My uncle was an estranged hermit that simply worked and went home AFAIK. He got laid off from his job over some BS, then hung himself in his closet 2 weeks later. This was 10 years ago, he was 55.

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He didn't have a wife, kids, cat, dog. He didn't do drugs or drink heavily. 

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It wasn't depression that killed him IMO, it was emptiness. And when he lost his job- all he had, the emptiness came to a head. How quiet his apartment must have been those final weeks. And that is how I am feeling... not necessarily sad, just so desperately alone, and can't envisage my circumstances changing any time soon. Money would make a difference but I'm 32 and have had 20 different jobs over the years, I'm just not enthusiastic enough to look for another minimum wage job. So I leech off my parents for the time-being. I feel guilt about this, and also shame. 

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I silently mutter that I should just kms multiple times every day. The only pragmatic reason I have to live on is maybe one day I'll summon the motivation to publish my joke book... but that's been on hold 5 years already. I know its time to buck up and make a change before the quicksand takes me, I'm submerged to the neck, and the longer I idle the deeper I go.