I hate that word. Depression. I hate it. I hate how it’s plagued my life. I hate that no matter how hard I try it’s always there. I hate how those around me don’t get it. I hate that I have to carry it around like a life sentence, like punishment for something I must have clearly done wrong in a past life… or as a child. I don’t fucking know. I couldn’t get out of bed yesterday. I cried on and off all fucking day just felt sorry for myself and tried to endure the pain as best as I could without acting on the self-hate inside me. I really really wanted to kill myself yesterday, so badly. I still do. I always do.
I do so many things to try and keep myself from drowning, but treading water is hard and I’ve never been a particularly good swimmer.
I tried to draw a little and just didn’t have the energy. Nothing sounds fun to me right now everything sounds like it’s work… my brain is lost in a fog. I’m dizzy and I have no energy. This is more severe than normal; but who cares… just put on a happy face so those around you don’t ask any questions. I want to leave. I just want to be gone. Right now I want to give up on therapy, on my friends, on myself, soon or maybe by the end of the year; no point to any of it. Maybe I’ll feel differently tomorrow, but for now all I can feel is intense fear or this burning pain in my chest a mixture of constant sadness and grief. What a miserable fucking existence (oh add shame to the mix for feeling sorry for myself when I know I shouldn’t).
I really am the worst.