How do you say "depressed" in French?

Graduate school has gone from a nebulous idea of a utopian paradise where I would be on a first-name basis with professors who respected me and recognized my latent talent, to a dull reality whose expiration I plotted on my calendar to the tune of “Pomp and Circumstance,” and then made a final metamorphosis to a harshly synthetic pipedream where onion-like layers of pointless theory are stacked one on top of the other in a kind of Procrustean exercise to transform what seemed a practical, skill-building course of study into a grotesque parody of literary theory.

I’m just shy of two months into my graduate career, which means that I have finished about 18% of my Master’s degree, and the only light at the end of the tunnel is the promise of a job that will help me to pay back the mountain of student loan debt I’ve accrued in cobbling together an education. In all likelihood, this will not be a job I enjoy, and the probability that I will not be good at whatever job I get approaches 100%.

So far, the only advantage I have that I can attribute to my well-rounded education is my ability to recognize and articulately comment on my own unhappiness. In general, I’m bitter, pessimistic, cynical and angry way more often than any given situation warrants.

If it weren’t for Cracked and Penny Arcade, and maybe God (?) I’d probably start shooting up and drinking a lot.