sacramento.
So just to be truthful to my own sensibility, I need to acknowledge that the season is not all joy and light for a lot of people. It's tough - environmentally, emotionally, spiritually.
We've all sort of been there: It's coming on Christmas, all that preparation is going on, and you just want to escape. You don't want to buy into it. It's a time of year that brings up a lot of memories for people, and if you're missing somebody, it's hardest at this time of year.
December is the toughest month of the year. Others are July, January, September, April, November, May, March, June, October, August, and February.
There was a moment, late into the season, where I was noticing I was darkening a little bit at night. I was like, 'It will be nice when the show is over for the season. I need a vacation.'
The gloomy months of November, when the people of England hang and drown themselves.
January gray is here, like a sexton by her grave; February bears the bier, march with grief doth howl and rave, and April weeps -- but, O ye hours! Follow with May's fairest flowers.
Didn't people call New Year's the loneliest night on the calender? She took comfort in knowing somewhere on the planet, someone might be as miserable as she was.
I like having a lot of sunlight because it helps me wake up. And I don't get depressed in winter.
Christmas can have a real melancholy aspect, 'cause it packages itself as this idea of perfect family cohesion and love, and you're always going to come up short when you measure your personal life against the idealized personal lives that are constantly thrust in our faces, primarily by TV commercials.
December used to be very difficult for me. For many years, I fought the transition to the new year, was generally exhausted at the end of the year, and just wanted to hide. I described myself as a 'cranky Jewish kid who felt left out by Christmas.'
Now spring returns; but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health have flown.
One faire day in winter makes not birds merrie.
