Somehow, it’s easy to forget that life is a gloomy trial for a lot of people; on a related theme, it’s hard to conceive a more lugubrious subject than suicide—the extra-medical option the doldrums tends to suggest now and then (or often)--but this author, with a nice sense of calm and humor, and without getting the least bit sleezily therapeutic (here's to you, Dr. Phil), makes a considered case for sticking it out. (Note: I’m not myself tempted to join the suicide-club, even though it would help me get out of tomorrow’s exams.)

http://harpers.org/blog/2013/06/on-suicide/

Also, this poem by WS (not that one, the other) which I don't find in my hardback edition of his collected stuff:

No soldiers in the scenery,
No thoughts of people now dead,
As they were fifty years ago,
Young and living in a live air,
Young and walking in the sunshine,
Bending in blue dresses to touch something,
Today the mind is not part of the weather.

Today the air is clear of everything.
It has no knowledge except of nothingness
And it flows over us without meanings,
As if none of us had ever been here before
And are not now: in this shallow spectacle,
This invisible activity, this sense.

 --“A Clear Day and No Memories,” Wallace Stevens