Kierkegaard's descriptions of despair are as terrifying as the concept of hell itself; in fact, it may be the most believable definition of hell I have ever read. If you scoff at fire and brimstone, consider how terrible it would be to hate yourself so much that your foremost desire is to eradicate yourself, but you can't. You eternally engage in an "impotent self-consuming" that feels like dying at every single moment, yet without the peaceful relief of death's nonexistence. The process is a torment that takes on its own "gnawing life" in not allowing you to die. (18)
I guess some of my most intense anxiety and depression has felt like this, but he is talking about a condition of the soul. I doubt Prozac can do anything about this.
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