Films about depression?

Films about depression?

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I love how clear it is that this was made from a woman's point of view, because she can't understand how some people have literally none of those things.

Une homme qui dort

Il y a longtemps que je t'aime (2008)

will woman ever understand anything?

i have only one of these, guess which one

Oh you're distracted alright
A pru-dent and polite indifference resides in the space that separates you from the woman in the seat beside you. During the voyage, neither of you will have to feel the superfluous need to speak to the other, much less engage in a discussion. That would disrupt your absent-mindedness and, for your neighbor, the careful study of the feminine periodicals (“how to sleep with a man without him noticing”, “soft-core flirting”, “giftsthat have meaning”, “is he a good lay?”, “who are you REALLY?”, etc.). When her cell-phone rings, the young woman will not consider it necessary to get up either:“Hello?...wait, I don’t have reception here!... are you fucking with me or what?... listen, this makes three weekends that I’ve been stuck with the kids, I work all week and I already have trouble finding time to live, so...no, no, and no, I can’t, work it out, its not my problem...we have our own lives, you’ve screwed up mine enough already...how many times do I have to tell you: this weekend I’m going out with Jerome, that’s that...oh yeah, and how will that work? With the kidwho’ll be driving me crazy, constantly sniveling ‘where’s daddy?’...
dammit, because you’re her father!... it’s not debatable...I don’t give a fuck, you’re taking them this weekend... tough shit for her, find someone more flexible...I’m warning you, if there’s no one there I’m leaving them with the doorman...no, I’m being very reasonable...that’s it, bye.”

Pet?

The scene repeats itself in all its banality. It is fresh evidence. It comes like a slap in the face, brutally at first, but we have had to prepare ourselves over the years, by scrupulously becoming perfect strangers to one another: colorless existences, indifferent presences, without depth. At the same time, none of this could be apparent if we were not henceforthcompletely intimate in this strangeness

One day, pay closer attention to the collective silence of an underground metro, and allow yourself to be overcome: behind the mutual ruse of contemporary habits, by a shudder-ing of one’s core, a primitive terror, vulnerable to all suspicions

depression isn't real neither is anxiety you're just a bitch faggot