I just to connect with something, anything. I want to feel again. I’m sick of not feeling a damn thing and going through life unmoved, and I don’t know what the answer is. If it was easy to actually die, I’d do that.
It’s getting to me today. Sometimes I’m fine with it, and other times I’m breaking inside. It never ends. Every day is the same. I wish I at least had the creativity to make art or put my suffering into storytelling. I miss being a child, cause that’s the last time I remember enjoying life and taking delight in simple things. I’m working on getting disability and hope that will at least alleviate my financial stress. I don’t work right now and have my student lones on hold. I would say God really fucked up my life, but I don’t believe in one. I am always alone. I am always living in this shit. I try not to complain, but fuck this.
Almost every time I go, he asks “are you depressed?” in a way that seems like “are you REALLY depressed?” as in I don’t have a reason to be. It’s the way he asks it that makes me think this. It’s in his tone. Maybe I read too much into it. I cannot think of a time in the past 20+ years that I’ve genuinely been happy and felt good about myself. The intensity of my depression has varied throughout periods of my life, but I am consistently depressed. I have had thoughts ranging from wanting to kms to just wishing I was dead. Right now, it’s the latter that’s the most common. I am diagnosed with schizophrenia, and I suffer from anhedonia which doesn’t help. I feel defeated by life. I have no desire to socialize with people or even be around anyone, but I still get very lonely. I’ve lost my identity, passion, and desire to improve my life. I’ve accepted that I’m a looser and some people aren’t born to “win” in life. I don’t want to change because I’ve tried and I can’t, and striving desperately to be some other way has made me worse at times. Sometimes I don’t mind my life, but most of the time I hate myself and I know I don’t have a future. I have to live with depression. I have to live with the chronic lack of motivation, interest, and joy that comes with schizophrenia and depression. Acceptance of this is the closest to peace I’ve come, because I gave up striving. Every time I go to a new psychiatrist I feel like I’m being gaslit about my mental health in some way as though it’s not that bad, but I know myself, and I’ve lived this way for years on end and eroded me bit by bit. I couldn’t truly LIVE even if I wanted to.